by Shawneda
“No, start on her website. You can write something up. I’ll take some photos of you while you’re getting your first style for the takeovers done by Brielle, or Breyonna can if I’m at work, since she still does your hair on Saturdays.”
I exhaled and allowed my shoulders to relax. The thought of writing down what happened and what we’d do next felt a lot less official. Less intense. All teenagers didn’t want to be plastered all over the internet. Don’t mention me unless there is a scholarship or volleyball trophy somewhere around.
“You’ll both be fine. I’ll be around. So start with writing up how you ended up posting that comment on Instagram. Her bloggers and newsletter followers may not even know what happened.” Uncle Corey strummed his fingers on each other.
Aunt Tanya’s shoulder’s tightened as she typed.
“That’s an awful lot of hair talk. I mean, I don’t know if I care about changing my hair enough to talk about it once a week online.” I flicked my fingernails against each other to make the clicking sound that helped me think.
Aunt Tanya shifted around in her seat. She hated when I clicked my nails.
“You get new hairstyles every week and you and Brielle are discussing all of your options for when you go to school.” Uncle Corey said.
I nodded.
“The takeover isn’t you posting on the platform all day. Just you saying what you think and feel without me editing it or censoring your comments.” Aunt Tanya typed something on the computer. “You’re better at expressing yourself than you think.”
Embarrassment caused my neck and face to turn red. I had no idea how to apologize when she refused to even look at me for more than ten seconds. “When you put it like that, I’m sure I’ll think of something. This gives me a chance to work on my composition. It can help me decide if I want to send a video or a paper essay with my college applications. Good looking out, Uncle Corey.”
Uncle Corey smiled. “You two can take credit for this. I’m here to referee and help steer us all back to fun family movie nights on the second floor patio. We’re making the best from an awkward, unplanned situation. Not launching a new brand promotion campaign.”
“Still, I appreciate you for helping and for forgiving me.” Two caregivers speaking to me might be nice. However, one understanding adult is all a girl like me needs. “Who knows, I may be telling girls who love sports the way I do the best place to get bundles and bags.”
Aunt Tanya dropped her head and tried to hide her smile. I heard her mumble. “This little girl.”
I hadn’t made her smile in weeks. I’ll ask Breyonna’s mom to help me pick out a homecoming dress if she’s still cool on me in a few weeks. If I try real hard, she might thaw in time for Thanksgiving or Christmas. She’d have to come around by the time I graduate.
3
I’d avoided Uncle Corey for two days. This morning I almost missed the bus trying to wait for him to leave so I can eat breakfast. Almost eggs and toast don’t taste good semi-warm. Some vegetarian food must be chewed piping hot from the pan. The text message I received on the bus let me know I’d stalled as long as possible. I recorded my first vlog for the Ask Tanya B bloggers today.
My hands felt sweaty as I unlocked the backdoor to the salon and snuck up past the empty chairs. Talking to a bunch of invisible strangers through a camera about my hair seemed silly. Yet, here I am, thanks to my inability to tell Aunt Tanya the truth.
Ms. Brielle waved hello as I made my way past the client waiting area to the stairwell. Aunt Tanya bought this place for a steal back when they were renovating Macon. Now she owned one of the hottest natural shops in the best districts in the city. People and realtors stopped by offering to buy the place at least once a month.
My legs carried me to my room faster than I planned to make the trip. Ms. Brielle told me she’d stay to do my makeup and hair for the vlog. Like this is a real television production or something. Not like I’m Ms. Maya Hatton, one of Aunt Tanya’s clients, who does the local news. She’s a celebrity. Even interviewed Chadwick Boseman from Black Panther for her special interview segments. I’m just a high school senior trying to win tickets to an ATeez concert and earn a scholarship for college so I can move out before I’m forty years old.
I changed out of my volleyball practice clothes to take a shower before changing into the outfit Ms. Brielle helped me pick out. Aunt Tanya has continued her silent protest. When I’m older and someone hurts my feelings, I’m going to talk to them. Silent treatment is stupid.
