HAIR

Serena put my hair up in a in a French braid. I've always wanted a French braid, but I'm horrible at doing it myself. Most of the girls at school have such beautiful hair. I'm stuck with this frizzy, messy mop of red curls. When Serena, one of the more popular girls — who has the shiniest and slickest, most beautiful black hair I've ever seen — wanted to do my hair at the slumber party, of course, I said she could.

It's amazing the difference a new hairstyle can make. Here I am, walking around like I’m beautiful or something, holding my head still lest I mess up the braided locks.

Eventually, I’ll have to take it down, and I'll be back to being frumpy me again; for the moment, I am one of the beautiful girls, with my beautiful hair.

I'm so glad Serena came to the party. I’m glad I came too, even though I didn’t really want to, at least, at first. Now I can’t wait for school tomorrow.

#

Serena and I will meet at the salon to get fixed up for graduation. We both want to get our hair straightened smooth and then put into those fancy up-dos so popular in fashion right now. We spent hours going through the magazines to find the right ones for our face types and to match our dresses. In fact, we probably spent more time on the hairstyles than we actually spent on the dresses.

She is tall and slender, with gaunt features and haunted blue eyes. I, on the other hand, have brownish-green eyes to go with my reddish-brown hair that is still a frizzy, messy mop. Serena could be a fashion model. I pale in comparison to her, quite literally, indeed, with my freckles and red-headed fair skin.

Somehow, Serena always manages to bring out the beauty in me, and the hairstyle she picked for me... well, I can't wait to see what we look like in the graduation photographs.

#

Sam tells me through the closed dressing room door that Serena is on her way, and I hope she hurries. She's going to do my hair for the wedding, because there's no one else I would trust with my locks on this day except Serena. Not only did she graduate first in her class at the beauty college, but she spent two years in Hollywood — Los Angeles, California, glitter and glitz — learning movie studio makeup and hair. It makes sense to me. She’s always made me look like a movie star.

I haven't seen her in forever, it seems, but she is coming back for my wedding, not just to be my Maiden of Honor, but also to make sure my hair is perfect, like only she can.

I can't wait to see her again. It's been much too long.

#

Serena brushes back my hair and wipes the sweat off my brow. Sam is away in the Gulf somewhere, and the baby is early. I'm so glad Serena moved back to town and gave up her dreams of stardom in the glitter cities. I don't think I could go through this alone.

I never knew such pain existed until these contractions threatened to rip my body in half. Thank God Serena cut my hair just last night. It'll be so much easier to take care of once the baby and I get to go home. She always has had amazing timing.

Oh, man... I feel another contraction coming on. I can't wait to meet my new son or daughter.

#

A bottle of wine and a bottle of hair coloring gel, together with a box of tissue and a gallon of ice cream, and Serena by my side. We will drink the wine, dye the hair, and smear the ice cream anywhere we choose. Black, the color of night, the color of darkness — the color of the hair of a grieving wife of a dead soldier — will take the place of my ruddy locks that I've known for so long. Even my son, Evan, won't recognize me when I'm done.

Maybe the grief will consume me, so I don't have to show up at the funeral.

I can do this, Serena tells me, while she combs the dye through my hair, and I believe her, because she's never lied to me. I just wish I felt as sure as she did that I would recover. Part of me feels dead. As dead as Sam.

Empty.

Tomorrow is the funeral. I can't wait to get this over with.

#

It's just a date, she tells me, but I know Serena. She always has other plans for me; she dreams big, big plans. She probably already has me married to this guy and living happily ever after. Not going to happen, but I'll let her have her illusions. Anyway, I tell her it’s not like she’s dating anyone. Come to think of it, for as long as I’ve known her, I don’t think Serena has ever dated anyone.

I tell her I'm glad my hair is back to a more normal color for me again. The black I stuck with for two years after Sam died was simply not me. Serena says she liked it, but that she thinks my red hair — which is now a lovely shade of shimmering auburn, thanks to Serena — is gorgeous. I do too, and I never really did before. Serena did a lovely spiral-curled permanent wave on it a few days ago, and she's coming over early tonight to help me get ready for the date.

I'm not sure I can ever be ready to marry anyone again, but I can't wait to see what this guy is like.

#

I wake to her smile, and I can't help but smile myself. Serena gently brushes my hair back away from my face, cupping my cheek with the palm of her hand. I ask her why she never told me, and she answers that she thought I always knew.

The smile fades from her face for a moment. She climbs out of the bed we shared last night, and then she says she'll do my hair before we pick Evan up for college break. I can't believe how fast time has flown, that my little boy is all grown up.

I move to sit and watch Serena's face while she brushes and pulls through the tangled mess that is my unkempt auburn locks.

Do you remember? I ask her, referring to the first time she ever brushed my hair. I tell her of how frumpy I felt that day, how awed I was that someone so beautiful as she would deign to brush my hair; mine, of all people.

Her smile fades again for a moment, before she looks at me through the mirror but directly into my eyes, and says, "Haven't you always known?"

But I haven't always known. I've missed so very, very much. I push it to the side though, because this weekend is supposed to be all about Evan. I can't wait to see my son again.

#

Just another bump in the road, she says, but this time, I see what's behind the smile. This time, I know. I know better. She brushes out her own hair, carefully pulling the soft bristles through every strand. I will never understand how she can be so strong, so confident through everything. I struggle even now with so many years of knowing her so intimately to find the right words to say.

Sometimes, words simply fail.

I sit and watch her while she finishes brushing her hair. Then she takes the wig from the foam human-shaped head and carefully applies it to her hairless scalp. A quick adjustment and she looks just like the Serena I've always known and loved. Here, she says, she'll do my hair while I'm here.

I walk from the hospital with the classiest French braid.

I can't wait for her to be released and come back home to live with me, so I can take care of her like she deserves.

#

I have to make a choice, but I simply can't decide. Serena's always been the one to choose for me. I'm still, even after all these years, the frump who can't do much more with my wild locks than to hope to push them back into their semi-greying bun clip these days.

Evan.

I turn to him, while he stands in the doorway, waiting for me to decide which to take to them. "Which wig should Serena wear today: short or long?"

Evan moves to stand behind me, wearing his best Sunday church suit, and places his hands on my shoulders. He looks at me over the top of my head, through the mirror of the dressing table. He tells me she'll look beautiful in either one. I realize he's right, so I guess I really can't go wrong.

"It's just," I tell him, "she's always done my hair for me. I've never done hers."

"She would like anything you choose. Don’t you know that?"

I look in the mirror and see the reflections of the youthful friendship we once shared, flickers of the past.

Haven't I always known that?

I never knew. God, I wish I had known.

I ask Evan, "Will you help me with my hair?"

###