The Good Daughter

by Amra Pajalic

  She was out of control. Pretty soon I’d be opening my mouth and she’d be talking for me. ‘I want a dye job, not a rinse.’ I’d tried the whole rinse thing and wasn’t impressed, plus I actually did fancy being a brunette.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Mmm,’ I stared at myself in the mirror. ‘I want the real deal.’ I was imagining my hair as sleek and shiny, a seal’s pelt of rich brown.

  The next day we snuck out of school at lunchtime and went to a chemist. Brian tried to talk me into a light-brown colour, but I got the dye that was one shade off black. After school we went to his house. I sat on a kitchen chair in the bathroom wearing a black rubbish bag as a cape while Brian ran his gloved hands through my hair.

  ‘You should be a hairdresser,’ I teased.

  ‘I’ve thought about it,’ he said seriously.

  I gulped down my laughter. Thankfully he was caught up with my hair. ‘How come you changed your mind?’ I asked.

  ‘My dad would go ape-shit,’ he said. ‘He thinks that only poofs are hairdressers.’

  I squirmed on the chair. ‘That’s not true. Hairdressing is a type of trade too.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He squeezed my shoulder and a warm glow filled my belly. He’d finished squirting the dye on my hair and was Gladwrapping my head. I resembled a human condom. He stepped back and admired his handiwork. ‘All done.’ He slicked back a few errant strands. ‘Let’s watch TV until it sets.’

  Twenty minutes later I bent over the basin while he washed the dye out. As he worked around me his crotch rubbed against my hip. I was never more aware that my best friend was a guy now. Kathleen and I had dyed each other’s hair heaps of times, but I’d never been conscious of how intimate a thing it was, hands all over your head, a body surrounding you.

  Brian lifted a section of hair. ‘Oh, oh.’

  I forgot about my discomfort. Now I was terrified. ‘What’s wrong?’ I demanded.

  bad hair

  ‘You’re kind of patchy,’ Brian said.

  I inspected my hair. Even though it was wet and therefore darker, it was obvious that the brown hadn’t covered it completely.

  ‘I told you to buy two packets,’ Brian accused.

  ‘You know I didn’t have enough money,’ I said between gritted teeth. Instead of the gorgeous, glossy brunette I’d imagined, I looked like my head was covered in spew. ‘I’m up shit creek.’ I sat on the edge of the bathtub and covered my head with my hands.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Brian said. ‘You can wear a cap to school and we’ll buy two packets of dye and fix it tomorrow.’

  I liked his plan, but we still had the same problem. ‘So, once again what do I do for cash?’ I was getting frustrated and my case was urgent.

  ‘Sorry Sabiha! I told you: I used the last of my allowance on decorations for the party.’ He put his hands in his pockets and swayed. ‘Can’t your mother help you?’

  I would have to suck up to her and I hated the thought. It was a come-down after my extortion bid. ‘I’ll have to.’

  ‘Let me dry your hair before you go home.’

  I couldn’t even enjoy him running his hands through my hair. When I got home Mum stepped into the hall while I was taking off my shoes. Shoes littered the hallway and chatter came from the living room. Visitors, again.

  Mum’s eyes widened. ‘What did you do to your hair?’ she gasped.

  I touched it self-consciously. ‘I dyed it brown.’

  She thrust me into the living room. ‘Look at my stupid daughter.’ Safet was there, and other familiar faces. ‘Girls would kill for her long, blonde hair and she does this.’ She took a handful of my hair and tossed it. The women clucked their tongues and shook their heads like crazy chickens.

  ‘Mum.’ I pulled from her grasp.

  One of the women squinted at my head. ‘It’s multicoloured.’

  I touched my hair again. ‘There wasn’t enough dye to cover all my hair.’

  ‘She’s still half-blonde,’ another woman said, and they all cackled.

  I ignored them and turned to Mum. ‘Can you lend me money so Dina can fix it tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’ Mum went in and sat on the sofa. I left for my bedroom. Mum called me back. ‘I’ll take you to the hairdresser tomorrow and pay to have it dyed back to blonde.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ I forced a smile. ‘It’s growing on me.’