Showered, moisturized, and clothed, I took my time going back down to the salon. Ms. Brielle waved as she pushed the heavy duty dry sweeper cloth across the floor.
“Look who’s ready for her vlogging debut.” Ms. Brielle waved. “Give me a few moments. I’ll be right there.”
I nodded since the lump in my throat refused to budge. Did she see this frog squatting beneath my tonsils? No.
“Alright, you look great in the fit we selected.” Ms. Brielle patted the back of her stylist chair. “Let’s do this, Corey told me you’ve been avoiding him so I know you’re stalling, ma’am.”
My feet drug me across the floor. I felt my butt ease into the chair. I don’t remember how they moved against my will. The nerves jumbled together in my stomach matured to full-fledge knots of worry. Who cared how I wore my hair? “Thank you for helping me with my outfit.”
“You look, very pretty. I can still tell you’re nervous. And the camera will see as well.” Ms. Brielle motioned for me to close my eyes and tilt my head back. “Tell me what you plan to talk about today.”
Just when I wanted to rejoice for its existence, the frog betrayed me and slid down my throat to wherever tongue tying frogs reside. “Nothing too heavy or even interesting, in my opinion. Why I want to explore texturizers and protein treatments instead of natural hair. This is going to bore her readers so much we’re going to cancel doing it for next week.”
“Not a chance.” Ms. Brielle tilted my head less than an eighth of an inch and began applying something to my face. “You’re going to have to come off it. Tell the truth. You unleashed a world of hurt on Tanya in your IG comment. This is an opportunity to explain why you felt so trapped you didn’t ask her about this before offline.”
My nervousness subsided as anger began to dance around the bottom of my stomach. Hope miss throat frog survives blood boiling temperatures. “Not true. This is an attempt to make the best out of a bad situation. I’m not doing anything radical. I just want to consider a change for my hair.”
“Answer this question, JeShaun,” Ms. Brielle dusted something on the top of my eyelid. “What made you feel like you had to tell her that on social media instead of here in the salon? Over breakfast? Lunch? After dinner? She is very reasonable with a full stomach.”
My heart ached for the way things used to be between Aunt Tanya and I. “Not going to debate you on the full stomach. I don’t know. You make it seem like I planned this whole thing to sabotage her new product line. When the truth is, she pissed me off with her post as if I hadn’t told her I wanted to talk to her before the next photo shoot.”
“Oh, yeah. You did. I remember now.” Ms. Brielle changed the degree of my head tilt. I heard her open a jar. “Open your eyes so I can see please.”
I squinted as my eyes took a moment to adjust to the brightness from the window and overhead lights. “She acts as if I never made the request, too. Maybe she forgot. I just wanted to talk about my options for my hair since I’m going away to school next year. No college athlete has time to go to the salon for hours every week, keep grades up, practice, and learn something.”
“Stop stalling.” Ms. Brielle stood up away from my face. Her empty hand found its way to her hip. “Tell me what happened. You’ll feel better if you practice before your first vlog. Practice with me.”
I sighed. “Fine. I’d rather write a post, but whatever.”
“Stalling,” Ms. Brielle said in a sing-song voice.
I took a deep bre
ath. “Keylisa and I have a good life here, Ms. Brielle. Our mother died. My Dad is in the wind, her Dad is a check with a pulse. No text messages. No calls. No gifts in the mail. Nothing. Knowing his child’s mother is gone. So, I know we’re blessed to be here. While Mom is gone, we’re not in foster care or living with a relative we hate.”
“Your mom loved you girls very much.” Ms. Brielle sounded like she wanted to cry.
I looked up toward the ceiling to keep the tears from falling and messing up my makeup. “Well, I wanted to be a good daughter by being the best big sister I can be to Keylisa. Give my all to making good grades so I am not a burden to Aunt Tanya and Uncle Corey. No one asked me how I felt about losing mom after we stopped seeing the lady after service at church.”
Ms. Brielle made the pucker your lips face. How am I supposed to talk with my lips poked for gloss or shine or whatever is on that little brush in her hand? She finished a moment later.
