Read Online Unbeweaveable by Katrina Spencer - Free Book Online Page B

do to look good.”

Steel Wool
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy can’t you keep looking for other jobs—”
    â€œI have $227 in the bank. I can’t afford to keep doing this. I’ve already called and she agreed. Believe me, I wouldn’t if I had a choice.”
    â€œDon’t you have some jewelry you can pawn—”
    â€œI’ve already done that. I didn’t get half of what I paid for ’em.”
    â€œI can’t believe that you’re moving back. What will I do without you?”
    I was sitting on her couch the next day. She was a little more forgiving when she saw my new look, although she did say now she understood why my hair was such a big deal. With no job, no money, no hair, no man, and, looking at Norma’s growing stomach, no friend, I did the only thing I could think of—I called Beverly and begged her to come back home. After several pauses on her part and explanations on mine, she offered to send some money for a plane ticket. I would leave in two days.
    â€œYou’re going to have a beautiful baby girl. You won’t need me,” I said, hoping she replied that she would always need me.
    She did, of course; she was my best friend, after all. I nodded as she said the words I desperately needed to hear at the time.
    â€œWhat are you going to do with all your things?”
    â€œMy sister offered to ship them to Houston.”
    â€œThat was nice of her,” Norma said.
    â€œI guess,” I said, my eyes welling up with tears. She pulled me in for a hug and I cried long and hard. Ugly, animal-like groans and hiccups escaped my throat.
    â€œIt’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, rubbing my back. “It’s just hair.”
    â€œLook at my hair!” I wailed, sitting up, wiping my eyes. “It’s hideous! It’s so short—“
    â€œIt’s not all that bad.”
    â€œNot that bad! I look like Florida Evans!”
    Norma burst out laughing. “From Good Times ? I thought you weren’t allowed to watch that show?”
    Beverly refused to let Renee and I watch ethnic television , as she called it.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Good Times ?” I asked her once, after she caught me trying to watch an episode.
    â€œThere are no ‘good times’ in the ghetto!” she shouted.
    â€œGirl, give it some time,” Norma said. She reached out and touched my hair, then shrank back.
    â€œIt feels like a Brillo pad.”
    â€œLooks like one, too.”
    â€œMaybe your sister can hook you up, you know, help you re-train your hair to its former glory?”
    â€œWhat former glory? This is how my hair looks. It straightens a little bit with a relaxer, but it mostly looks like steel wool on my head.”
    She patted my hand.
    â€œMaybe you can buy a wig.”

 
    Hair brings one’s self-image into focus;
    it is vanity’s proving ground.
    Hair is terribly personal,
    a tangle of mysterious prejudices.
    â€”Shana Alexander

Cotton Ball
    I was five years old when I realized that I was ugly. Well, not exactly ugly, but not as pretty as my sister Renee. We were at a party, I can’t remember what kind, and my mother introduced us to her friends using our nicknames—Cotton Ball for me, and Princess for my sister. And she did look like a princess with her long wavy brown hair that fell below her waist, her brown eyes with flecks of emerald, her light skin the color of whipped cream.
    Being ugly wasn’t even the worst part; it was the dim in my mother’s eyes when I entered the room, like a lamp that’s been cut off; her smile toward me just wouldn’t be as bright as it was for my sister.
    â€œAm I ugly?” I asked her one day after school when the teasing was really bad.
    She dropped her embroidery hoop and looked at me. “Do you think you’re ugly?”
    I shrugged.
    â€œWell, do you or don’t