The Art of Life (8 page)

               
Now,
that makes me mad.
 
“Jeremy, you can’t
pay for this.
 
Be serious.”

               
As
his butt hits the door, he stops and says, “I don’t have a girlfriend, so I
need someone to spend money on other than myself.
 
This makes me so happy, so please enjoy
yourself
.
 
Explore,
find out who you want to be.
 
I can’t give you hair advice, I can’t teach
you to put on make-up, but I can get you to the people who make it happen.
 
This is the start of a new you, a new you
that can show the world how wonderful you are.
 
I see that and I want everyone else to see that too.”

               
“Thanks
Jeremy,” I sigh, with a soft smile.
 
“This means the world to me.”

               
“Good,”
he laughs, “I think this is going to blow your mind.”

               
Debbie
retorts, “When I am done with her, she will blow everyone’s mind.”

               
Jeremy
pushes the door open and blows a kiss at me.
 
I really want to give him the finger right now.
 
He makes his exit and I have to turn to look
at Debbie.
 
“I am a really awkward girl
who knows nothing about any of this, so please be gentle.”

               
“Come
on,” Debbie says, nudging her head.
 
“Let’s get started.”

               
I
follow her back to her little area.
 
She
pats the chair and I climb in.
 
Wrapping
the smock around me, Debbie starts to play with my hair.
 
“So, you have to have some idea what you want
your hair to look like.”

               
“Honestly,
I don’t even know what would look good,” I reply, somewhat defeated.

               
“I
will be right back,” Debbie tells me, as she walks away.

               
My
heart races at the uneasiness that I am feeling.
 
I pray to God that no one I know walks in
while I am doing this.
 
Debbie finally
reappears next to me.
 
She has a few
books.
 
“What are those for?” I ask.

               
“You
are going to pick a haircut that you like,” she replies.
 
Debbie starts to play with my hair
again.
 
“Well, your ends are kind of
fried, so I am going to need to take some length off.
 
Do you want your hair to stay long?”

               
Shrugging
my shoulders, I say, “I don’t know.
 
I
don’t really care, as long as I look alright in the end.”

               
“You
will look more than alright,” Debbie responds, as she smiles broadly.
 
“Do you want my advice?”

               
Practically
gasping, I exclaim, “Yes please!”

               
“I
say we go short, not pixie short but like here,” she says, bringing her hands
flat to my neck.
 
“Then we are going to
color it.”

               
“What
color are you making my hair?” I ask hesitantly.

               
Debbie
taps her chin.
 
“Actually, I think we are
going to do highlights and lowlights.
 
Give some contrast to that hair of yours.”

               
“I
have no idea what you just said, but I will trust you,” I sigh.
 
“It can’t look much worse than it does
already.”

               
Grabbing
a book, Debbie starts to flip through the pages.
 
“You have great hair.
 
You just need to learn how to work it.
 
Most women would kill for the natural curl
that you have.”

               
“I
hate that my hair is curly,” I retort grumpily.

               
With
a laugh, Debbie says, “You will love your curly hair once you know what to do
with it.”

               
“Okay,”
I mutter.

               
“Here,
this is the haircut I am going to do.”
 
She hands me the book.

               
I
look down at the picture.
 
“You are going
to get my hair to look like that?”

               
“I
am going to get your hair to look BETTER than that,” she whispers, leaning over
my shoulder.
 
“Trust me, Miss
Isabelle,
you will be a new person when I am done with you.”

               
Time
passes by like a blur as I watch her put the coloring in my hair.
 
I feel awkward, but am fascinated at the same
time.
 
I can’t help but laugh when I see
myself in the mirror.
 
“I look like I am
wearing a tin foil hat to keep the aliens out of my head.”

               
“Yeah,”
Debbie snorts.
 
“It’s a scary process
sometimes.
 
Do you want anything to
drink?”

               
“Do
you have any water?” I ask.

               
Nodding
her head, she replies, “Yup.
 
I will be
right back.”

               
The
salon is really busy now.
 
I kind of
watch what everyone else is doing in the mirror.
 
Part of me wishes my mom was here.
 
Of course, part of me wishes my mom cared about
anything to do with me.

               
Finally,
Debbie walks up with a bottle of water.
 
“Here you go hon.”

               
“Thanks.”
 
I take a big swig because my throat is dry,
probably, because I am so nervous.
 
Looking up at Debbie, I say, “Can I ask you a question?”

               
“Sure,”
she answers, leaning against the counter.

               
Curious,
I ask, “How do you know Jeremy?”

