Page 2 of Until Delilah

The sound of my seatbelt unclipping and opening the car door makes everything real. I’m free. At least for now.

Almost as if on instinct, Beckham’s arms tighten around me, but that’s the only sign he gives me he’s even remotely awake.

Bending down so I can see inside the car, I make eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror. “Thank you. You have no idea how much you’re helping me and my son.”

The driver’s only response is to nod before I close the door and he drives off.

Looking around, I see there’s no one around, which is exactly why I picked this time of night to arrive. It will give me just enough time to do what I need to do before our bus departs.

My eyes dart around the area as I make my way inside the public restroom. Luckily, there’s a long counter for me to sit Beckham down on. His tired eyes crack open and then squint in the harsh light.

Brushing the blond hair off his forehead, I hug my little boy who shouldn’t have to pay for the mistakes I’ve made. “I know you’re tired, sweet boy, but you’ve got to stay awake for a little while, and then you can sleep for as long as you want.”

His little hands wrap around my waist and hug me back. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going to go on a long bus ride and then we’re going to start a new life away from Bradley. Would you like that?”

Beckham pulls back to look up at me. “He’s scary, Mama. I don’t want him to ever hurt you again.” His finger comes up and almost touches my black, swollen eye, but stops at the last second.

“Me either baby, that’s why we’re leaving. We’re going to find someplace safe to live, but first I need to color my hair.”

“But why, Mama?” he asks innocently.

“So, no one will recognize me.” I pull out his favorite Yankee’s baseball hat and place it on top of his head, hiding his nearly white hair. I don’t want to color his hair if I don’t have to. I’m not sure how good it is for someone so young to have their hair colored.

“I’ll know who you are.” He smiles.

“Yes, you will. You’ll be the only one. It will be our little secret. Would you like to help me mix the color?” I open the box and let him pull out all the bottles and creams. After reading the instructions, I hold up one of the tiny bottles and ask. “Do you want to pour this in the big bottle?”

He nods and gets to work. While he’s trying not to spill any of the liquid, I pull out a pair of kitchen scissors and cut my hair that reaches the middle of my back until it sits above my shoulders. My hair has been long for as long as I can remember, and no one would suspect I’d cut and color it. It’s painful to cut it, but I know it needs to be done to keep us safe.

“Now shake it up as hard as you can,” I instruct as I put on the pair of latex gloves the box provided.

“Are you coloring your hair like GiGi?” he asks as he stands and shakes the bottle with all his little might.

“No, sweetie. I don’t think I can pull off blue hair like GiGi can.” Plus, it would draw attention I don’t need.

He smiles up at me and holds the bottle out to me. “I think you’d look cool.”

“Thank you. Maybe one day, but not today.”

I set the applicator tip to the part in my hair and draw a line of hair color from the back of my head to the front. The dark contrasting greatly against the pale blonde.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Without thinking about it, I finish coating my hair until it’s covered with the dark brown color and smelling up the bathroom.

Beckham looks up from Chewy and wrinkles his nose. “It stinks, Mama.”

“I know it does, but it’s part of the process. In twenty minutes, I can rinse it out and we can leave. How does that sound?”

He nods, going back to playing with his polar bear as he leans against the wall by the sink. I want to set the timer on my phone, but quickly realize I don’t have a phone. Luckily, I have a watch my parents gave me from one of their trips abroad to time myself with.

Twenty minutes later, I’m putting my head under the faucet and having Beck hit the top of it since the water keeps turning off every ten seconds it seems. Without a hairdryer, I pull my hair up into a ponytail, unwilling to squat in front of the hand drier until it’s dry.

I clean up as best as I can, making sure not to leave any stains from the hair color. Throwing the color and the hair I cut off in a plastic bag, I shove it into the bag, not wanting to leave evidence of my transformation behind.

When the bathroom looks more spotless than it’s probably been since the place opened, I squat down in front of Beckham with the best smile I can muster on my face.

“Are you ready for an adventure?”

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