HIDE AND SEEK! HIDE AND SEEK! HIDE AND SEEK! HIDE AND SEEK! HIDE AND SEEK! HIDE AND SEEK! HIDE AND SEEK! HIDE AND SEEK! Sitting at the vanity, my grandmother was like a mirage, soaking in and reflecting upon the orange lamplight. It was a quiet ritual, watching her pin her curls and lean closer to the mirror, her ginger eyelashes dressed with black mascara. Perched on her bed, I would watch her face drift in and out of the frame, the wood-paneled walls shifting behind her. I borrowed her plush robe and she helped me roll up the sleeves. That robe made me feel prettier than any of the princess dresses or plastic heels in the back of my closet. It dragged on the floor when I walked, leaving behind a perfume of hairspray and powder. I wanted something to grow into, something to shed when I would blossom into a flower of a girl.
I washed my hands with her favorite soaps and peeked into the medicine cabinet as if it held the secrets to being the kind of woman people loved. Her golden tube of lipstick was tempting but sacred; I would be embarrassed to leave a rosy print behind if I kissed her cheek when we said goodbye. Instead, I climbed into the top bunk, careful not to let the robe catch on the ladder. Enveloped in quilts and cotton sheets, I imagined that Age and I played hide-and-seek; she would find me waiting here, eventually. Age found me in a CVS makeup aisle, 15 years late— or perhaps, I found her. Fluorescent lights chased me into a wall full of golden tubes, and they felt to me like phantoms returning home.
In my car, I applied it carefully in the mirror, letting the red unfold over me like a remedy for something unnamed. The car swirled with floral air and femininity that could only belong to my grandmother, and I suddenly wished I was still small enough that her robe would drag behind me. The lipstick did not look out of place on my lips, and I knew that my adolescent oracle had been fulfilled. I clasped the lipstick in my hands, stuck in a realm where growing up was still part of playing pretend.