If she calmed down, would they go away? She sat stooped in the corner of the closet and caressed her hair, hoping it would calm them, calm her.
The door to the classroom opened. Her stomach lurched, and the snakes began to move again.
No, she thought, panicked. She needed to stay calm. Whoever it is would go away.
"Shemeya?" said a voice from inside of the room.
Damn, it was Sean, Latreece's boyfriend. But he'd also been Shemeya's first love. She'd broken up with him during freshman year to date a senior. She learned too late the older boy had only wanted one thing. When he got it, he never talked to her again.
"Please go away," she shouted. Suspecting he wouldn't, Shemeya re-braided her hair, and hid the snakes in the braid as best she could. Just as she'd finished, the closet light switched on.
"Shemeya, are you okay?" Sean stepped into the closet and kneeled so that they were face-to-face. "I'm sorry about Latreece."
The concern in his eyes melted her heart. "How can you stand to be with someone like that?"
"She's not usually like that. She's been acting crazy since the party last week."
"If you didn't want to piss her off, then why did you tell the entire school we slept together?" Shemeya asked, louder than she intended.
"I didn't tell anyone we slept together."
"Then why all the stories? Everyone thinks I'm a ho, and your girlfriend just kicked my ass."
"An entire room of people saw you pull me into that room at the party."
He stood. She grabbed his hand and allowed him to pull her onto her feet. "You could have told everyone the truth," Shemeya said.
"I did. No one believed me." When they had dated, he was awkward and gawky, but over the past few years, he'd turned into one of the finest boys in school. She shouldn't have broken up with him. He had been the one to encourage her to grow dreads after her hair had broken off from a bad relaxer.
"Why didn't anything happen at the party?" Shemeya asked. "You wanted to at first."
He looked away, but not before I saw regret in his eyes. "That was a mistake. I'm with Latreece. I shouldn't have let it get that far." He tried to walk towards the closet door, but she moved in front of him, placing her hands on his chest.
"Please don't go." Just touching him sent pleasurable chills down her spine.
"I only came to make sure you were okay." He met her gaze. "You look fine, so I need to go. Latreece will kill me if she catches me in here."
Shemeya grabbed his shirt. "No one will see us this time." He tried harder to move past her, but he stopped suddenly, his entire body rigid underneath her hands.
"Why does it look like there are snakes in your hair?" he asked, taking slow, tentative steps backward.
"Don't worry about them. If you are nice to me, they'll be nice to you." She should have been worried, but his presence made her giddy and light headed. The snakes liked him, and she needed to tell him how she felt. "I miss you."
He gasped and covered his mouth with a trembling hand. Sean gaped at the snakes. "You been messing with Crazy Jade, haven't you?"
She shrugged and let go of his shirt. "Maybe."
"Shemeya, there are snakes attached to your head. That ain't normal."
"Why aren't you surprised?" She patted her hair, and the snakes moved to stroke her hand.
"Crazy things like this always happened in New York."
She grimaced, not understanding what he said. "It's common to have dreadlocked snakes there?"
"No, but there are so many damn fairies coming through, anything's possible." Sean's voice shook with apprehension and fear.
"Fairies? Like gay people?" Shemeya asked. She'd never seen him so scared. For a second, she wondered if he might be going crazy, but the entire situation was crazy.
"No, fairies like monsters." Sean took another step back and nervously rubbed a hand over his head. "Oh, damn! Did you attack Jason?"
She bit her lip, suppressing the urge to cry. How did such a great day end up so bad? "I didn't hurt him. The snakes did, and I didn't know my hair was going to turn into snakes, and I didn't know Jason would try to rape me. The snakes were only trying to protect me."
"Calm down, Shemeya." He grabbed her shoulders, preventing her from moving and forcing Shemeya to look up to meet his gaze. His top lip was twisted in disgust. "You need to get rid of those snakes before anyone finds out."
"So you won't tell anyone about Jason?"
"It was an accident and won't nobody believe me anyway."
"Do you think Jade will take the snakes away?"
