Eggshells

In the eight grade, I came to school one day after cutting my hair. By cutting my hair, I mean, so short that my older brother, who was 20 years old and still lived at home, said I looked like a lesbian. I passed off the comment, knowing the statement was only half true. Nobody said anything about it, but all of the preppy girls avoided me as if I had the black plague. I later learned from a friend of mine that was friends with them that it was because they didn't want me to hit on them. I laughed that one off and replied with, "Never in a million years.". I got a message on Facebook from another friend of mine. He said his sister told him to tell me that I was an unoriginal cunt. Just because she had 'copyrighted' short hair at our school. To please her, I bleached the hell out of my dark locks which I had dyed to please everyone at school because having oddly colored hair was weird, apparently.

I cried after it was done because I had always hated my hair blonde, it didn't matter if it was my natural color or the stupid bottle blonde I had reverted to so many times in the past. I didn't cut my hair for another two years. The thought engraved into my mind was that I didn't want to look like someone else.

~~

Summer- Age 16

I laid out an old sheet in the shade of the maple tree in my backyard as the sun started to set on June sixth. School would be ending on a Thursday that year, more specifically the seventh of June. The acapella vocals of the stupidly popular song, Some Nights, came on through my earbuds. As I laid back out on the ratty sheet, the feeling of the individual blades of grass tickled my back through the tank top I had on. It still felt like an oven in Florida, even at dusk. I instantly regretted coming outside, but pushed the thoughts away as a humid and salty breeze rolled through, blowing a long strand of my black and green hair across my face. With a gentle flick of my head, it was knocked back into place amongst the rest of my hair. The sky was a soft mix of blue and pale pink, but it wasn't quite purple. It was like the two colors were placed on the surface of water, touching, but not blending, and then someone ran their fingers across them, mixing the colors in a water color effect. Everything felt still, despite the occasional breeze off the Gulf. I didn't want to deal with going to school the next day. I knew that my mother would still make me. It's really pointless to go to school on the last day.

A sigh escaped my lips as the french doors that led into the living room of my house opened and my dog bounded out of them, knocking the door open. She immediately came running for me and barked loudly, disturbing my meditation. A loud groan escaped my lips.

"Mom, why the hell would you let the dog out?" I yelled at the woman standing before the smoker, holding a glass bowl, which I assumed was filled with wood chips. She rolled her eyes.

"It's not my fault that she's 60 pounds of pure muscle. She pushed herself through the door as soon as I opened it. Jesus Christ, look, she had to take a piss." Her tone sounded a lot like mine. No wonder people always say we're a lot alike. I felt the cool, wet nose of my 3-year-old yellow Labrador hit the palm of my hand as she nudged it up onto the top of her head. I smiled a bit and scratched her ears. I walked forward, towards the house, picking up my sheet in the process. She stayed in the same spot, wagging her tail as my mother shoved the wooden chips in the bottom of the smoker, along with some coals and lit them.

"Ginger, c'mere!" I called as my dog ran towards me, then past me and into the house.

"You still have to go tomorrow." my mother said from behind me. I grit my teeth and tensely walked into the house, slamming the door behind me, thankfully without enough force to break the glass. How typical.