Skin Deep

I thought she would be beautiful!
Long blonde hair that looked well conditioned and soft. She wore a smart black suit and had a neat figure. The young girl sat in front of me on a side seat but was turned away from me as she applied her morning make up; pausing between stops and waiting for the bus to come to a halt at traffic lights to execute the tricky bits.

A young, fresh faced soldier in his camouflage uniform, standing by the doors, watched her. Attracted by her hair I thought, as it swayed with her motions and by the pretty crossing of her legs as she changed position but sat, still turned away from us to catch the light for her on-going work of art.

I hadn't noticed her get on. I only spotted her as I glanced up from the latest novel that kept me occupied on the hour long journey.
Ruth Rendell and yet another crime for Wexford to solve.

By comparison, the young woman who sat next to her and who kept giving her sideways glances, wore no make up at all and I desperately wanted to say to her that she would have benefited from a little colour in the drab, colourless face that seemed to be in need of moisturiser at least; for it was an attractive face with good features but oh so dull and neglected. I wondered why she didn't bother. Was it just that she didn't feel the need to enhance her features? Or that she didn't care?
Was it my imagination or did the woman look uncomfortable as she caught glimpses of the young girl's cosmetic routine?

The masterpiece in the making continued throughout most of the journey.  A brush fluttered across her cheeks at Surrey Hills and a lipstick kissed lips that were full and wide at Monument.  This I watched through the tiny mirror she held. A teasing glimpse of nose or eye but never a full face...

An old man, leaning his gnarled hands on a walking stick which he balanced between his knees, sat staring.  His view better than mine; his rheumy eyes flitted across her face and settled on the array of brushes in her hands with a bemused expression and then lost interest and stared out of the window.

At Town Hall the finished work of art alighted and I was afforded my first viewing - and was disappointed; as one so often is when expectations are high.  The young face was too long for beauty and the make up too thick and inexpert and therefore, the illusion of perfection was spoiled. 
Maybe without make up she would have been beautiful... ?
Maybe the other woman had the right idea after all but just hadn't taken care of herself.  Or maybe her life was a trial that had left its story in the lines of her face.

The young girl's place was taken by an ageing man who looked like an old Rocker.  His long grey hair, thinning now, parted in the middle and tied back.  Tattoos peeped above his worn shirt collar and his features looked haggard and worn with age and life in general. 
He totally ignored his surroundings and immediately sat and began prodding impatiently at his phone, the screen seemingly unresponsive and I thought -

'You should have bought an iPhone'!