Eternal.

Chapter Twelve

The bright spring morning already had a verdant sun high in the heavens when I woke up. The first morning in a while that hadn’t had the dull aftermath of rain; the grass did not have dew crystalizing it. I rolled off the bed and caught myself before I thumped on the carpet. Although, this is one of those days that if I had rolled onto the floor, I would have stayed there. My hair fell like dreadlocks in front of my face. For some reason, that dream had exhausted me, although I could not remember any of it the moment I opened my eyes. My heart felt heavy with information I can’t process. I got up and dragged myself down the stairs for breakfast.

I took a look at myself in the mirror. A pair of jeans I've worn for a year, a blouse I've had since I was twelve, and half strawberry blonde hair that's only grown five or six inches since I cut it real shirt about this time last year. I thought about what Aiden had told me. I found you once, one's enough. How does he keep finding me? Why does he care to keep finding me? He told me a story the other day about how I promised I would always protect him. When did I promise him that? Maybe that story wasn't true. Maybe Aiden is the poet, not me. Maybe he's just a creepy ass kid your friends warn you about. If that's the case, I don't want him finding me again. I have to do something to make him not recognize me.

I sat in the Solon char for an hour already and the colorist had only put the base color on and was in the back mixing more. I would fall asleep, if only the peroxide wasn't burning my scalp. My mother had gone to get me some hot chocolate. I sat in the chair with the woman painting colored bleach on my head, I felt like I was transforming; it had been at the very least two years since I've gone to the hair dresser. I felt like who I was before melted away with stroke of the brush. I felt like since I'll have a new look, I should have a new personality as well. I felt like yesterday I was Brigitte, today I am Allyson. I will use my middle name as my first. I will go someplace this spring break, to a city where no one knows my name. Maybe if I wore my old glasses hidden in my desk drawer, maybe then Aiden won't find me. The colorist was a pretty blonde with a stroke of pink on the side of her head. Her roots were brown and reminded me of how bad my hair must have looked. I watched her from the corner of my eye coat one last lock of blonde. I watched her dab many blobs of coloring on it until the dead ends weren't blonde anymore. That last stroke washed away the pride that came with my new identity. I frowned when I thought this new hair is just covering up what once stood as a bad hair day for nine months.

The colorist went on and colored someone else’s roots, while I stood next to my mother in the waiting area. My mother sipped her tea and watched people at the reception desk, while I stood with a colossal of wet peroxided hair. My scalp began to burn. It hurt more so the more I stood there. I walked slowly off into a corner and pretended to look at the products of detanglers. My scalp burned more. Like it was singeing from a fire, or like it had swallowed a mound of buffalo sauce. It smelled deeply of chemicals. I prayed that Aiden wasn’t going to pop up asked me to tell him another poem. Not while I’m like this, not ever again.  

“You look completely different! Wow this color is gorgeous!” The colorist drooled over the wire of the blow dryer that was drying my hair after washing it for the tenth time. My mother stood in front of me smiling. She could probably imagine how elated I felt. I took a look in the mirror. My once lifeless, multicolored hair had molted into a bouncy, rich dark brown. For once my hair wasn’t like string, now it had full curls that held like the shape of a tornado whirling on the ground. A new Brigitte is exactly what the old one needed. I couldn’t wait to show Alexavier and April, or maybe even let Jenny Taylor a glance. But I would have to wait until spring break is over. “Think anyone could recognize you?” My mother grinned. “I hope not.” I mumbled to myself.

When I got home I went up the stairs into the bathroom and sent a picture of my new hair to April. April and I haven't spoken in days.

To: April