  In the morning I stared at the mirror. I’d tied my hair into a ponytail so that the patches of blonde kind of resembled streaks. I twisted and turned in front of the mirror. I was fooling myself. I put the cap on and poked my ponytail out the back.

  As I ate breakfast the smell of bleach filled my nostrils. I sniffed and saw that the walls were still damp. Mum usually washed the walls with bleach and water once a year to wipe off the cigarette smoke stains, but I hadn’t seen her do it yesterday.

  She burst through the back door. ‘Have you finished breakfast?’

  ‘What are you doing up?’ She was rarely awake before eleven a.m.

  ‘I wanted to get a early start.’ The back door was open and the Hills Hoist was full of washing. Mum took the dishes from me. ‘You don’t want to be late.’ She’d hadn’t seen me off to school since I was in third grade. She glanced at my cap. ‘I can still make an appointment at the hairdresser.’

  I shouldered my backpack and left.

  Brian was waiting for me at the bike-shed. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Mum won’t give me any money because she wants me to go back to blonde.’ At Brian’s blank look I elaborated. ‘It’s a wog thing. They’re all try-hard Anglos and only believe that hair dye should flow one way, from brown to blonde.’

  ‘You can always go to the party as Poison Ivy.’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not letting her win.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll wait.’ I’d snuck into her purse and lifted five dollars from the Bank of Bahra this morning. Within a week or two I’d have enough.

  ‘But your hair.’ He lifted his hand helplessly to my cap.

  ‘It’ll keep.’ I was already sick of people telling me this was a tragedy.

  ‘Okay,’ Brian said, obviously unconvinced. We walked to the oval and met up with the rest of the group.

  My disguise didn’t last the first period. ‘Ms Omerovic, please remove your cap,’ Mr Singh, my science teacher, commanded from the front as soon as I sat down.

  ‘Can I please keep it on?’

  He smiled. ‘Take it off now or go to the principal’s office.’ He hated me because I didn’t do any homework and I hated him because he was a crap teacher, so we were even. I removed my cap. Everyone gasped. ‘Perhaps if you paid more attention to science you would have had a better outcome,’ Mr Singh said.

  ‘I was aiming for this look.’ I pulled my hair out of the ponytail. The only way to win was to show no fear.

  Mr Singh turned to the whiteboard.

  ‘What the hell did you do?’ Gemma whispered loudly.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Ms Omerovic if you persist in disturbing the class I will have no choice but to call your mother.’

  ‘She’s taken,’ I shot back.

  There was silence for a second, before the class exploded into laughter. At lunchtime I was the eighth wonder of the world and the whole school tracked me down to check out my hair.

  ‘I wouldn’t be caught dead like that,’ Dina pronounced loudly. People in the next suburb would be over to perv soon.

  ‘I’m not a wuss,’ I retorted. Honestly, she was the shallowest person I knew. How anyone could believe we were friends escaped me. Dina flounced off, Gemma in tow.

  ‘You’re so brave.’ Brian said. ‘I would have faked pneumonia rather than go out like that.’

  I couldn’t help feeling disappointed in Brian, but tried to push it away. ‘What’s the big deal? It’s only hair.’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ Brian got excited. ‘Hair is an expression of our individuality.’

 
‘It’s just dead cells.’ On this subject, it was clear that we’d never understand the other’s point of view.

  ‘Perhaps the question is why you don’t think it’s important?’ Jesse weighed in as the mediator.

  ‘When you have a Mum like mine, public embarrassment is a waste of emotion. When she’s sick she can be like a kid and when she’s healthy she’s not much better, so I don’t find this shit,’ I waved my hand at the school, ‘important.’ Staring at Brian and Jesse, I added, ‘I only care what people I respect think about me.’ Jesse watched me like I’d just performed a cool trick. Our eyes locked and I had to look away.

  ‘You really don’t care if other people like you or not…’ Brian sounded incredulous.

  ‘Not if I don’t like them.’

  Brian glanced at the buildings behind us. ‘We’re different.’ There was such a naked look of longing on his face. ‘I’d give anything for people to think I’m cool, but they know I’m a loser.’