"No. Don't go near her." He pulled Shemeya out of the closet and into the classroom.
"Just cut them off," he said, pulling out a pair scissors from the teacher's desk.
"You gotta be kidding! I've been growing these for four years."
"Your dreads turn into snakes. If you don't have the dreads, then you don't have snakes."
Both she and the snakes cringed as Sean held out the ominous metallic scissors.
Her dreads were a part of her. They separated her from everyone else. She ran her fingers through her hair and the snakes. The decision should have been simple: dreads or a normal life. So why was she hesitating to choose?
2
Ashley
I think that the most important thing a woman can have- next to talent, of course- is her hairdresser. - Joan Crawford
Ashley's face contorted in pain, and her eyes watered while a wide-tooth comb traveled through her thick, dry, coiled hair.
"You're the only mixed girl I know with hair worse than regular black folks," Chantel said, sucking on her teeth. Chantel was skinny, had a medium brown complexion, and she wore a gold hooped nose ring.
"Damn you, Chantal. Why do you have to say that every time you do my hair?" Ashley's white father should have guaranteed she'd be born with long curly hair, but instead, she had hair like a wired brillo pad.
When Chantel popped another nap, Ashley screamed and pulled away. Three kids: two girls and a boy between the ages of five and eight, sat on the couch near the shop's window laughing at her pain. She shot them a murderous stare before they looked away, but their giggling only increased. She hated when folks brought their bad ass kids to the salon. They were loud and always made fun of her while she got her hair done.
The 23rd St. Beauty Parlor sat in an old shopping center between a Dollar Store and a bingo hall. Dingy beige paint peeled from the corners of the walls, and strands of black Silky Number 5 littered the floor. One of the three hooded hair dryers sitting in the back of the shop had an out of order sign on the broken plastic seat.
"I need the good stuff," Ashley said, trying to ignore the muffled laughter of the kids.
"The stuff I used last time was the good stuff," Chantel said.
"You know what I mean." Ashley didn't bother to mask her frustration.
"That stuff is illegal."
"Is there any way you can get your hands on some?" Ashley's hair grew uncontrollably. Until Chantel discovered a product called the Brazilian Blowout, it had never stayed straight for more than a few weeks. The process was banned recently, forcing Ashley to use methods that didn't work nearly as well.
"It's banned for a reason. It has crazy levels of formaldehyde in it." Chantel hit the back of Ashley's chair. "And damn you for not being concerned about my well-being."
"We've been using it for years, and neither one of us has ever gotten sick."
"Well, I don't want any problems either." Chantel rolled her eyes and waved the comb back and forth. "I'm not willing to die just 'cause you want your hair straight."
"Just get some weave," said Treva, a short brown-skinned hairstylist, whose workstation sat across from Chantel. From the mirror, Ashley saw Treva gluing silky black tracks of weave onto her client's scalp.
"My man does not like weave." Ashley released a long, sigh and leaned back in the chair. She looked past Chantal and her nose ring to the piss colored stains on the ceiling.
<
br /> "You know who does use that stuff still?" Treva asked.
"Who?" Ashley shot straight up. The momentum almost sent her out of the chair.
Treva looked above Ashley's head, suddenly silent.
She followed Treva's gaze to see Chantal shaking her head and mouthing the word "no." Ashley turned back to Treva. "Don't listen to her. Who does it?"
"Crazy Jade," Treva said, enunciating each word as if saying the person's name invited something evil and forbidden into the salon.
Ashley furrowed her brow. "Who is Crazy Jade?"
Chantel pointed her comb at Treva. "Really, Treva, really? You just had to say something, didn't you?"
Treva shrugged. "If you ain't gonna straighten it, somebody needs to. Her hair is the nappiest of all nappyville."
The insult hurt, but Ashley boxed the pain away with all of the other hurtful jokes about her nappy hair and sat straighter. "Who is Crazy Jade?"
"That red-headed lady living in your mom's apartment building."
Ashley leaned forward. "You gotta be more specific than that."
