Getting out of my bed, I saw my reflection in the mirror on the wall. Half circles of purple showed under my eyes and my mouth was turned down. My hair was still in the German braid Aunt Carrie’d put it in the day before. Feeling around with my fingers, I took out all the pins, dropping them on top of my dresser. It didn’t take long for my hair to come undone around my shoulders, waved from being in the braid all night like it’d been.
Ladies kept their hair long. That was what Mama had always told me. She’d said it was a lady’s glory, her long hair. The Bible even said as much.
Ladies were kind and gentle. They were slow to get angry and quick to smile. Ladies didn’t run or burp or pass gas or forget to say their prayers before taking a bite of dinner. They kept their knees together when sitting and didn’t slurp their soup. Ladies never, ever cursed or took so much as a sip of booze.
Being a lady was as important to Mama as saying the sinner’s prayer and following the Ten Commandments.
As for me, I was done trying to be ladylike.
I gathered all my hair into one hand, pulling it in front of my shoulder and letting it hang down my still-flat chest. Not thinking of anything at all, I opened the top drawer of my dresser where I kept odds and ends that didn’t have a place anywhere else. I felt all through that drawer until my fingers wrapped around cool metal.
I turned away from the mirror.
It took just a few good snips and a whole foot of hair was freed. I let it all fall to the floor at my feet. What remained swept against my jaw and tickled against the back of my neck.
When I gazed back into the mirror, I cried.
No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t think of a way to hide what I’d done. Mama would be upset with me for sure. I cussed under my breath, wishing there was some kind of magic that might put my hair back together again.
But all the king’s horses and men couldn’t help me out of that pickle. “What am I gonna do?” I whispered through my ground-together teeth. Pacing around my room, I stepped over the fistful of hair on the floor, wishing I was smart enough to think up something to do.
Nothing.
Shutting my eyes, I decided to be brave. I’d go down the steps and hope Mama would show mercy just like I meant to show her even after what I’d seen the night before.
She’d forgive me and I’d forgive her.
On tiptoe I went down the steps and crossed to the kitchen, pushing the door open and taking in a good breath. She stopped her singing when she heard me coming.
“Well, I wondered if you’d ever get up,” she said, her back to me. She had something in her stew pot to boil. “Just get a slice of bread for breakfast, hear?”
“Mama?” I said.
“Don’t make me get it for you, darlin’. I’m up to my elbows …”
She looked at me over her shoulder. Her face was beaded up with sweat and her hair had formed tiny ringlets around her face from the steam that clouded up from the stove.
Mama turned toward me, her hand on the counter like she needed its support to keep her from falling over. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went dull like she was fixing to get good and angry.
“What did you do to your hair?” she asked. “Where is it?”
Trying to explain to Mama what I’d done was like trying to swim with lead weights for shoes. I was drowning in her stare. All I managed to get out were stammering noises that didn’t mean anything at all.
“But why?” she asked over and again. “Why would you do that to your beautiful hair?”
I told her I didn’t know, which was a lie.
Mama always could sniff out an untruth just like she was an old bloodhound.
“You’ll tell me,” she said.
“I saw you,” I said back.
It was only a whisper, but its weight hung heavy in the air between us. “Saw me what?”
“I saw you with Abe Campbell.”
“You didn’t see a darn thing, missy.” She crossed her arms.
“He kissed you.” I felt a hot tear make a trail of wet down my cheek. “And you didn’t make him stop.”
Mama took a step toward me and shook her head. “You saw no such thing, girl. It was a dream.”
“It was real,” I hollered, letting my voice fill with wild anger, making it out of my control. “I saw it and I’m going to tell Daddy.”
The back of Mama’s hand hit one side of my face and then the palm struck the other. I stepped back to get away from her but she grabbed my arm, digging her nails into my skin. Using my free hand, I tried fighting her off, tried prying her fingers loose.
“Let go of me,” I cried. “You’re hurting me.”
“You won’t tell your father anything, you hear me?” She pulled me toward her so our faces were close. “It never happened. You’re lying.”
“But I’m not,” I whimpered. “I saw it.”
“You’ll do as I say. I’m your mother.”
“No, you’re not.”
She shoved me from her. I fell backward, stumbling until I came crashing down to the floor, my head hitting the kitchen table.
A glass mixing bowl, one that’d belonged to Meemaw, smashed on the floor, one side of it shattering into so many pieces I’d never be able to count them.
“Don’t you ever say that to me again,” Mama screamed. “Never.”
Ray must’ve heard all the carrying on. He came running into the kitchen, a look of alarm on his face. His eyes went from Mama to me and back again.
“What happened here?” he asked, standing between us.
Mama opened her mouth like she wanted to give an answer, but none came. Looking at me, but careful not to meet my eyes, she shook her head like she wanted to deny that she was the reason I was there on the floor. She turned back to the stove and stirred what was stewing in the pot.
Ray helped me get to my feet and told me to go up to my room.
“I’ll take care of everything,” he whispered. “Just wait for me.”
I did as he said, not feeling anything as I climbed the steps or went into my room. There on the floor was my hair. I left it be and went to the other side of the room.
I made my bed the very best I could even though every inch of me trembled. I thought it would’ve made Mama proud.