Page 123 of Damnation
“Where are we going?” I ask listlessly.
“To the spa.” She smiles at me. “I’m about to give you the most relaxing day of your life.”
“It’s eleven in the morning; don’t you have classes?”
“Not today. Today, I’m all yours.” Grinning broadly, she grabs me by the hand and pulls me out of my apartment.
***
During the car ride, Tiffany tries to make conversation, and to keep her from feeling awkward, I fake a smile as she tells me about a bizarre incident that happened in one of her classes. Then I pretend to be interested as she lists all the things we’re going to do once we get to the spa. I pretend like I don’t feel like there’s a knife stuck in my chest. Like I’m not alone. Or empty.
“Hey, hon, we’re here.” Tiff jostles my arm slightly, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I unbuckle my seat belt, and when I step out of the car, I find myself in front of a luxurious edifice that I’ve never seen before. “What is this place?”
“It’s one of the hotels my dad uses for business. By which I mean when he’s fighting with Mom and needs a place to spend the night, hecomes here instead. He bought shares in this chain and is also a member of the golf club. I know all of this because he’s been forcing me to learn this stuff for a month, so we’ll charge today to his account. Consider it a fair compensation for my apprenticeship.” She smirks.
I look around, shrugging my shoulders—what can I do but agree?
The receptionist, who is dressed to the nines, welcomes us with a wide smile. She has a quick chat with Tiffany before handing us two bags full of everything we’ll need for the spa, including maps of the place and menus with a description of all the services on offer. We spend the rest of the day in the thermal baths and saunas in between getting hot stone massages and manicures. After some initial resistance, I agree to wrap the day up with a visit to the in-house hair salon.
Tiffany decides to touch up her hair color, while I fall back on a simple revitalizing hair mask. And while Tiff focuses on reading a fashion magazine, I just stare blankly at myself in the mirror. I can’t deny that today was pleasant, and I love Tiffany for trying to cheer me up. For a while there, she even succeeded. Too bad all it took was a young couple walking by, beaming at one another as they cuddled, for the memory of Thomas to hit me and the pain to overwhelm me, somehow even stronger this time.
Everything starts to feel flat again. Colorless. Thin. I wonder if this feeling will ever go away, or if this is just what awaits me now, a bland world, devoid of hue and texture.
“Hey, Billy,” I say suddenly, turning to my hairdresser. He’s been bustling around with creams and colors while my mask is setting. He comes to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“What’s up, hon?” he asks with a warm smile.
“I want a cut.”
He goes still, looking at me in the giant mirror in front of us. He chuckles, but when he sees that I’m serious, he falls silent.
Tiffany closes her magazine with a snap. “A cut?”
I nod. And repeat firmly, “Yeah, a cut. And color.” They both keep staring at me, but I don’t give up. I stretch out my arm to point atthe reflected image of a poster behind us. “I want that. Like what that model has.”
I watch as a crease appears on Billy’s forehead as he looks at the reflection. Then, still bemused, he replies, “Okay. I can do that.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, pleased and nervous at the same time. The last time I cut my hair, I was ten years old. I went with my father to the barbershop, and Alex, who always tagged along with us, convinced me to get a bob. I listened to him only to bitterly regret it and sob like a maniac because I wanted my hair back. Ever since then, I’ve only trimmed it once in a while. As for the color, that doesn’t bother me. I’ve been dyeing my hair for years.
Once the job is done, the result is more satisfying than I imagined. It’s a layered and slightly choppy style that hits right at my clavicle. My hair remains jet black at the roots, but from about midway down, it fades into a light gray that matches and highlights the color of my eyes. I walk out of the salon proud of my decision. Tiffany might be even more thrilled than I am because she can’t stop telling me how great this new carefree look is.
It’s already evening by the time we get back to campus. Tiffany invites herself to dinner by ordering McDonald’s for the both of us. I don’t object because I realize she doesn’t want to leave me alone. It’s the same reason she arranges our dinner on the coffee table in front of the sofa and puts on an episode ofShameless. The moment it ends, she turns to look at me and asks softly, “Hey, how are you feeling?”
I give a long sigh as I clean the salt and oil off my fingers with a napkin. “If you want the truth, not good.”
“I know.” She takes my hand and squeezes it affectionately. “I can tell.”
“But it was nice to spend the day with you at the spa; it really was,” I offer sadly. “I wish…I just wish I was handling this whole situation better. That’s what I really want.”
“There’s no one right way to handle pain, honey. And you don’t have to do it all alone; we can do it together. And I promise you that this is going to pass. I promise that you are going to laugh again andfeel good again, like you did before him. Before my brother, even before your father.” Her voice is full of sincere hope. But I have lost all my hope.
With my eyes downcast and my heart broken, I murmur, “I’m going to end up like her.”
“Her?”
“My mother.”
