Blossom With Clarity

Chapter 1

Alison's POV

Wrapping my overworked fingers around a rickety, wooden broom, I sweetly bid farewell to my last customer of the day. "Have a wonderful evening Mrs. Tillman," I wish to the smiling, elderly customer as she exits the salon, causing the jingling bells on the door handle to echo throughout the empty establishment.

Sighing loudly, I quickly sweep up the pile of hair on the floor, dumping its contents into the nearest trash can. With a dramatic huff, I throw my weary, achy body into the styling chair, groaning and feeling even more frustrated with every passing second.
"Why do I have to do this? I'm finally feeling like I can look at myself in the mirror. On top of that, I'm just now financially stable and have built a consistent, loyal clientele," I groan aloud to myself.

A sense of pride at the thought of how I poured myself into Essence, a little hair salon on Bourbonelle Drive, suddenly fills me with intense emotions. I was the one who designed, constructed, operated, and managed the salon all on my own. The mere thought of giving up all of the wonderful relationships that I've formed makes me sick to my stomach. The same feeling in the pit of my stomach only magnifies once I begin to reflect on the countless memories of my childhood and young adult life, the same memories I've spent in this microscopic town in Georgia that I've always called home.

Lakemont was where every bright reminisce and every dark day in my life has played out. A small town girl blossomed here with the support of a loving family and an entire town of individuals that grew to feel like part of the family. Even though my mother and brother had followed Keith DeAngelo, the family's politically ambitious, good-natured husband and father to New York about a year ago, I find myself dragging my feet. I find myself uneasy and unsure of what my life would be like in the hustle-bustle of New York. Southern hospitality and an easy-going way of life would become a thing of the past.

At the core of my troubled state, I fear two things above all else: change and the potential for failure gave life to all other worries. In order to counteract my feelings in these moments, I reflect on the many years of dedication and selflessness of my parents, especially my father. My dad was my anchor through the rough waters of my youth. For years, he balanced the responsibility of Fire Chief, husband, and father, regardless of how stretched he was emotionally and physically.

For fifteen years, Keith was the town's Fire Chief and worked tirelessly for the benefit of its citizens. Through the partnership of other leaders in neighboring towns, a greater network of support and involvement among citizens developed. The combination of his unwavering morals and values, his vision of inclusiveness, pleasant temperament, and firm belief in the power of generalized success, made for the perfect formula for an impactful politician. Even after the majority of the DeAngelo family moved to the Big Apple upon accepting the position of Head Chief, Keith never took his eyes off the end goal. Just beyond the horizon, an open Senate seat was available and ripe for Chief DeAngelo's picking. And as the prospective Democratic candidate, the formidable, gentle giant corralled his family together in order to put his best foot forward.

As I empty the register and stuff the wad of cash in my purse, I pause at the doorway to admire the world I have created for myself in the once dilapidated salon. Little did I know when I'd taken on such a commitment that I'd one day find myself missing the smell of freshly-washed hair, the sound of blow dryers, the potent aroma of hair dye, and the endless stories that stemmed from voices that sat in the plump, stylist chair.

When my melancholy soul looked around, I saw all of the special milestones I was lucky enough to be a part of. From the weddings, first day of school cuts, nasty break ups to even the 50th wedding anniversaries, I was there to soak in the joy and the sorrow.

Flipping around the open and closed sign for the final time, I can't suppress the persistent tears that make their presence known, trailing clear track down my cheeks. Why was saying goodbye always so difficult?