Tears Dry On Their Own

Lexi Kent-Monning runs five mascaras through the tear test.

I’m looking for the right formula. One that smudges when I want it to but stays put when I don’t. Why doesn’t the perfect formula exist? Hard like a fist, a death grip. Soft and amorphous, a watercolor.

Maybelline New York Lash Discovery Waterproof Mascara, Very Black 361

I think my boyfriend is breaking up with me. We got into a fight last night about where to order delivery from, but really it was about whether or not to have a baby. I was wearing my new mascara, the only one not locked up at my corner CVS. Even though it’s supposed to be waterproof, salty tears plus rubbing cause it to run and smudge. Waterproof, not tear-proof. Wept-in mascara really makes the eyes pop. I tried not to rub my eyes while crying. We ended up not ordering delivery from anywhere. 

Glossier Lash Slick, Black

I’m on my way to dinner with friends from out of town. It’s snowing, sleeting. They’re both mothers. Both tired and angry at their partners, cooing over their children’s latest milestones. They show me pictures on their iPhones before I even get a chance to ask. The Lash Slick is noncommittal, slightly darker than my real lashes and nothing in terms of volume. It was $18 and doesn’t want to stay, liquefying with the snowflakes that land on my lashes. I use an index finger to swipe under my waterline, hoping for the accidental cat eye you get from cleaning up rain, swiping to the outer corners and then up, but the Lash Slick gives me raccoon eyes. Have I earned raccoon eyes? I’m no stranger to rifling through trash but I’m also no expert. When I think about having a baby I want the same thing that I want in a mascara: to both have and not. Hard and soft, this and that. To be a mother and to care for nobody but myself. My friends want that too but they both have babies and today, with my chilled face and wet socks, I can only register their exhaustion and anger, not their love and pride.

L’Oréal Paris Makeup Voluminous Original Volume Building Waterproof Mascara, Black

I break up with my boyfriend. I didn’t plan to, but we were fighting about takeout again and I pulled the plug. He did nothing wrong, but I decided I’m too old to be indecisive about a baby. He calls me later while I am out walking and tries again to understand. But I don’t even really understand. I can be convinced of anything; I don’t think I should have to be convinced about this. I should feel strongly about the choice. And because I don’t feel strongly, I stutter into the phone. We reach a dead end and he hangs up. I stand under a tree, out of the way of passersby, and weep. Then I walk back to my apartment, up the four flights of stairs, to reset the ruined makeup before my depressing errands. The mascara hasn’t budged. Finally, a fist. 

Benefit They’re Real!, Black

I stop wearing a waterproof formula around the time I start crying regularly. I realize he didn’t necessarily want to have a baby, he just wanted to know what I wanted to do. I became paralyzed, stoic, trying to make the decision. I started to think it wasn’t a decision you could logically make, that somehow, it just had to happen to you. I removed myself from emotion, trying only to be logical, like him. He started calling me “honey” right when I stopped being sweet. I’d never chosen rationality over instinct before and as soon as I break up with him, my facade breaks too. The silver tube is shaped like a woman’s body and with my black tears I look pathetic, performative, powerful even. Instead of hiding the tears, I want to accentuate them. I want the world to know what I’d lost.

CoverGirl Lash Blast Volume Mascara, Very Black

I want everyone to see me cry, but I don’t want them to see me sweat. I dress as Priscilla Presley for Halloween to see Built to Spill play at the Fillmore, big hair and cat eyes. Doug Martsch’s costume features a painted-on bullet hole in his forehead that immediately starts dripping down his face onto his guitar. He has to wipe the head wound off after the first song and throws the bloodied towel into the crowd. I scramble for it ferally but am unable to claim it. The fake blood also covers his shirt and I’ve never been more turned on. I’ve never seen someone look so much like how I feel. I want to wear that paint. When they play “The Wait,” my favorite song of theirs, I cry and one of my costume eyelash strips slides down my cheek. My dilapidated beehive, knocked off-center by the towel scramble, and unkempt lashes lead strangers to believe I am dressed as Amy Winehouse.

I accidentally replicate this sequence most days of my life: begin as pristine Priscilla, turn into bedraggled sad eyelash Amy, and finish as hole in the head Doug Martsch. My lashes fall but my mascara finally sticks. I too can wear a hole in the head like a crown. I can carry the zero. I can go against your mind.

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Lexi Kent-Monning is an alumna of the Tyrant Books workshop Mors Tua Vita Mea in Italy. A native Californian, she now lives in Brooklyn. Her debut novel, The Burden of Joy, is available through Rejection Letters.