The Haus of Roots and Secrets

The salon was alive with sounds of clients talking over driers, electric razors humming, and Millennial jams grinding in the background. Had it not been a weekday, I wouldn't have been able to recognize the song so quickly. Deee-Lite's Groove is in the Heart. Classic.

I settled into the chair, my eyes watering at the chemical smell just one station over, as Daniel cast the drape over me with a bullfighter flourish.

"Girl, look at these roots!" he teased with a bounce in his step.

Daniel had a dancer background and was a mainstay in the local theatre community. He held an Equity card, had an impressive side hustle as a wig and make-up artist, and was even prettier in drag. All cheekbones.

"Well, if someone wasn't in New York, I could've scheduled this earlier," I clapped back.

From the mirror, he stared back at me, lips pursed, arching an impressively high eyebrow. Laughter bounced with our reflections. Daniel was a grooms-maid at my wedding. We'd gone to Vegas and saw Britney Spears in concert a few years back. Our friendship had evolved from client to confidant, and I loved this time with him--even if I did have to schedule it six weeks out.

I watched him rummage through drawers and cabinets for the tools he needed, already getting an earful of the Broadway shows he'd seen, celebrity encounters, his newest tattoo, and the next planned destination.

"The Notebook's coming to Dallas," he said, combing my part. "January, I think. You've got to go. It's incredible!"

My head bobbed despite the directive to keep still.

"I'd like that. Maybe we can go together."

"We'll see," he said.

What followed was a laundry list of scheduled commitments, prompting a balmy smile across my face. I expected this reply before even asking. Daniel was one year sober, had beaten cancer twice, and was living his best life doing what he loved. His lack of availability used to bother me, but knowing what he'd been through, that we could have lost him, I knew I'd never stop asking. Taking a number for my friend's quality time was a blessing in disguise.

"How's Stacey?" I asked.

Stacey was nothing more than an acquaintance. A well-known actress I'd seen perform a few months prior. It had been years since I'd personally been onstage, but Daniel's Haus of Roots and Secrets had all the tea. She was a safe topic, free of scandal to my knowledge. Self-maintenance aside, it was nice to be in the theatre loop for whenever (if ever) I decided to come out of retirement.

"She's good. I just finished a wig for her show with Rick." Daniel set a strip of foil on my scalp, then leaned in. "You heard about Rick and Kya, right?"

My chair squeaked. Kya and I were close friends, once upon a time. We'd had a falling out over something trivial, stupid in hindsight. Both of us were at fault. I'd tried to make amends with her on several occasions. Request denied.

"No," I winced. "Do I want to know?"

"They're getting a divorce."

His delivery was deadpanned, yet watchful, awaiting my response.

I folded in beneath the plastic sheet.

"That doesn't make me happy."

Daniel nodded. He’d been in my life long enough to witness the good, the bad, the ugly and even the questionable. I wouldn’t have to convince him of my sincerity. Divorce was statistically expected, comically so; and I was no stranger to it. Only those who have experienced the death of a marriage understand that kind of grief. How your whole world becomes uprooted, even when it’s liberating.

“I’d reach out to her,” I finally mumbled. “But she’s blocked me on everything.”

At this, he said nothing, patting my shoulder before motioning to the dryer.

Soon, halos of sunny heat were circling overhead. I pretended to read a fashion magazine, as wisps of hair swayed offbeat, the cosmetic cocoon humming almost loud enough to block my busy brain. Dwelling on Kya and this new information would take me farther than I wanted to go. But I still felt the tug of helplessness. Compassion undelivered, an open door just out of reach.

Daniel answered a call at the front desk, scheduling a haircut before checking on my color.

“No more roots!” He sang. “Let’s get you to the sink.”

This was my favorite part. Sudsy temples. Minty bursts of calm massaging tension I couldn't untangle on my own. And though it’s washed away, the ritual always left me lighter.

“I wish Kya could see me now,” I confessed between rinses. “I’m not who I was.”

He wiped his hands. “No, you’re not.”

When I'd hit rock bottom after my divorce, a lot of folks grew tired of me. Looking back, it's understandable. I was moody and super-sensitive, would flake out of commitments, and wasn't ready to pull myself up by the bootstraps. There was only so much support that they could give. Thankfully, Daniel stuck around. And though a part of me would always be embarrassed, whenever I was in this space, he wouldn't let me feel anything but safe.

Daniel ushered me back to his station and started pruning my dead ends.

“If you see Kya, would you tell her I said hello?" I offered. "That I only wish good things for her?”

The snips softened. He knew what I was getting at. Suffering makes you guarded, but it also makes you generous.

"Of course."

Such a handoff could only be delivered by a trusted ally. Daniel was Switzerland, a witness waiting in the wings. My words could reach Kya and fail to resonate. That wouldn't stop them from being true.

Daniel turned the chair toward the mirror and handed me a second one so I could inspect the back.

"What do you think?" he asked.

I smiled at the transformation.

"Life's better blonde. It hides the gray."

His slow blink was a valiant effort to protect my dignity. He was supposed to argue that I didn't have any gray hairs, but we'd long since moved past polite fiction. One more truth tucked safely in the vault.

A grin slipped through anyway. Daniel's wasn't far behind.

There’s a clever kind of magic to getting your hair done. You go in to cover your roots and leave wondering why they bothered you in the first place.

We all have something buried beneath the surface, but not everyone gets to see what grows afterward.