The Apotheosis of Ugly

When I speak of a model, most men
think of a beautiful woman.

But my model is a hag from the streets.
We talked as I sketched. I said that
she must have had an interesting life.

She smiled a contorted grin, missing
two front teeth. She corrected me saying
that life wasn’t interesting, it was more
like hell.

I asked about the deep scar on her cheek.
"It came from a jealous boyfriend," she
answered. Opening her mouth and
pointed to the hole where teeth should be
"Same guy, still I love him,“ she said.

It all started when she was fifteen. She
was gang raped behind the high school
bleachers. She was too embarrassed and
afraid to tell anyone.

Each line on her face marked a drunken stupor
where she tried to drown her pain. Her left
shoulder was droopy, arthritic from sleeping on
the ground
Her face was gray; she had matted brown hair
that clung to her dirty face. She was more than
happy with the 20 bucks I paid her for posing.
She said that for $20 she would dance on the table
or most anything else.

When we were finished, she wanted to see my
work. She stared deeply into the canvas. Tears
welled up in her eyes and splashed down her
cheeks. She choked out, "Do I really look like that?"