TreAna D. McDonald - MY HAIR
TreAna is an aspiring writer who moved from Maryland to Orlando to study creative writing. In her free time she enjoys reading, singing and dance. She writes to give others a glimpse into her reality and imagination.
Just one more time all the way through and then I’ll look like something. The thick comb snaps and leaves the handle in my hands.
“Dammit, I swear everyday it just gets harder and harder to do this,” I sigh in defeat. My hands hop over my head trying to find the biggest part of the comb and detangle it from my deadly snarls. “I honestly hate my hair, it never wants to work with me.” I throw the pieces of the comb in the trash and leave the bathroom.
My head turns to the mirror on the dresser; honey brown eyes, warm cocoa skin, small round nose, full lips and a fluffy mane of curls and waves stare back at me. I groan and pull at the strands trying to flatten them to my skull but despite my efforts they just bounce back.
“I hate you and I wish you were just straight and flat like the other girls. But no, you like to be puffy and all over the place and break brushes, combs, and hair ties,” I say looking at the pieces in my face. My mom hears my commotion and comes to check on me.
“Sweetie, what’s all the stomping for? You sound like you have elephants in here,” she says as she cocks her head at me.
“Mama, it’s my hair. It never does what I want and is always making me look bad,” I say while wiping away my frustrated tears. She smiles softly and begins to pet my head, soothing me. I unknowingly turn into her touch and my tears slowly stop falling.
“Do you know why you are so lucky to have this hair, Tamara?” Her eyes find mine as I shake my head. “You are lucky because it’s a beautiful gift that you can wear however you want. Do you remember when you were a little girl and I would put those beads in your hair and you would dance all around the house?” she says holding my face.
“Of course I do. I liked the colors and the ever changing music my hair made for me.” I smile now. I used to skip down the street just to let everyone know I was coming. My hair sounded like the pattering of rain down a window and the more I moved the stronger the storm became. “One of my favorite styles was when I would just let it be wild and free. It would surround my head like a globe and go with the flow of the wind.”
“That’s right,” she laughs “You are lucky to have such a crown of hair as thick as a forest and softer than cotton candy with vines that defies gravity. Your hair is a reminder of your power my young queen, be proud of it.” she places me in front of the mirror and I can see what she is talking about. My hair is a collection of raven, mahogany, and coffee colored tendrils of curly waves all intricately woven together to form my hair. “ And if it makes you feel any better some people make themselves broke trying to buy what you were given naturally.”
I laugh thinking of a few people try to achieve my level of hair and the silly ways they go about it. I turn my head and examine my hair at different angles in the light. Mama did make a point, my hair is uniquely me and won’t be found exactly the same anywhere else. It’s not all that terrible when you think about it, just challenging at times. “Well, I can see what you’re saying and I guess you were right and I was…less right,” I say turning to face her.
She beams at me and gives me one last hug. “Besides, if it really can’t stand it like you say there is always option number two,” she says shrugging her shoulders. I feel my eyebrows knit together and frown slightly in confusion. She runs her hand over my hair and says, “Cut it all off and be bald like your dad.”
My jaw hits the floor and I back away in horror clutching my hair to me. I laugh at her, shaking my head. “Don’t even joke like that mama. I could never do something like that in a million years.”
“And why is that, Tamara? I think you could pull off the babydoll look.” Her eyes twinkle with obvious enjoyment.
“Because I love my hair,” I say with a smile.