  ‘You are cool,’ I blurted. I was already out of my depth. I sought Jesse’s support, but he still had that goofy look on his face. ‘You dress nicely and your hair is always perfect.’ I forged ahead anyway.

  Brian smiled sadly. ‘No, you’re cool, Sabiha. Because you don’t give a shit about what those idiots think of you.’ He walked away.

  ‘But—’ I protested.

  ‘Leave him.’ Jesse held my arm. ‘He needs to be alone.’

  ‘I didn’t want to make him feel bad.’

  ‘He does that himself,’ Jesse said emphatically. I propped myself next to him on the table. We sat in silence. Brian was always a buffer and we were hardly ever alone together, so it felt a bit weird. ‘He’s right, you know,’ Jesse finally said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You are cool.’

  There was something in his eyes that made my heart speed up. ‘Thanks,’ my voice came out in a whisper. His head dipped towards me. I clenched my hands tight on the table and blushed. ‘The bell’s about to go.’ I jumped off the table and bent to get my backpack, hiding my face. After what seemed like forever the bell rang.

  Jesse jumped off too and stood so that we were almost touching. We stared at each other. ‘Saved by the bell,’ he said.

  Sprung. My heart was pounding. ‘We’d better go or we’ll be late,’ I said.

  He stepped aside and let me lead. As we made our way to our English class I was excruciatingly aware of him beside me, of our arms almost touching as we walked. I wanted to move away, but was too scared and uncomfortable.

  I stopped in front of the toilets. ‘I’ll meet you in class.’ I hid in the stall, sitting on the toilet seat, my head in my hands. What was I going to do? Somehow I’d stuffed things up with both Brian and Jesse.

  When I got to class the teacher was writing on the whiteboard. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered to Miss Partridge as I passed. Oddly, she smiled back at me, instead of reprimanding me. I sat next to Jesse and avoided looking at him.

  ‘As you all know the St Albans News has been running a weekly feature publishing articles from each school in the district,’ Miss Partridge announced. ‘It is with great pleasure that I congratulate two of our very own students, Sabiha Omerovic and Jesse James.’ The class clapped as Miss Partridge handed us a copy of the newspaper.

  I flipped through the paper and found our articles on page thirteen. ‘We did it!’ I exclaimed. We’d handed in our articles, but the newspaper hadn’t notified us that we would be published. I wriggled with joy then gave Jesse a hug. His hands moved to my waist and he pulled me against him. When his body pressed against mine I gasped and met his gaze.

  ‘Congratulations.’ He leaned down and brushed his lips against my cheek.

  ‘To you too,’ I whispered, letting go.

  His hands moved from my waist slowly, a lingering caress through my T-shirt.

  After class, I packed up my bag, my whole body off-centre, my head floating separate from my body. I snatched glances at Jesse who was surrounded by students congratulating him. He caught me looking and smiled at me. I nodded and rushed to the bike-shed. I unlocked the padlock in record time and only after I’d wheeled the bike off the school grounds did I feel I could breathe properly.

  I didn’t know what was happening between Jesse and me, but I didn’t like it. We were friends and had to stay that way. Friendships were thin on the ground and I couldn’t jeopardise them with pointless flirting.

  When I got home my legs trembled from the pedalling. ‘Mum,’ I yelled as I burst through the back door.

  Mum ran from the living room. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I got published!’ I handed her the newspaper. ‘Read it, read it!’ I jumped around her.

  ‘What’s the noise?’ Dido came into the kitchen, Safet beside him.

  Mum opened the page and held it up for him to see. ‘Sabiha got published in the newspaper.’

  ‘Good, good,’ Dido said.

  ‘What did you write about?’ Safet asked.

  ‘About the building of the mosque.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said.

  ‘I’m very proud of you,’ Mum said as she hugged me. I followed her into the living room. While they drank their coffee I sat on the floor and watched TV. ‘I’ll frame the article so everyone can see when they come to visit,’ Mum added.

  ‘I’ll take a copy to the mosque tomorrow,’ Dido said. ‘Show everyone how my grand-daughter is promoting Bosnians.’

  I smiled. The phone rang and I picked it up. ‘Dido, it’s Adnan for you.’ I held out the phone.

