The Cure by Maryanne Chappell

The Cure by Maryanne Chappell

Ava looked in the mirror and studied her face. The lines were becoming more prominent. The clock on her modeling career was ticking faster with each passing year. And the botox could only slow the clock so long. Her eyes still looked good, but the lines forming by her nose and mouth were too noticeable. She sighed and stepped away from her vanity, resigned that the ticking clock would not work in her favor much longer.

She curled up on her bed covered with stuffed animals. She loved them; they made her feel young, and sometimes, just being near them made her feel better. She put her earbuds in and began listening to Sade, snuggled closer to the animals, reminiscing about her childhood, and fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes, she sat at a soda fountain in an old-time drugstore that she recognized. She’d often sat here as a child, in this seat. The lights were on, but it was dark outside, and no one was anywhere she could see, inside or out. It was quiet, but more so, it was creepy sitting at the counter alone.

She looked through the large pane-glass windows behind her, and they showed her a completely dark and lifeless street.

She turned and took in her surroundings: it was like she was in a Norman Rockwell painting. Everything she saw cried 1950’s.

Feeling trapped, she went to the front window and began banging on the glass. But no one saw or heard her. She looked in the distance and saw her house; smoke was coming from the side, and she saw fire licking the trees that overhung her garage. She screamed and tried banging the window harder, but it was useless; the town was deserted. She looked for a way to break the window but found nothing in the store that would work. Everything was bolted down.

Her house was burning out of control now, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Where were the police? The fire trucks? Anyone who lived near her? How could this be happening?

She put her back to the glass, not wanting to see her house reduced to ashes, and slid down until she sat on the floor. Tears began to flow, and her head hung in defeat.

“Nice to see you again, Miss. Would you like a chocolate soda today?”

Startled, she lifted her head and saw a man standing at the soda fountain with his hand on the pump. “What…?” she began.

“I said, would you like your regular chocolate soda? Or are you in the mood for strawberry today?” asked the man.

“Where did you come from? Wait, Mr. Henry, is that you?” Then, remembering her house, she yelled, “My house, it’s on fire! Please. Help me!” pointing toward the window.

“Don’t concern yourself with that; it’s just a technical glitch. We’ll get it sorted out in no time.”

“What are you talking about? It’s on fire…” she said, and as she turned back, she no longer saw the flames.

“I don’t know what’s happening here, but I must get home now.”

“Of course, just a few minutes of your time, and you can be on your way.” He smiled and invited her over with a wave of his hand.

She walked to the counter and sat down, having few choices available. She waited for the man to speak again.

“Now, what shall it be, chocolate or strawberry?”

“Chocolate,” she said resignedly.

After pouring her soda and dropping a fat scoop of chocolate ice cream into it, he slid it across the counter to her and said, “Drink up; I have a proposition I think will please you.”

Fear no longer gripped her, but her hackles were up, and she would turn her soda glass into a weapon if need be. “What’s your proposition?”

“I understand you are displeased with how time is changing your appearance. The unavoidable signs of aging create uncertainty and unease. Perhaps it even prevents you from pursuing your profession. Isn’t that true, dear?”

“Yes, but how do you know this?”

“Let’s not concern ourselves with the hows; rather, let us focus on a solution. A cure, as it were. Would you be interested?” He queried.

“There is no cure,” she protested.

“Ah, but there is. Would you like never to have another line touch your pretty face again? Consider it an offer from one old friend to another.”

“Well, yes, but I really don’t see…” she began.

“Don’t worry yourself; I have put something in your soda that will start you on your way. In return, all I ask is a very small favor from you. Come by once a week to visit me like you used to. Your seat will always be reserved for you.”

“No, how…?” But her eyes grew heavy and closed.

When she awoke, she was in her bed, feeling refreshed. The images started to return; that had to be a dream, she thought as she rose and passed by her mirror.

But something out of place caught her eye; a jar of cream sat on her vanity that she’d never seen before. She picked it up and read the label. “Apply every morning and before bed; removes wrinkles…permanently.”

Looking into the mirror, she shrugged, opened the jar, and began applying the cream. Feeling it saturate every pore, she sat closer and watched as the wrinkles faded from her face before her eyes.

She picked up the jar and looked more closely, but nothing else was written on it. The sands of time were truly reversing. She left it on longer than her usual cream and began cleaning her room.

When she returned to the mirror, she didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. She had no lines.

No nose, no mouth, no facial features whatsoever. Except for her eyes. Her beautiful eyes.

Smiling with her eyes, she thought, Perfect.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Maryanne Chappell 2024