Open Your Eyes II
I imagine all those protein molecules being broken down and destroyed to apply a screaming color I said I wanted on my hair but really I don't. It was "Meet Us." The text from Adrianna, Gitt, and Bev and what they said when I arrived (how they felt sorry for me after what Julio did) that sinks into my wet head and feels like a blast of cold from the air conditioner. And what these popular girls know seems worse than all the lies I've ever told, all the worst things I've ever done, a lot like the permanent color I agreed to.
Peals of laughter pierce the quiet foil bubble around my head.
“You’re gonna love this.” Adrianna says.
“It looks better than red,” Bev says.
“Would you two shut-up?” Gitt asks. She smiles at me but I do not smile back and I keep all of my movie star teeth covered.
When I have been shampooed, cut, and dried, I imagine hair the color of wheat in the summer sun.
I see a hair magazine with Katy Perry on the cover with blue highlights in her hair.
“I don’t want Katy Perry hair,” I say.
Gitt laughs first and then Bev, and then Adrianna joins in too. I squeeze my eyes shut feeling overstuffed of this reality and wishing I could disappear into a new one or just plain disappear.
“Wanna open your eyes?” The stylist asks.
“You're no Katy Perry.” Gitt says. “I could take a picture and send it to Soccer Boy. But it isn’t as good as the one of you dancing at my party with Julio and then there’s that other image. You and smoke. At this all of them giggle and it’s almost as if my brain attempts to soften the sound of what they’ve just said. It is like I am in a foreign land. I stare in the mirror and then at the other girls, and I do not understand what I see or what they say.
Why did you lie about having cancer? Don’t you think that was mean? There are people that actually have it.
What’s up with Smoke?
Julio says your name is Emily.
“Just call me stupid,” I say. I show all of my crooked teeth. And I wonder how long it will take them to bring up Mickey. (They must know that we are friends even if they don’t know yet that he has asked me to the prom.)
My hair looks like it was highlighted with fruit punch and not the diluted kind Ally likes to make for Thom, but full strength, a deep, dark pink. Next to the lighter shades of honey, my head looks like a messed up candy cane. Perfect for prom.
If I pretend that each cherry pink strand doesn’t feel like a big, ugly bruise, maybe my hair, my day, and my whole bad life will change back to the beginning of fourth grade, when I had the best of friends and the best dad.
It’s hair Em. That pink goes real good with the red on the Clipper’s jersey.
Peals of laughter pierce the quiet foil bubble around my head.
“You’re gonna love this.” Adrianna says.
“It looks better than red,” Bev says.
“Would you two shut-up?” Gitt asks. She smiles at me but I do not smile back and I keep all of my movie star teeth covered.
When I have been shampooed, cut, and dried, I imagine hair the color of wheat in the summer sun.
I see a hair magazine with Katy Perry on the cover with blue highlights in her hair.
“I don’t want Katy Perry hair,” I say.
Gitt laughs first and then Bev, and then Adrianna joins in too. I squeeze my eyes shut feeling overstuffed of this reality and wishing I could disappear into a new one or just plain disappear.
“Wanna open your eyes?” The stylist asks.
“You're no Katy Perry.” Gitt says. “I could take a picture and send it to Soccer Boy. But it isn’t as good as the one of you dancing at my party with Julio and then there’s that other image. You and smoke. At this all of them giggle and it’s almost as if my brain attempts to soften the sound of what they’ve just said. It is like I am in a foreign land. I stare in the mirror and then at the other girls, and I do not understand what I see or what they say.
Why did you lie about having cancer? Don’t you think that was mean? There are people that actually have it.
What’s up with Smoke?
Julio says your name is Emily.
“Just call me stupid,” I say. I show all of my crooked teeth. And I wonder how long it will take them to bring up Mickey. (They must know that we are friends even if they don’t know yet that he has asked me to the prom.)
My hair looks like it was highlighted with fruit punch and not the diluted kind Ally likes to make for Thom, but full strength, a deep, dark pink. Next to the lighter shades of honey, my head looks like a messed up candy cane. Perfect for prom.
If I pretend that each cherry pink strand doesn’t feel like a big, ugly bruise, maybe my hair, my day, and my whole bad life will change back to the beginning of fourth grade, when I had the best of friends and the best dad.
It’s hair Em. That pink goes real good with the red on the Clipper’s jersey.
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