  Dido hung up after a few seconds. ‘Put it on “The Price is Right”,’ he demanded.

  I switched channels. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Adnan’s on TV.’ Dido peered at the screen.

  ‘Typical,’ I muttered.

  We all watched the television in silence. He was the third guest to get a chance to compete for the prize. ‘We hear you’ve led an interesting life,’ the host asked. ‘Your family came to Australia from Bosnia?’

  ‘Yes, Larry,’ Adnan spoke into the microphone. ‘My family had to leave Bosnia as refugees and we came here when I was a child. We lost our house and everything. Neither of my parents could get jobs in their field here and now work as cleaners to put me through school.’

  ‘What would you like to win?’ Larry asked.

  ‘A car, of course.’ Adnan grinned into the camera.

  ‘I think we can help with that.’ Larry gave him a cheeky smile.

  ‘That’s right, Larry,’ the voiceover guy broke in. ‘Adnan you’re playing for a new car.’ The camera panned to a shiny blue car. A model in a sparkly gold dress waved her arm and flashed her teeth.

  ‘We’re playing the grocery game.’ Another model stood behind a fake cash register. There were five items on a stand. A packet of Edgell frozen peas, a Cadbury chocolate tray, a can of Friskies cat food, Impulse deodorant, and a can of Heinz baked beans. ‘To play this game, Adnan, you can buy any of these items, but you need to spend a minimum of $10.00 and no more than $10.50,’ the host explained. The figures appeared on the register just in case we didn’t understand the sophisticated maths. ‘If you succeed, the car is yours! And what a prize it is.’

  The studio audience went crazy, yelling at Adnan and exhorting him to buy their lucky combinations of items. He didn’t look at the audience. ‘The chocolate, please,’ Adnan said coolly. The model rang it up. The register flashed $6.50 on the display screen. ‘Deodorant.’ The register flashed $8.55. ‘Cat food.’

  The register hit $10.05 and the theme music played. ‘Congratulations Adnan. You’ve won yourself a car.’ Bits of confetti fell from the ceiling. The model in the gold dress led Adnan to the driver’s seat of the car. The camera moved to a close-up of him. ‘Adnan will be competing for the chance to win the showcase on the other side of this commercial break.’

  As usual that bastard had outdone me.

  ‘Look at what my grandson did!’ Dido shouted. He tried calling Auntie
Zehra, but their phone was engaged.

  I groaned. How big would his head be now…After the break he and the woman who won a holiday stood behind two desks.

  ‘The showcase you’re competing for is valued at between $52,000 and $53,000. The person who guesses the closest amount receives the showcase.’ The host opened an envelope and read the amount, which then appeared on the screen for the viewers to see.

  Adnan and the woman took turns guessing the price of the showcase, while the host indicated if it was higher or lower. I sat on the floor biting my knees as Adnan inched closer to the correct price. ‘Please, please,’ I prayed. ‘Please don’t let him win.’ When Adnan missed out by $10 to the woman, I sighed my relief, while Dido and Mum shouted their disappointment. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

  The phone rang and Dido answered. A big grin broke out on his face. ‘That’s my grandson Adnan. The movie star of our family. He’s going to do well for himself.’

  I folded up the newspaper with my article in it and went to my bedroom. The phone rang all night and Dido kept answering, his voice full of joy as he expounded on his grandson’s qualities.

  At school the next day Adnan was greeted like a celebrity. ‘They taped it a month ago and I was waiting for the episode to air,’ he explained.

  ‘You were so lucky,’ Dina said.

  ‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ Adnan said. ‘I went three times before I was picked to appear as a contestant. It took me that long to figure out how the system works.’

  ‘What system?’ Brian asked.

  ‘They want people who have an interesting story. One time I told them I was an orphan, but I think that was too sad for them, so I pulled it back a bit.’

  ‘You deceived people,’ I said.

  Adnan lifted an eyebrow. ‘I gave people a story they wanted to hear.’

  A mob gathered around him. Everyone wanted to touch him as if his good luck would rub off. I grabbed my backpack and left. Someone called my name and I turned to see Jesse running towards me.

  ‘Was your mum happy about the article?’ he asked.