She Must Be One of Davids' Friends

When I was nineteen, after a failed suicide attempt, and a ridiculous inheritance from my uncle who had just passed away, I took an apartment in Jenkintown with my friend, Nate. This rapidly devolved into a commune. At the time I ought to have been treated for clinical depression, or at least properly medicated.

I indulged every eager childish want and whim, abating my abject misery with whimsies and trinkets, shamelessly depleting my bulging bank account. It's amazing really how quickly I exhausted my funds. Within a year or so I ran through $40,000. People must have thought I had developed a drug habit, but really this slide into bankruptcy was fostered by the purchase of antique violins from Italy {I never played}, as well as a collection of rustic statuary and all sorts of effluvia. Week upon week of taking 20 guests or so to dinner rapidly dwindled my resources. The apartment I now shared with 3 friends and a veritable menagerie of animals, was littered with impulses and art pieces. None of these things I avidly collected satiated my restlessness or aided in transcending my deep sense of despondence.

One week I fixated on a fashion book from the 60's. None of the models in it had eyebrows. I was taken with their alienated ;distant, and casually cool appearance- so I impulsively shaved mine off, much to my friend Rachel's dismay. At the time we frequented IHOP and on our daily trek to get coffee, I endured numerous pitying stares. Rachel pointed out that she now had no way to gage my mood....that without eyebrows my countenance completely lacked expression. This dismayed me.

Labor day came about, and I was supposed to go to my parent's house for a picnic. Looking like a burn victim I felt ultimately ridiculous, and stopped at CVS on the way over to pick up a brow pencil or two. Unless you are a drag queen or a '30s vamp this ought not be attempted. In my stagnance I had gotten sort of fat too, so I resembled Divine.

My family was gathering, cooking hot dogs on the grill, taking dips in the pool, admiring the vegetable garden. I opted to hide in the bathroom and attempt rendering naturalistic eyebrows. Now they have all seen me with purple hair, shaved legs what have you, but this was too much....even worse than my encounter with hair extensions. I managed a compromise, blending blue and black eye pencil and tediously brushing on my brows, regaining expression in the process, a look of perpetual shock.

I went into the den to change, and spied out the window an apparent corpse on the lawn. She was curled up fetal like and wore white tennis shoes and what resembled a gym outfit. Had I come completely unhinged? "What The Fuck?" I hollered downstairs for my mom to call the police. At this point neighbors had gathered around the figure on our lawn, and I distinctively heard the local busybody across the street say with stoic conviction and a shake of her heavy head "she must be friends with David" That rankled. I didn't want to move or even come downstairs because of my addled countenance. It was extremely hot and I feared my penciled brows wouldn't hold up.

My dad insisted I come down, when the police officer that arrived wanted an accounting for this woman's presence and who had first witnessed her,etc. I gathered myself and went down, nervously accounting to the cop, surrounded by prying neighbors, I haltingly explained that I had simply seen her huddled there on the lawn, after I took a shower. He made a few calls,all the while eying me suspiciously {it's no wonder} and it was determined that this person had fled a local institution, and was running through neighborhood streets, apparently collapsing in front of our house in a fit of heat prostration. She began to sputter and grumble.

The heat and the paranoia of interrogation, as well as the surreal nature of the situation was too much. Sweat poured from my brow, and unthinkingly I swiped it with the back of my hand. At this point our officer's scrutiny shifted to concern. I gazed down to find in shame, my left brow imprinted starkly on my right hand, a sickening apostrophe. An oppressive silence fell among the tittering neighbors. I said, " I don't feel well" and left walking dejectedly into the house.

To this day when I visit my parents, I feel I am eyed with caution and bemused pity. I think some of my neighbors might just speculate on my heroic battle with cancer at the age of 19, or just when I stopped emulating Bette Davis.