War Paint
The vixen before the mirror took one last look before her night out on the town. That mirror had always held a special place in her heart- it was the same mirror that her mother had used when she was her age, in heat for the right fox who it turned out, was a responsible and loving husband. Melissa was hoping for the same kind of male fox in her dating exploits.. Lately, she had been seeing a good-looking boyfriend who played football, one with a warrior heart who would very readily lay down his life for her, one who would be a patient and kind father to her future cubs if they ever decided to marry after high school. As she fixed her eyes and put on the little black dress, she thought of the many lame excuses he had given her- like all males, he was deathly afraid of commitment, afraid of saying farewell of the wild oats-sowing days of his youth so soon. She had put up with them for quite a while for years in fact, but in the last week of school she would stake her claim. She had fixed her golden eyes on him and they would be wed eventually but the move must be made today. This would be her fantasy if she could keep him from getting away.
She painted her face with unguents and ointments with names that sounded like they came from a Gypsy wagon and chemical compositions that would require an advanced degree in chemistry to understand their function. "Vixen's Glow" would amplify the red in her fur, "Black Widow" would make her nose more ebony than the darkest night, a "Venus' Sword" razor for the white ear fur- everything so painstakingly and meticulously organized (though not as meticulously researched) as only a teenage girl could organize them. Why did she buy all these dubious beauty products, why did she invest so much money and authority in what the fashion magazines said? For the sake of attracting a suitable mate. But the war paint she applied the most was the redness and angry heat and the salty tears of not being the most popular with the boys. But all that was to be rectified in one graceful evening with her boyfriend, Perry. "He's mine" and "I'll have a good husband" were the battlecries she painted the night with, bright red words she intended to assert her claims with, to bruise the hearts of all the other girls who wished to suit Perry, who was himself quite a popular male with all the species.
Vanity had become her drug, and she was now hopelessly addicted, almost overdosed to the point of a broken bank account, using all the part-time job on beauty tomes, designer clothes, and overpriced cosmetics. And this vanity had made her proud and puffed-up to the point that when she looked in the mirror, Melissa saw only what she wanted to see. To the beautiful and the wise, the mirror always lies.
Across the town, Perry was getting ready himself, staring at a mirror- not part of a vanity (apt name for that piece of furniture) but a bathroom mirror, decorated with his kid brother's cartoon character stickers. He, too was a victim of vanity and pride but not to the same extent. Vanity took the form of image- how to wear the cool blue masculinity like the leather jacket and sunglasses and the tight blue jeans that screamed manly-man as it did for decades. Well-built for a fox, he had overcome the coach's predictions for his species and become a very capable wide receiver in part to his speed and power. And yet he was from a broken home- his father ran off with a cocktail waitress when he was ten and his heart glowed with a red-orange hatred towards his father. Forcing his brother to be the sole breadwinner of a family that would otherwise be on the national handbag was already bad enough but why would Natan forsake the joys of fatherhood, the confirmation at the church, Friday nights under the lights of a high school field, graduation for the fleeting joys of a lusty cocktail waitress?. So he carried this eternally-angry ultra-masculine façade to mask his insecurities. And what else could he do- the leather jackets and the pomade for his head-fur, the switchblades were the camouflage and armor for a damaged warrior, which he saw in the mirror?
He could not make any more lame excuses to Melissa, her upper-class upbringing and her caring parents would be the salvation from having no father figure. Here was someone who actually looked forward to having a father-in-law, as odd as that may sound. But he knew that salvation would only knock once- tonight before he would drive out, graduation already taken care of and college far away calling the fox's name. He was a knight who would charge in and claim his princess, all on his powerful steed, a muscular car that his brother bought for him. And he would take that princess only if he was up for a fight against forces both external and internal.
In Perry's mind, the drums of war were constantly beating to a marching tune. They would compel this fox warrior, as proud and ferocious as an Apache brave out of red anger and frustration to walk the streets of his hometown foolishly picking fights- he wore the scars of battle, shiners over the eyes, stab wounds on his arms but he had not been killed so in his mind he was still undefeated. The fox took great pride in his many battle scars but the eyes that saw these wounds were filled with distortion and hazy- the psychological toll of these fights was great on Perry's mind as he painted the night with his blood-red battlecries and obscenities.
Vanity had become his drug, and it was very close to an overdose, but unlike his girlfriend this would have far more deadly consequences than merely blowing a bank account. One more fight against someone else like him, a belligerent and unloved creature trying to prove his masculinity might be the one which pushed him over the edge into the midnight-black and burning afterlife. And yet in the scars, glimpsed through blackened eyes he only saw what he wanted to see. To the powerful and the wise, the mirror always lies.
And yet the saddest tragedy of this story, of these two foxes from two very different lives saw something in each other that was absent in their lives. Melissa sought strength and protection in her lover, Perry sought redemption from a scarred past in her. Their conceit, their opinions of themselves had become their pride. All their ambitions in each other were in actuality illusions that would stand in the way of true love and the dreams they had were only self-delusions. They only loved each other for what the other could bring them, not for their inherent self-worth. And the two vulpines had spent weeks preening in front of mirrors, checking everything they had trying to match up to an impossible ideal, a mirror which would find them ugly, unattractive failures every single time.
Minutes before he would come over, Melissa decided that she would have to ignore what the lying mirror said and discover her true self-worth in the paws of her beloved. "I can't keep buying more and more stuff- I'm pretty enough as it is. I'm sure he'll love me for who I am, not what I wear. I've been trying to buy my way into beauty not aware it was in me this whole time. How foolish I have been!"
And Perry, looking into the mirror of his convertible made much the same decision- he would have to be assured in his masculinity not dependent on picking fights but providing for those weaker than he was- foremost among them being Melissa. If it meant breaking the chain of poverty and violence, he would have to try. "This is my ticket out of the gutter, my salvation from my own rash behavior, an end to all the fighting. I am a gentle warrior, fighting only to save those I love not for the sake of picking fights. She'll want me to be a provider and protector, not a tormentor."
And when the two foxes, very much in love met they would shed their masks, her useless make-up and mascara, his reckless scars which contained the memories of fights, they shared an intimate knowledge that would be their inseparable bond, for a future of matrimony. All this for finding out what they lacked- a sense of self-worth and in being together, finding in each other security and happiness. This would not have been possible if they did not paint that distrustful and lying mirror, which was hurling the burning arrows of rejection and inadequacy, black.
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