               
“We
used to date,” she replies, with a soft smile.

               
“That
doesn’t surprise me.”

               
Furrowing
her eyebrows, Debbie retorts, “Why do you say that?”

               
I
wave my hand at her.
 
“You are beautiful,
he is beautiful.
 
That kind of goes hand
in hand.”

               
“Why,
are you interested in him?”

               
Shaking
my head, I say, “No, no, no,
don’t
tell him that.”

               
“He
is a really nice guy,” Debbie replies, “but very closed off.
 
He wouldn’t really talk about his past at
all.
 
When I started to push on the
subject, he broke it off with me.”

               
A
wave of shock runs through me.
 
“Really?”

               
“Yup.”

               
“But,
you are still friendly with him,” I point out.

               
She
nods.
 
“We hadn’t been dating that long,
and we wanted to stay friends in the end.”

               
“That’s
cool,” I say quietly.
 
I wonder what
happened in his past that he can’t talk about.
 
I mean, I don’t know him very well, but still, I wonder what kind of guy
he really is.
 
That is a dumb question
Isabelle.
 
He is a really great guy,
because he is doing all this for a girl he doesn’t know.
 
Jeremy is doing this for you.

               
After
sitting there for a while, Debbie finally says that my hair is done and we wash
it out.
 
She sits me back in the chair
and starts the process of cutting it.
 
The more she cuts off, the more my stomach starts to turn.
 
Suddenly, she sighs.
 
“All done.
 
Now, I am going to show you how to style your
hair.”
 
Looking over to her side, she
exclaims, “Perfect!”
 
Grabbing my hand,
she says, “Come here.”

               
We
walk over to a few booths down.
 
The
stylist looks up.
 
“Hey
Debbie.”

               
Debbie smiles.
 
“We
need to show her how to make her curls rock.”

               
“Oh
okay,” the stylist replies.
 
“What you
want to do is take this stuff and put a little in your hand.”
 
She takes a silver bottle and squeezes some
goop onto her palm.
 
“Rub it together,
and then run it through your hair evenly.”
 
I watch as she does this to the lady in the seat.
 
“Then you scrunch it take make the curls
stay.
 
This cream helps keep the curl
from frizzing.”

               
“That
is one of my biggest problems,” I state.
 
“My hair is a horrible frizzy mess.”

               
“That
is what styling products are for,” Debbie says.
 
“I will hook you up with what you need.
 
Come on, I am going to show you how to straighten your hair.”

               
Looking
at her, I reply, “I didn’t think that was possible.”

               
“Totally
possible, come on.”

               
I
get back and sit down in the chair.
 
Debbie immediately shows me the gel and puts it in my hair.
 
Then shows me how to blow dry it to get some
of the curl out.
 
Finally, she goes,
“Now, it’s time for the flat iron.”

               
“
The what
iron?”

               
She
pulls out a crazy looking contraption.
 
“This is a flat iron.
 
It is your
new best friend.
 
What you do is take
section by section and straighten it.
 
Here, just watch.”
 
I carefully
keep an eye on what she does.
 
It doesn’t
look too hard.
 
When she is halfway done
with my hair, she puts the flat iron away.
 
“Now, this is a little unorthodox but I am going to have you try.”

               
“Oh,”
I squeak.
 
“Really?”

               
“You
have to learn, don’t you?” She retorts.

               
Taking
a deep breath, I sigh, “Yes.”

               
“Stand
up, and come here,” she commands gently.
 
So, I stand and walk up to the counter.
 
“Now, this is the setting you should have it set at.
 
Don’t put it too high.
 
Then these are the irons and they are really
hot, so don’t burn
yourself
.
 
Jeremy would kill me.
 
The most important thing is you want to keep
the iron moving.
 
If you let it sit in a
spot you will scorch your hair.”

               
“Oh
goodie,” I mumble.

               
Laughing,
Debbie says, “You will be fine.
 
So, take
a section of hair, put the iron on the top and gently pull down.”

               
This
is really embarrassing.
 
People have to
be watching us.
 
So, I take a clump of
hair, and pick up the flat iron.
 
I do as
she says, and pull it through.
 
My hair
comes out straight in the end.
 
“Hey!” I
shout.
 
“I did it!”

               
“That
you did.
 
Now, keep going.”

               
It
takes me a while, because I am doing it really slowly, but I finally
finish.
 
It doesn’t look quite like
Debbie’s side, but it still looks a thousand times better than my hair normally.
 
“I think I can handle that,” I giggle,
totally happy.