Mascara River

I looked at myself in my rearview mirror. I had dark circles under my eyes. My eyes were puffy and red from a night of crying. I dotted the eye cream under my eyes, thankful that I had put it in my purse. If asked, I could blame it on allergies.

I walked in, and I tried my hardest to leave my emotions at the door. This was work. I needed to have a level-head.

The day was going well; it had been a productive day. I was tired, of course. My back hurt; my neck was tense with stress. But it had been a relief to throw myself into my work and not have to focus on him.

Around noon, a little old lady came walking in. She came up and asked me to help her find something. I walked her over to the item she was searching for.

She put her hand on my arm, as some older women do. She looked into my eyes and thanked me. She kept the eye contact for a long moment, taking in my face, almost searching for something.

Finally, I looked down, feeling slightly uncomfortable. I knew my eyes were still a little puffy and red. Then, she asked me, "Have you ever heard of Mascara River?"

I said, "No, ma'am." Thinking it was some local hang out that I hadn't yet heard of. I'd heard of "Kiss Me Quick," and the local parking spot for teenagers. "Where is it?"

She laughed. She said "Oh honey, it's not an actual river. Many women have something that they hold on tight to for far too long. It's something that drains their soul. It's only after many, many nights of having mascara stains run down their faces, that they finally get to the point where they give whatever it is up. They've shed too many tears, and they finally realize it's not worth it anymore. It's like floating down the river, you may get out at Mid-point or you may even go down to the South End, but at some point, you're going to get out."