Red
There used to be a few compliments about the lovely complexion and more gentle teasing about blushing and several envious sighs about wanting rosy cheeks all of which I tried to ignore not knowing what to say even thank you seemed hard to enunciate because it is always awkward to have comments about your body and the things you cannot control but upon reflection I realize that if given a choice I would return to those remarks because they were meant if not always received as positive supportive words and while it is uncouth to seek external validation there are some crappy days when a nice comment would well be nice alas the roses in my cheeks stopped fading and grew ever brighter and broader now covering my entire face except for the area right around my eyes which remains blanched and my skin seems afire inflamed and irate no matter the hour although sometimes it’s worse and the flares singe my face and my spirit as coworkers and neighbors and the general public freely call out to me that it’s clear I spent time outdoors or I am sunburned or I am hopping mad or I am experiencing a cardiac event call 911 or I am soused down to my socks before noon or I am deeply ashamed or I am getting sick perhaps with the kind of illness that creates pustules and leaves pocks but it is none of those things just rosacea that gets stronger with age and while the rest of my body aches constantly nobody can see that and they stare at my face so I tried the meds and the creams and the poultices and the herbs and think about how it is vain to be worried about this and I have never had cosmetic work and I should embrace my difference because aren’t we all supposed to take a stand and be who we are so that the world will change and how many times have people been tortured and killed and hated for the color of their skin and my skin doesn’t subject me to any of that but I am embarrassed to say I had grown tired of the non-stop commentary like buzzing flies on a gaping uncovered wound but nothing tamed the fire so lasers it was and god damn those things hurt like a big fat rubber band the kind that used to bind the Sunday papers engorged with all those ads being flicked harshly against my already sensitive skin multiple times a second and I save up my tears because first it will get worse but then it will cool and with three maybe four probably five or more treatment sessions at hundreds of dollars a pop my face will not irritate those who look at it although the fires will continue to rage cooking anything on my face from the heat that flows below and within as I smile with a touch of pink
Sarah Bigham lives in Maryland with her kind chemist wife, three independent cats, an unwieldy herb garden, several chronic pain conditions, and near-constant outrage at the general state of the world tempered with love for those doing their best to make a difference. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, Sarah’s poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have appeared in a variety of great places for readers, writers, and listeners. Find her at www.sgbigham.com.
