The first time my mom woke me up in the middle of the night, I was 6 years old.

Yellow light poured into the room, visible under my eyelids. A cold hand on my forehead and an unfamiliar smell—punchy and sharp, like acetone. In my half-awake state, I thought, for a moment, that I may have been getting my nails done, like my mom did for me twice a month—a tall, brown chair, and, “Sit still, Chrissy!” 

I sat still.

The pressure on my forehead was replaced by two firm lips. The acetone smell crept down my throat. I opened my eyes.

“You look terrified.” My mom’s voice, slow and thick and too quiet. I blinked. Blinked again. Didn’t move. Sit still, Chrissy.

She shifted on my legs. My bed was too small. The leather of her pants squeaked against itself.

“I want-ta show you my new look.” A sharp, punchy laugh, over almost before it started. It echoed like a bark in the silent room. I tried to suppress a wince. Maybe I did a bad job, because she put her hand back on my forehead, just as cold as before. I wanted to sleep.

“My eyebrows. Look, baby.” I looked. “Look.” I tried to open my eyes wider to show that I was really, really looking. It hurt my forehead.

Her eyebrows were thick, dark lines, geometric caterpillars crawling off of the flat planes of her face. They were uglier than I had ever seen them before, when I would stand next to her, the mirror too tall for me, watching her draw them on with shaking hands.

“What do you think?”

I didn’t care. I wanted to sleep. But I knew to keep my eyes wide, to nod, to speak. “I like them.” I had never been awake this late.

Cold palm still on my forehead, her thumb began to caress my blonde eyebrows, pushing the hairs back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I closed my eyes. I wanted to sleep.

“Look at me.” Eyes open. Sit still, Chrissy, stay awake, Chrissy. “Yours are sparse, just like mine. We’ll get them done some day.

I hoped not. “Okay.”

I hadn’t realized how heavy she was on my legs until she stood up. Her presence was so loud—bracelets hitting each other, leather squeaking, high-heeled boots on tile.

She walked out and closed the door. I loosened.