Music Girl

“Hey Nick, how does it look?”

“It’s a bit short, isn’t it?”

“That’s the point!”

“I think it looks good,” commented Alexander from over his laptop. I ran my hands through my freshly cut and dyed hair. Miryah had cut off my long black curls, and now it was about two inches all around with red streaks. She was sweeping up my hair into a bag right now.

“That’s getting donated, right?” Nicholah asked, eyeing the bag.

“Yeah, I know a lady at work who’s been dying to get a new wig,” said Miryah, tying the bag closed neatly.

Nicholah looked at me again and sighed. “You just look… so different,” he finally said, setting his book down.

“Good,” I said firmly. “I’m trying to forget Denver here, and my hair was just another reminder.”

“You should spend less time trying to forget the past and more time striving to better the future,” said Nicholah all-knowingly, and he turned his attention back to his medical book.

-

“Don’t I get any say in this?”

“I’m afraid not, sweetheart. The law’s the law.”

“Well, the law is crap. Can’t we just like… leave the country? We can move to Italy!” I suggested, a little more than hopeful.

“No, we can’t. We don’t have he money.”

“If that damn bastard would pay child support, we would.”

“Don’t speak about your father that way, young lady,” my mother snapped. There was silence for a few moments before she spoke again. “Sweetheart, I tried. I went to court for ages, explained our case over and over, and I thought maybe we would have a chance, but…”

“He won. He always wins, Mom!”

“I know.”

“Why does he even want me back? Does he want a new maid or something? Does he just miss kicking me around that much?”

My mom visibly flinched. But then she was back to her calm, caring self. “His excuse in court was that he doesn’t think his little girl is being brought up right and that he loves and misses her.” I rolled my eyes. “As to his real intentions, I can’t guess them. I don’t know him at all anymore. He isn’t the man I married twenty years ago.”

Mom’s eyes got a little misty and I didn’t know what to do. But the moment passed.

“But part of the agreement was you get to spend summers and Christmas here with me,” she added, and my spirits lifted a little.

“So he’s not totally depriving me of all life and happiness possible.”

Mom smiled slightly at that. “No. He doesn’t get you all to himself.”

I hugged her gratefully. “You’re the best, Mom.”

I could have sworn I felt a tear drop onto my scalp. I hugged her tighter.

-

“This is such crap, why do you have to leave?” Jacoby asked, pacing.

“Keep it down Jacoby, people are looking at us funny,” hissed Miryah, glancing around at the people who were sitting nearest us in the airport terminal.

“Chill, I’ll be back for Christmas,” I assured him.

“It’s still stupid,” Jacoby muttered, flopping down in the seat next to Nicholah.

“I think we’re all in agreement with that,” said Alexander smartly, adjusting his glasses.

“First call for Seating A, First Class for Flight 7617 Boston to Denver,” said the voice over the intercom. I stood, grabbing my carryon bag. That was me.

I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.

I didn’t cry when Jacoby thumped me on the back, telling me he would teach me all new moves over Christmas.

I didn’t cry when Miryah hugged me, teary, and told me she’d email me more Green Day when she found it.

I didn’t cry when Alexander pulled me into a brief hug and whispered that he had slipped my “special” bank card into my wallet.

I didn’t cry when Nicholah handed me a new fantasy book to read on the plane.

I didn’t cry when Mama K’s fierce hug almost knocked me over.

I almost cried when my mom hugged me and kissed my cheek.

But when the plane was in the air and I watched Boston fall behind me, I cried.