Page 65 of Shake the Spirit

She leans forward and stares at me through the reflection. “It’s just hair. Yours is too long to be comfortable. Once it’s chopped off, you can run around with us when we shoot water pistols. Plus, we’ll donate this ponytail to bald cancer patients. Everyone wins.”

Smiling at the thought of going wild with the rest of the homestead women, I take a deep breath and nod. “I’m ready.”

The next few minutes are a blur as the stylist removes pounds of weight until my hair brushes across my shoulders. I watch the stylist snip more off, creating the wispy ends and layered look from the picture Edith showed her.

Soon, I’m staring at my face with Cherie Currie’s 1970s haircut.

“What do you think?” Edith asks when I just stare at myself.

I lean forward before deciding to leave my seat to get closer to the mirror. My fingers stroke my reflection before I dare to touch my hair.

“I don’t look like me,” I whisper in awe. “I look like the woman in my head.”

“Is that good?” asks the hairstylist.

Tuesday shrugs. “Um, yes?”

Edith joins me at the mirror. “Now, you look like the kind of chick who’ll ditch her garbage family and ride off with a hot biker.”

Smiling at her, I like how she understands the way I feel. Never before have I looked in the mirror and seen the person I wished to be. I always just saw another Trinity Church member.

“I love it,” I tell the nervous hairstylist.

Once I return to my chair, she shows me how to style it and what products do what. Though I worry I won’t remember everything, Edith stands next to the chair and takes notes.

“Thank you for helping me,” I tell her after my hair is finished and we move to new seats to get our fingernails painted.

“Ike loves you,” Edith says. “My brothers aren’t particularly romantically-inclined men. They tend to be the quiet, surly types. So, when they claim to be in love, I don’t assume they’re full of shit.”

I consider how Edith fought the idea of Ike and me just days ago. She wanted her brother to dump me and even seemed on board with bribing me to leave town. Edith’s behavior changed after her walk with Ike and their parents. He must have sold them on my worth.

Or maybe Edith’s just possessive of me as part of her long brewing battle with Tuesday.

Either way, I choose not to point out the contradiction in her behavior.

“What color do you want?” Alexis asks as she picks a shade similar to her red hair.

“I like black,” I say and take the little bottle before hesitating. “I also like that blood red one.”

“Why not do both?” Tuesday asks as she settles into her chair with a pale pink shade. “Do one hand in red and the other in black. Or do every other finger black and then finish out with red. There’s no wrong answer. And you can just get them done differently in a few weeks.”

I’m very appreciative at how Tuesday dumbs down the process. I always feel as if every choice is my one chance to pick things. But that’s not how the outside world works. I can paint my nails whenever I want. I can get different haircuts. I have options.

That’s why I go with the alternating black-and-red nail choice. I also get my toes done in the same way. In my head, I already see myself wearing my red bra with my black panties for Ike tonight.

He’s going to go fricking wild when he gets a look at me!

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