HAIR – our crowning glory
I lie awake, head throbbing, brain pulsating through my forehead as my body protests against me for the trauma I put my hair through yesterday.
My hair. Its strands pulled tightly away from my scalp, forced into corn rolls. Its kinks and curls suppressed into smooth, artificial plaited rows to allow Someone Else’s hair to sit flatly on top of my head, making me look just like said Someone Else. It’s not my hair. It did not sprout from my head in the original sense, but it belongs to me. I paid a good price for it.
My neck aches from staying rigid, for fear of causing further pain to my angry head. The hair that had spent six hours in the salon being pulled and yanked away from my head cries out in pain as I try to lay my head to rest following the troubles of yesterday, forcing it back towards the scalp from which it had nearly been separated. I never thought slumber could be so painful, I think to myself as I reach for another painkiller and wash it down with the water from the glass on my bedside table. You never thought? My hair reminds me, as it brings to mind the countless times we have been through this painful routine following a day at the salon. Each time I tell myself ‘never again’. Each time I forget.
And suddenly I sit up, angry. Raging at the injustice of it all; the fact that I cannot get a good night’s sleep just because I have had my hair done the day before, tried to change my appearance, in search of the perfect look, the perfect weave, the perfect me. The search to be beautiful.