Life Imitates Art

Part 17 - Behind His/Her Back

Tessa_

This is it. My main shot at trying to make Max feel comfortable with this feminine form inside him, one which I don't even think he is ready to confront. I need to do this absolutely perfectly. If he hates it, this is my only chance to ever do his full makeup. The modelling and recreating of his work in the real world will go only as far as skincare and clothes. He won't want to express this any deeper, and I'll know that for sure.

And if he loves it, I can confirm Saturday's plan with the other girls. I'll still keep it from Max. You may see that as cruel, but I know him. Anything that could make him different in this potentially cataclysmic way is an aspect of his life he would rather not embrace nor give even a moment in the day if anyone else knew what he was doing. I owe it to him now to force this out of him, if it's what he really wants. I can't let him continue to waste his life as someone he doesn't want to be. What kind of sister does that?

OK, step one is easy. He's actually already done it. He must have used some moisturiser after he shaved in the shower. I dab his face with a cloth, just to dry it a little. I don't want the makeup I add to run off because his skin is too wet. That's an amateur move, yet one I am guilty of more often than I should be.

Primer. It's a pre-makeup makeup. The music is all I am working to. Max isn't saying a word. I see his hands shaking, just like they do when he first wears a different skirt. It might be Maxine's way of trying to rip through his body and reveal herself. I feel like a dentist trying to extract an awkward tooth. It's a slow process. It's going to be painful. But I need to know. I need to know who he is. Really is.

His face is surprisingly still as I graduate from primer to full-on foundation. Here we go. My brother is now officially wearing real makeup. Makeup for big girls. I must keep going to find out if he is one.

I dab the blender all over his face and his neck. It's not long before it's covered, but I briefly swap to a concealer to clean up a couple of razor bumps on the neck and chin.

His shaking stops. He might be calming down. I feel for a pulse, in case I've somehow killed him - no such crime committed today.

"Max?" I quietly ask. Nothing. Not even a muffled 'huh?' from checking his status on long trips in the car.

I don't want to wake him if he is sleeping. It might make my job a lot easier if he is. I'll have to do his eyelashes and liner at the end, but I can do that. His cheeks and contour will take nearly an hour to perfect.

As the latest Harry Styles song plays softly from the phone like a soothing whisper to a child, I start to think about Max. Is he dreaming? And if he is, is Maxine there? I don't know if that's a question I can ask him without it seeming like I'm deciding all of this for him. I know he isn't happy. School doesn't help, but that can't be all it is. I'm convinced this is the best I can do for him. That doesn't mean it's right or that I'm completely comfortable doing it. In less than an hour, both our lives could be changed forever.

His contour is done - it was as taxing as it first appeared to suggest. I don't want him to look like a drag queen. I want him to look like me. Like Maxine. Like himself. A lacklustre contour gives off a cheap vibe. Maxine deserves better than a rushed job. Also, I owe it to myself to make sure she looks spectacular. My sister can't be letting me have all the good looks!

Lips are the same for most people - line then fill. I'm using a bold, dark red tonight. Why be so tame if this is a one-off? The colour also matches the skirt. It's one of my favourites to use with my own uniform. I'll see Max in those same clothes in a bit, just as soon as his eyes are sorted.

That involves waking him up. I try to do his eyeshadow while he sleeps. The brush must be too tickly, because he wakes up as soon as I start adding colour.