You love me so and I define you and always have. I am your treasured possession. Some say you are vain because of me. Now your worth is measured by how many times a hair tie can wrap around me from your grasp.
When I was youthful, tawny blonde to your waist, I was 2 wraps thick.
Surrounding blissful fantasy with “Undercover Angel” blasting. Roll down the windows in your ‘72 Firebird, watch me whip and dance. We both love that tussled, rolled out of bed look. I am seductive and wild and poetic.
Messy and full, your fingers combed me.
When you feel the bubbling crush, you thread and twist my ends, rhymically. I never tangle. Smooth my lively ends through loquaciousness and side smiles with men like him. That out-of-reach man. Sip a drink. Shift in your seat.
You craved to be called Darling Dear by someone.
Every summer as I transform you into a mermaid, voices from above muffle as we push under the soft, clear, warm water. Freedom allows me to create dancing abstract paintings underneath the surface tension.
I was thousands of sun infused golden undulating pulses.
There is no hiding under my fullness although sometimes you try. Privately you like how I cover your breasts with oomph. Only a few men you chose with care are allowed to kiss and caress my haunting essence.
Even fewer experienced my braid untying.
The gown of your dreams sublime with pale pink underlay praises the simplicity of the floral wreath veil, corralling coils of a triple braid updo. I hope that this new feeling of enchantment extends forever. It is August 1982 and 82 degrees.
I rebelled, displaying my trademark straw stray wisps as the dancing began.
With each child treasure you bear; I’m cut shorter and shorter. Those tiny, dimpled hands love to grab me in fistfuls. During these baby years I take liberty leaving some of me in the shower drain or on the bathroom floor. Quickly recovering though.
You didn’t notice anything because I was still two wraps thick.
Unless I am simply too short, you sweep me up into a clip or bun for workdays. We admire the neatly pinned look. Smart and sophisticated. I sense the tighter the better. You are secure and so am I.
Those were the days when you’d have Peter, your hairdresser, add fine golden streaks.
You rarely have anyone new, speaking of hairdressers, or stylists, or colorists. In our sixty-eight years, other than your scissor happy sister just “trimming the ends,” you allow only men and permit three in forty years. I must say you are quite loyal. Or could you be distrusting?
There was one woman, you didn’t like her touch or how she wore sandals and chewed gum.
Love to tell you that some of me – surprise! – might be grey. I know exactly how much. You don’t. Coloring me before any glaring sign of the greys came to light is brilliant. This secret I cover for you every four to six weeks. Another secret, I am stealth as I slowly creep away.
Jeffrey has known my ideal formula for the past eight years. Genius.
One year ago, while pulling weeds in July’s blazing sun, pouring sweat from your crown, a raised red band appears encircling the line I make connecting to your face. An angry blast. It happens over time, only I know that, but you notice it starkly that day. Lost is my artistic line which frames your oval face.
Sadness and worry washed around and inside your head.
Because you love me so much and knew you were losing me – a rally to save me. Some of the ventures are unreliable. Painful frequent scalp injections. Ineffective. Medications not without side effects on your gut. Persistent, you try every remedy and many doctors.
Resistant, I’m sorry I was resistant.
There is nothing we can do together when the body turns on itself. The news is scarring and scarring is the news. Reduced to three. I cannot return to a thick braid unraveling nor bloom my sweet tendrils against your temples. I will remain sassy yet only three wraps thick.
c.k.Slack is a retired pediatric dentist who has loved and embraced writing her entire life. Now living in Pittsburgh, PA. “Confessions of My Truth-Telling Tresses,” a non-fiction monologue, is her first publication of any kind.