“Anyway. Between trying to hold on to my memories and teach Keylisa about her while not feeling weird every time someone talked about their mom, I didn’t have time to think about my hair.” I tilted my head to the side to mirror the way Ms. Brielle held her head. She leaned in and started doing something to my eyebrows. “Now all I can wonder is how am I going to not look like those girls they roast on social media for looking busted while playing sports. You know the memes. Even radio people trash women athletes. They love to talk trash about black women. I’m almost eighteen. I can’t put a ponytail in my own hair.”
Ms. Brielle paused. “My goodness, you’re right. We never stopped to think about teaching you how to do your own hair. I think we assumed you’d pick up what to do from being around here. Or just explore the videos and learn how to care for it on your own.”
I shook my head. “No, Ms. Brielle.”
“I think they fired that guy. If not, God will get him. You can’t let folks who are too whatever is wrong with them to be respectful of others keep you from being you. Yes, you’re going to be a black woman. You’re also an intelligent, ambitious, hard-working girl who loves helping others. People who matter will see you for who you are and ignore idiots making wisecracks.”
I laughed. “Tell that to the dummies liking stupid stuff like that. Or making ‘do you prefer black girls or white girls’ videos on TikTok. Nothing I do will matter according to all the experts if I don’t look perfect doing it. Yes, people are trying to change the status quo attitude, but when you look at the people who succeed, they still don’t match the new message. The least I can do is show up to a volleyball game with my hair in a nice top knot or ponytail that will continue to look nice no matter how hard I play.”
“You’re right, darling. We assumed you knew more than you do.” Ms. Brielle turned me around in the chair. “I’ll be sure to include making time to teach you how to do the styles or keep them up when we do your hair each week. I’ll start with telling you what to look for when you buy your shampoo. They are not created equal. You need them to include certain ingredients, and you must avoid others for your best hair. Deal?”
A big smile covered my face as I stared in the mirror. I looked flawless but not like I’m wearing any makeup. “Thank you.”
“You still haven’t told me what you’re going to say about why you said what you said on Instagram. People are nosy. They’re gonna tune in to see what you have to say. Some of them will even be hoping for some drama, sass, and more mess. People are also going to be open to you sharing what prompted your pop off. Lots of teenage girls are under pressure, just like you from their family. Society. Themselves. Give your truth some space, tell them how you felt. Why you were so out of pocket. Then even some of the ones who came to be nosy will stay because they’ll start to care.”
I nodded, but I didn’t understand. Care? About me and my hair decision for college. Why? “Truth be told, I’m just going along with this to get our family back to normal. Nothing has been the same since I made that post. Gosh, I just want to decide how I want to wear my hair. Not lead some online discussion.”
“Still stalling,” Ms. Brielle paused in front of me. “Nevermind practicing for the camera. Talk to me. I’m your godmother. You know you can tell me anything. Get it off your chest.”
Tears threatened again. I dropped my head back, blinking as fast as possible while focusing on the ceiling. Once they were gone, I took a deep breath. “Keylisa and I were not supposed to be here. Mom died. I wanted to be the best big sister possible. Promised mom I’d always be a good girl, help Aunt Tanya when she left town for work. I enjoyed modeling for Aunt Tanya before mom died and even had fun. After the counseling ended at church, I just channeled all my negative energy into being positive. Mom always said to be positive. Wanted to make her proud. Didn’t want to seem ungrateful to Aunt Tanya and Uncle Corey.
You know how hard she worked to get this place up and going ahead of schedule so she didn’t touch our college fund. Everything she sacrificed made me love her even more. She never complained, but I know she canceled a lot of her own plans to care for us. Complaining about not being asked what I wanted to do with my hair seemed trivial.
Teaching Keylisa about our mom, being a good big sister, and making sure I get a scholarship for college felt more important. So I never took time to work through all the other stuff. Too busy trying to get ready to be an adult. Help take care of my sister. The way I promised my mom. Sometimes I think Aunt Tanya forgets she’s only eleven years older than me. I’m not a little girl anymore. Knowing all the stuff she did to take care of us and care for us now. I didn’t know how to tell her. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.”
