Me, My Hair, and I by Shawneda (13 ebook reader .TXT) 📗

the palms of my hands over the crown of my head and top layer of the back of my hair until they were dry.

Pulled the ponytail kit from the top drawer. Placed my backpack under the ponytail kit to make sure I didn’t forget it. Went downstairs to eat breakfast. Brushed my teeth. Heard my Aunt Tanya yell she saw the bus coming down the road. Spit out my toothpaste. Rinsed out my mouth. Grabbed my backpack, bolted down the stairs, then shot across the street to meet the bus.

Tears of frustration filled my eyes. My ponytail kit is still waiting on top of my dresser in my closet to be placed in my backpack. I have three hours of practice and no brush, no ponytail holder, and no pomade. All the things people said about my hair all week will be forgotten once I leave practice looking like a toilet bowl brush by the head.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Girl, I have been calling your name for like two minutes.” Breyonna said. “You okay?”

I turned around.

“You’re def not okay.” Breyonna looked at the bag in my hand. “What happened? Keylisa good? Your Uncle? Your Aunt?”

I nodded.

“So why are you about to cry? You never cry, JeShaun.” Breyonna took a step closer to me.

I dropped my head. She never sees me cry. Contrary to popular belief, I cried all the time. “My hair is about to go all poof. I left the ponytail kit at home. This is why I want a friggin relaxer.”

“Girl, I gotchu.” Breyonna sighed. “Let’s go to my locker. We’ll find what you need there.”

I sniffed the tears up and stuffed them down. “K.”

“So I have some of your Aunt’s pomade, my backup brush, and we can try this rubber band.” Breyonna motioned for me to turn around. “Don’t have anything else.”

I bent down and leaned my hands on my knees to make myself short enough for Breyonna to pull my hair into a ponytail. The tightness didn’t feel the same as Aunt Tanya or Brielle. Still a better job than I’d do with nothing. My shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. All I have to do is make it through practice.”

“Call you later. Gotta run to make my bus.” Breyonna gave me a quick, love you girl hug, before closing her locker.

I twisted the combo lock for good measure before running to my locker to grab my volleyball bag.

Sweat started pooling in my hair thirty minutes into practice. Where did I look for a stylist to silken my hair while in school away from home? Then the pools of water joined together and started flowing all over my head. Is there a national directory? Dribbles in the front. How did I pick someone who knew how to heat train hair? Small streams poured down through each of the faint patches of hair on the side of my face. Did I really want to be one of those girls who didn’t leave the house because of the weather? Aunt Tanya called them lady sideburns. I’d be black no matter how I wore my hair. Did that mean I had to have whack hair between salon visits during volleyball season?

My roots grew thicker with each drill. Forty-eight minutes into the first hour of practice, my hair swelled into a bee’s hive. Each drill, serve, spike, and block puffing it up just a bit more. Coach didn’t seem to notice, but I noticed. My reaction time felt a second off. A second in volleyball can cost you the win.

Moments after finishing our first water break, I decided to stop letting my hair distract me. Score another point for Aunt Tanya. She said I’d hate being silkened. Bouncing from side to side, I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as I prepared to spike the ball coming towards me. I felt my feet leave the ground and the power rush through my entire body as I willed the energy to pour from every fiber of my being into my hand. I sent the ball across the net with a forceful blow guaranteed to land within centimeters of the line.

My feet hit the ground as the rubber band Breyonna used to secure my hair snapped. Disgust filled every fiber of my being. I kept my word to myself and finished the last part of practice unbothered by whatever was happening as sweat assaulted each strand of my silkened hair. I refused to look in a mirror after practice. I yanked my hoodie on over my top and kept the hood over my mess of a hairstyle. No one attempted to enter my earbud powered cocoon on the bus ride home.

We passed the park where I loved to pitch a net and practice volleying every day during the summer. The ice cream parlor where I discovered I preferred cherry lime surprise to rocky road. Each red light my hair grew bigger. I mumbled goodnight to the bus driver as I scraped by to exit the bus. Soon as Aunt Tanya saw my hair, I’d be forced to acknowledge the truth. After I listened to her gloat, I’d call Breyonna to share my big hair blues.

5

I checked the recording equipment. Aunt Tanya showed me how to use the lights for the rainy days. To my surprise, she didn’t even gloat. After making sure I practiced well, I detected a tiny smirk but no lecture. No lecture. No snappy one-liner. Nothing. Uncle Corey told me I needed to work through this online since I started it online. Except we still weren’t back to the way we’d been before I told her the truth. Grownups say they want something, then treat you bad when you give them what they want. Weirdos.

“Uncle Corey,” I popped my head into the living room. “You have a minute? I have a few more questions about our last talk.”

His hands stilled on the keyboard. He paused the video game. “Is this a pause or save and