Eviction

Shoes that twinkle, purses that whisper unflinching grace, shirts that say put together, pants that flatter and makeup to ice the cake was me.

My hair had a shine to it that only twenty something year olds possessed. Scrunchies could not even tie down the glassy hair. Vibrant, glowing, befitting of a porcelain doll but, I only saw straight, flat and unwilling to be held. Even the sizzling iron that burned my ears could not sustain a true curl. The smokey smell accompanied a desire for someone else’s hair. Lighter colored, soft waves and natural curls were crowned by Vogue and idealized by me. The greener side felt fuller - worthy. My hair was inadequate until ….

The follicles decided to release each strand of my black hair onto the white silky pillowcase. Each fallen hair was left desolate. Each piece confused. For they were well behaved; washed, conditioned, combed through. But they were not forewarned that they had a thirty-day eviction notice. One by one dismissed, without consent, nor a goodbye party.

I moved swiftly to catch my hair, but it behaved like confetti in a storm. I wanted superglue to fix the atrocity and soldiers to fight the inequity. For no outfit could hide bald.

The wig during summer months in Southern California was brutal. The fraudulence within only exaggerated the discomfort of bought hair. There was a steep learning curve to personify composure while scratching without having the wig move. On days I gave up the faux hair, I chose a fuchsia beret that matched my stylish purse. But I knew better - aligned colors could not disguise naked.

At that time, my doctor was uncertain about the efficacy of the prescribed cream and reminded me, “there are no guarantees, stop stressing which only makes it worse”. Uh oh, how do I do that? Calmly love my baldness? But I followed her instructions with the medication and left out the unachievable. I prayed to the hair gods, and my wish was granted two years later.

Now, I still appreciate every stand that has a home on my head, even the grey ones. I still worry for the ones that land on my pillow at night.

But, I am finally enough.

Photo by Vino Li on Unsplash