"You'd know her if you'd seen her, she's light-skinned and redheaded with freckles."
"Red-headed with freckles? Is she even black?" Ashley asked.
"Her nappy hair makes her black, just like your nappy hair makes you black."
Ashley placed another hurt feeling in her box and transfixed her gaze on Treva. "Is she licensed?"
"Am I licensed?" Treva laughed, dimples appearing on each cheek. "Are any of us licensed?" Ashley looked at the expired certificates on the wall both Chantel and Treva displayed proudly next to their booth.
"Yeah, you got a point," Ashley said, and they all laughed.
After the laughter had ended, Treva said, "You can't tell by her nappy hair, but Crazy Jade can do a mean blowout."
"But why do they call her crazy?" Ashley asked.
Treva shrugged, suddenly deciding to pay attention to her client's weave.
Ashley looked at Chantel.
"Don't ask me I don't deal with her. And I ain't gonna curse myself by talking about her."
"Curse? What the hell are you talking about?" Ashley asked. They had given her hope, and now they were taking it away.
"Well, there are different stories," Treva said.
As she spoke, the entire beauty shop quieted. The kids even stopped fighting with each other and crept closer to listen.
"Well, I heard she's a voodoo priestess, and she got run out of Louisiana after they lynched her husband. And," Treva paused and looked around the salon before she stopped at Ashley, "her red hair and red freckles are the marks of the devil."
"That stuff only exists in movies," Ashley said, relieved. Once upon a time, she believed those stories, but she'd said 'Bloody Mary' and 'Candy Man' in the mirror enough times to know none of that crap actually existed. "Chantel, what do you think?"
"I think no matter how nappy my hair was, I wouldn't go to her." Chantel lowered her voice and looked towards the kids. "Because from what I hear, she's a witch, and she has a room full of plants and spell books she uses to make her potions that will turn loud-ass nosy-ass kids into roaches." Chantal stomped her foot, and the kids (and Ashley and Treva) jumped. "Sit y'all asses down and stay out of grown folk's business."
The trio groaned and skulked back to the couch.
"I don't believe in none of that," Ashley said. "There is no such thing as voodoo priestesses or witches. Treva, you got her number?"
"Nah, she's a competitor, and she's crazy. Why would I have her number? I'm surprised you ain't seen her, though. She always out there at dusk, gossiping just like every other grown ass person in your momma's ghetto apartments."
"Well, Chantel." Ashley hopped off the chair and grabbed a ponytail holder from the counter. "I'm going to see what Crazy Jade can do for me since you're not willing to give me what I want."
"Whatever." Chantel turned towards her mirror, reorganizing the bottles of hairspray and styling gel.
"Don't worry." Ashley pulled her hair into a low ponytail. "I'll be back for my trims and touch-ups."
"You better," Chantel said without turning, but Ashley heard the sparkle in her voice, signifying all was forgiven.
Ashley's mother's apartment sat across from the rental office, the pool, basketball courts, and the playground. Kids were already out sliding down the yellow plastic slides. Occasionally, bursts of laughter were interrupted with angry shouts as two boys, fought over the only working swing. Two groups of giggling girls watched from the shade as teenage boys and a few men ran back and forth on the basketball court with their shirts off. The sweat on their chests glistened in the noonday sun.
This had been the setting of her childhood. Ashley had been raised in various apartments like this, moving every year or two when her mother decided she needed a change or didn't feel like paying the rent.
She missed the busyness of living in apartments. Yeah, everybody knew your business, but drama was preferable to boredom. Two years ago, she'd gotten a government stipend and moved a few miles away into a house in an all-white neighborhood. None of the neighbors talked to each other, and none of the kids were allowed outside to play. The neighborhood was quiet and dull, but her boyfriend, Steven, urged her to stay. The all-white school was better, he'd insisted. Ebony, their daughter, would be guaranteed a better education.
Using her key, Ashley entered her mother's apartment to see Cora and Ebony on the floor playing the Mickey Mouse matching game. From the number of cards on Ebony's side, it looked like Cora was letting the girl win.
