Extreme Makeover

Extreme Makeover
by
Gerrie Beck

I stand before the cameras and their lights.  I am in the turquoise gown that they gave me.  My hair now glistens with blonde highlights and falls to my shoulders in cascading waves, my nails manicured, my whitened teeth shine a smile bigger than the sun.  Applause is slowly receding from my ears as I walk onto the stage, remembering to walk the way they showed me, I continue to the right, turn, then head to the left, turn.  I remember to sway my hips, not obviously so, but as gentle as the tide coming into the shore.  I am the product of an extreme makeover.  I had wanted, begged for it, cried for it, written a letter of my complete degredation in life (or so I thought) because of this and that, the eventual jail term for shoplifting, and then my body; its sagging breasts, more than rotund belly and the lack of a strong jaw with shiny, straight teeth.  I did have a husband, who for some reason stayed with me through some very rough years.  He was in the audience somewhere smiling and probably wondering what my body would feel like beneath his ever adept hands.  I will have to wait a few more hours for that.  I was breathing in deep and trying to remember the sequences of breaths I learned when studying meditation.  Yes, count one, two, three, hold the breath for five seconds, release, repeat.  I was already feeling a little lightheaded but much more relaxed.  It had worked.  I strutted my body before the cameras with ease, my body undulating as I grew more comfortable with the cameras. 

Jake and I almost got divorced.  I didn’t want our marriage to disintegrate.  We had too much invested in one another, too much emotion, the codependency was ever present.  I even went into therapy for a year to break the cycle.  That was yet another experience that pushed me over the edge to apply for the makeover.  The therapist was handsome and I suppose there was a lot of transference on my part which he took in with smugness, as if each patient should give him what he wanted -- complete adoration.  Once he asked me to sit on his lap.  I did, as a child, I put myself on his bent knees and looked into his eyes.  But he wasn’t Daddy, was he?  I never returned.  That was the start of my journey of healing.  It was an arduous one to say the least.  Jake accompanied me on this journey.  We initially ran around seeking all the 70’s religions, getting psychic readings, healings from yogis, encountering.  There was a point, we both went to AA.  Jake had been the heavy drinker and I went along on the ride.  It was easy enough.  I was in love.  I had a limit of three drinks because the blackouts started concerning me, but Jake, he would just keep it going, drink after drink.  Finally, I got dry.  He still goes off the wagon, but he persists in going to meetings.  He will make it one day.  I believe this.  I know there’s more in my psyche to explore.  God knows it’s probably endless when I think of what my mother had done to me; asking me to cover for her when she was having an affair.  How I wanted to tell Dad.  But she had a way of manipulating that was very, very good.  Let me leave all this maudlin past.  I am here before the lights, their rays of pink and yellow and blue spray over the stage and cover me in light.  My dress sparkles and my smile radiates.  Could there be anyone happier than me at this very moment.  No, I think not.