Tightly Wound
“Momma, I’m sorry, I just can’t do my hair as good as you can,” I say meekly. I’m met with a sigh.
“Fine. Grab a stool to sit on and bring it to the bathroom. I’m going to be late again, though.” I fetch the stool from the other room, but I can feel frustration through the wall. I return and sit down with my mother standing behind me. I stare at her in the mirror. Her brown hair comes down just past her ears; I can tell she straightened it by the way it curves inward and hides the corners of her eyes. I think she is the most beautiful person in the world. She’s started spraying my dark curls with water, but she misses and squirts me in the eye.
“Cassidy, sit still,” she says sternly as I jerk away out of reflex. She’s just upset because she’s running behind schedule. I can tell she feels bad when her face begins to soften.
“You have gorgeous hair. Never straighten it; it’ll never be the same. It gets damaged and thin,” she warns. We have this conversation every morning. Normally, I give a small nod and continue to stare off into the distance, but today I break routine.
“Why did you straighten your hair, Momma?”
“My mom straightened my hair every day when I was younger. That’s just how I learned to do my hair. You’re lucky I’ve learned to do yours”. She starts brushing my hair. “I’d do anything to have the hair you’ve got”. She’s brushing a lot harder now, almost yanking the brush through my hair. Some days she does this, and gets mad about my hair; those are the times I wish I could just straighten it, as if that wouldn’t make everything worse. Before she was my mom, she was Eris, a woman with gorgeous, flowy hair who never showed up late to work. Now she’s “Momma”, now she gets compliments on her daughter’s hair whenever we’re out together. I swear sometimes she tries to fall behind so it looks like we don’t know each other.
“Was I worth it, Momma?”
“It depends on how much trouble I get in for being late today,” she teases as she puts away my hair products. My scalp still hurts. “You know I love you, right Cass?”
“Yeah, I know. I love you”. She leaves the bathroom, puts on her blazer, and leaves to go to work. I look at myself in the mirror, still sitting on the stool. My thin frame looks even smaller with my hair teased like this. I try to smooth out my hair and fix what I can while it’s still damp. Otherwise it dries a frizzy mess.