Page 12 of The Way I Used to Be
“IT’S TIME,” MARA DECLARESas we sit in the middle of her bedroom floor. I just finished cutting a big wad of pink bubble gum out of her hair that someone had stuck in at some point during the day. It had hardened beyond the point of peanut butter and careful untangling.
The debate has been going on for months now.
“So, red,” I confirm, as we stare at the box of hair color standing upright in the space between us. I didn’t say anything when she stopped showing up to band practice, or when she started sneaking cigarettes from her mom’s purse, but I have to say something now, before it’s too late. “Mara, you realize that’s really, really red?” I ask, looking at the girl on the box.
“Cranberry,” she corrects, picking the box up gently with both hands, studying the picture. “Do you think you could cut it short like this girl’s?” she asks me. “I’m so sick of having long hair—it’s like I’m inviting them to throw things in it.”
It’s true; she’s had the same long brown hair falling to the middle of her back ever since I can remember. “Are you sure it has to be right now?” I double-check. “’Cause if you wait just three more weeks, it’ll be summer, and then if it doesn’t turn out, you’ll have time to—”
“No,” she interrupts. “That’s all the more reason it has to be tonight—I can’t go through this for another year. I can’t go through this for three more weeks. I can’t go through this shit for another day!” she almost shouts.
“But what if—”
“Edy, stop. You’re supposed to be helping me.”
“I am, I just—do you really think coloring your hair is going to change anything?”
“Yes—it’s going to changeme.” She rips open the lid on the box and starts pulling out the contents one by one.
“Why right now, though—did something else happen besides the gum?” It was the question I had been waiting for her to ask me for months.
“Like anything else needs to happen? It’s been years of this—every single day—stupid names, gum in the hair, ‘loser’ signs stuck on my back. Can only be expected to take so much,” she says, her voice getting chopped up by the tears she tries to hold in.
“I know.” And I do know. I get it. She gets it. It has to happen, and I understand why.
“Well, let’s do it then,” she says, holding the scissors out to me.
I take the scissors from her like a good friend.
“You realize I have no idea what I’m doing, right?” I ask her as strands of hair begin to fall to the floor.
“It’s okay, I trust you,” she says, closing her eyes.
“No, don’t,” I say with a laugh.
She smiles.
“Can I ask you something and you’ll promise not to get mad?” I begin cautiously.
She opens her eyes and looks at me.
“This isn’t about Cameron, is it? Because he should like you the way you are. I mean, if you’re doing this so he’ll be interested, or so he’ll think you’re cooler, that’s not—”
But she stops me. “Edy, no.” She’s calm, not mad at all. She talks quietly, explaining, “Yes, I like him, but I’m not trying to be like him. I’m just trying to be like me. Like the real me. If that makes any sense at all,” she says, laughing.
I don’t even need to think about it—I know exactly how she feels. “It makes sense, Mara.”
“Good.” And then she closes her eyes again, like me cutting and coloring her hair is the most relaxing thing in the world. It’s quiet for a while.
“Can I ask you something else?” I finally say, breaking the silence.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not coming back to band, are you?”
“No.”
“Thought so.”