"Hi Momma," Ebony said before she turned her attention back to the game and flipped over a card. "I got it, Grandma." She clapped with triumph glittering in her eyes.
If Ebony ever had to choose between Ashley and Cora, her child would choose Cora every time
"Yeah you got it, baby," Cora said with as much joy as Ebony had expressed. Cora had flawless ebony skin and shapely hips and always wore a blonde wig or weave. "You back already?" she asked, leaning onto the living room table to help her stand. "Your hair don't look any better."
Self-consciously, Ashley patted her ponytail. "Chantel doesn't have the stuff I like."
Cora moved to the couch, grabbed a pack of menthol cigarettes and a lighter from the side table. She puffed on the butt of the cigarette as if she'd been waiting for a while to smoke. "That stuff never worked that well anyway." She flicked the cigarette ashes into the ashtray. "You just got nappy hair. But not like my grandbaby. My grandbaby got good hair."
At the sound of her name, Ebony looked up, smiled, and returned to her game. She frowned when she saw it wasn't a match.
Ashley bit her lip in frustration. It hurt to see Cora show Ebony so much love when she always took every opportunity to put Ashley down.
"They told me there's a woman in your apartments that can do good blowouts," Chantel said, ignoring the sadness sitting heavy in her chest. "I thought I would go see her."
Cora furrowed her brow. "Who?"
"Crazy Jade," Ashley said, sitting next to Cora.
"She gave me some lightening cream that goes on as smooth as butter. I'm almost as light as you." Cora craned her neck towards Ashley. "See?"
Cora was exaggerating. She was nowhere near light-skinned, but she was much lighter. Ashley should have noticed it before since her face and neck were a good four shades lighter than her chest.
"Maybe I'll go see her right now," Ashley said.
"If she can do hair half as good as she makes bleaching creams, you are gonna have white girl flow. Bet." Cora took a pull of the cigarette and nodded her head, the strands of her blond wig swung from side-to-side.
"But why do they call her crazy?"
"Don't believe what you hear. You know how folks like to gossip. She is just out there trying to make a buck to feed her child. People like to make up stories about her 'cause she don't tell her business."
"Do you know where her apartment is?" Ashley asked.
Cora n
odded her head, and she inhaled another dose of nicotine. Afterward, she extinguished the cigarette and opened her front door. She pointed across the complex. "You see that apartment right there?"
"Yeah."
"It's behind that building, on the first floor. It's apartment 180. You can't miss it."
The door to Crazy Jade's apartment stood wide open. A dark-skinned boy sat on the grass near the door playing with a broken tree branch. He was bare-chested and shoeless. His small uneven afro had a twig sticking out of it.
"Hey little man," Ashley said, apprehensively. "Do you live here?"
He looked up and nodded. "Yes." The boy looked to be five-years-old, and he had onyx eyes that didn't seem to have a bottom. Ashley stared at them entranced, trying to decide if his eyes were beautiful or creepy.
Ashley pulled herself from the depth of his gaze, remembering why she'd come. "Does Crazy Jade live here?"
He blinked his long eyelashes. "My momma's name is Jade. She's not crazy, though."
Ashley chuckled. "Oh, sorry. Does Jade live here?"
"Yeah." His short ashy legs were a blur as he ran into the apartment yelling, "Momma!"
A second later, a woman ran out of the back. "What is it?" she shouted, worry and shock flashed in her eyes. She wore a robe that hung halfway open showing her left breast. Soap bubbles were on her shoulders and neck, water glistened in her red, kinky hair. Her exposed breast and face were covered with mahogany freckles.
This was Crazy Jade, Ashley decided. The boy's mother appeared just as they'd said. She had a short, nappy red afro and freckles. She also looked like a boy with a thin frame that barely held an ounce of fat.
"There is someone here for you, Momma," he said, still excited.
She looked at Ashley briefly before she returned her attention to the boy. "Coal, all of that screaming scared the hell out of me," she said, shaking his shoulders.
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 168