Eyes

She painted eyes on her bare knees using her mother's black eyeliner. When she heard the kitchen door open she slipped on her baggy carpenter's blue jeans and came downstairs. Unload the car Janet, her mother said angrily. Mom's always crabby, she thought as she unpacked the bags: paper towels, boxes of yellow Dial soap to match the upstairs bathroom, frozen orange juice, raisins, a block of sharp cheddar cheese, a whole chicken, a head of celery, baby shampoo, and rye bread. While she put things away she remembered the eyes, a secret she could contemplate. She imagined being able to see through her drawn eyes even though they were in the dark.