“What else?” Ms. Brielle leaned against her stylist station.
I dropped my head forward. “She is so bossy and doesn’t listen very well. Even her brand name shows you she thinks she knows it all. I wanted to talk to her about what I need to know to decide about my hair. Not seek permission. It’s my hair. When it comes to my hair I didn’t want to ask, I wanted to tell Tanya B… not the entire natural hair community.”
“Yeah, but you did, kid. You posted your business on Instagram, so now not only are you part of the discussion. You are the one who is going to be leading it.” Ms. Brielle walked around the front of the styling chair, studying my hair and face. “You are a great kid. The best big sister in the world to Keylisa. Give yourself some time, then go tell them what you told me. Pretend we’re just having us time. Tell them the same way you just told me what happened that made you go off that day.”
I felt a tug on the back of my letterman’s jacket. Best friend. Check. Money for froyo. Check. Ready to get the heck out of school. Check.
“Hey, Influencer.” Breyonna said. She made a duck lip kissy face.
I shook my head. “You have me mistaken for Aunt Tanya. I’m just a girl on the court.”
“Nah, I saw your video, and the clip she posted on Instagram. You looked fierce. Almost made me cry, twice.” Breyonna smiled.
Memories of Ms. Brielle squeezed in behind the camera and the wall to be my sounding board made me smile. “My godmother did my makeup. Girl, I’m so ready for all of this to be over. I mean, who cares about all of this dead protein growing from my scalp. I need to ask your Mom who shaves her head.”
“Cute.” Breyonna scans my face as if trying to analyze something. “You do have the bone structure. Save lots of time and money on hair care products. Long as you don’t develop a wig habit. I’ll ask her.”
I gave her a playful punch on the shoulder. “Funny. I’m not playing. We aren’t even a week in yet. I’m exhausted. You know I have to go and respond to all of those people’s comments on the blog, and social media too. This crap is a lot of work.”
“Yeah, I can tell. My mom talks about it all the time when she is posting on non product photography pictures on Instagram.” Breyonna waved her hand. “Let’s wait til we grab the froyo. You know I hate having deep discussions on an empty stomach.”
We picked up the pace to catch
the bus to her house. I’d had my Aunt Tanya arrange for the temporary bus assignment the way we’d done every other weekend I stayed over at their house. My home away from home. For all my frustration, I may have to get a super sized froyo for tonight.
I loved the eclectic colors in Breyonna’s bedroom. All her smarty pants vibes aside, I swear she is made of Care Bears and gummy worms. No one ever expects her to be as smart as she is since she is as beautiful as her mother. Yet, she and I battle for salutatorian and valedictorian in our class every report card.
Nevermind, she still talked to that weird oversized Doc McStuffins doll in the corner her Dad gave her when she turned five. Her ombre bedspread’s colors always match her oversized throw pillows when I’m visiting her or spending the night.
I can’t tell you how many nights we’ve listened to ATeez or BTS on her smart speaker. The carpet in the middle of her room should have a hole in it. We do Wonder Girls “Nobody” dance routine better than they do. Probably not. But we think we do when we perform in Breyonna’s bedroom.
My backpack landed on the floor in the spot beneath her’s on her dresser. She was nothing if not organized. Breyonna still had her childhood Doc McStuffin’s bookshelf. In pristine collector’s condition, — according to her — and she intended to keep it that way since no one knew if Disney ever planned to introduce another black female lead character again.
I plopped down on my favorite pile of floor pillows and pulled my carton of froyo from the bag.
“You weren’t kidding.” Breyonna crossed her knees. She sat on the pillows positioned next to her bed. “Wait, let me get my thinking spoon.”
Yeah, getting the tub of yum froyo had been the right call. We did our best girl talk when the thinking spoon came out. Now to ordinary folks, it looked like a high school senior eating with a cartoon character, but Breyonna and I knew better.