C A T C H 22 |BWWM|

Ch. 20 • Crumbling Barriers

Jackson, Ms. November 1943
Friday, 6:00 am

Paislee

The smell of burning hair, fruity mist, and mama's perfume lingered through the atmosphere of my room. The sun was barely rising and I sat down in front of my vanity watching mama precisely straighten my hair and soon bend the ends. She smiled before taking another strand of course, thick hair into her fingers and running it through the two hot metal plates.

"I'm proud of you, Paislee," Mama said.

I raised a tired eyebrow. "Huh? Why?"

"For making it through that experience with a clear and mature head. You're so strong, baby."

"Thank you . . ." The sentence lingered from my lips as I thought about it. I wasn't strong. "It's been rough."

She took the final strand of hair and straightened it before letting it fall down onto my temple. She pecked my forehead lightly and glanced at my clock. Lifting me up from the seat and fingering through my hair, she pushed me slightly.

"Go get ready, Lee. You know daddy wants to see you get into the school safely"

Because a little black girl is so weak that she can't defend herself against a couple of douchebags. It was true. Sad, but true. I didn't feel like going anywhere but my parents said if I didn't people would think something suspicious.

For two whole days, I sat in my bed and did absolutely nothing. I let myself grieve, I let myself feel. The food that my parents tried to feed me was ignored and all I did was drink water and look out my window for hours. I didn't want to go out but my parents had insisted that I do. They said it would be good to get some fresh air and see some friends of mine at school. Except for I didn't have friends.

"Yeah."

Picking up the light green and white checkered dress, I sighed. It reminded me of Deen—those stupid, but beautiful, captivating eyes. I wasn't supposed to think of him. I was supposed to hate him. He was supposed to be an enemy. He was supposed to be the person I despised.

Yet, when he spoke to me on Tuesday—the way he did, the seriousness in his voice—it hurt. Like I wasn't ready to let go of him. Like I wanted his help. Like I wanted to jump into his warm arms and wrap myself in his masculine scent. Then it all came rushing back to me: the brunette, baby blue eyes, and expensive dress. All worn by his stupid replacement of a girlfriend.

"I hate this," I mumbled angrily. Slipping off my satin nightgown.

Looking it the mirror, I combed through my hair. Tying a nice, neat bow of ribbon into a section of my hair. I looked—and felt—pretty. Like I was empowering and could use this hidden confidence in myself for good use.

I looked at myself through the mirror and bit on my lip in contemplation and thought. Smoothing two hands on the dress and twirling a smooth piece of hair between my fingers, I smiled at myself. No one could hurt me today. I wouldn't cry and I wouldn't freeze if I saw the boys. I would ignore them and continue to smile because nobody could hurt me.

At least that's what I thought.

° ° °
"Look who finally decided to show up from under the rock."

I ignored Beverly as I unlocked my locker with hastiness. I wasn't trying to hear her harsh words or hear her instigate these past few days. Refusing to tell a single soul about what happened to me. It was embarrassing and shameful.

"Are you done, Beverly? I'm not in the mood for your bullshit today," I said.

"Feisty are we? Using our big words too? Wow."