I specifically kept my eyes away from Chantal in the mirror so I wouldn’t have to see her reaction to my outburst.
Would she be angry?
Disgusted?
Would she kick me out of the salon on the spot?
Or would she at least save me a little dignity and just quietly cut my hair and pretend I hadn’t said anything?
The answer was none of the above. Instead, she snapped her fingers at one of the other nearby stylists.
“Renee. Renee. Go get whatever wigs we have in the back that’ll look good on him.”
The woman, Renee, looked up from where she’d been cleaning her brushes and supplies. Her eyes barely flicked toward me, but I could see calculations going on behind her gaze.
“We won’t have much that’ll match his natural hair.”
“I know,” Chantal agreed, though she had already returned to examining my hair again. “But I’m pretty sure we’ve got something that’ll at least be close enough. Just bring everything out so we can compare options.”
Renee left for a room at the back of the shop, and I craned my neck to look up at Chantal.
“A wig?”
Her smile was blinding, but surprisingly genuine. “You’re not the only one who’s wanted to go from short hair to long hair. A wig will be your best option while you wait for your natural hair to grow out. Although…” She ran her hand through my hair again. “We’re still going to trim this up, so it’ll grow in a little more evenly.”
As Chantal worked on my hair, Renee returned with a couple of long brown wigs. They were clearly expensive, with lace fronts and delicate layers that looked incredibly natural. Renee wasapparently the salon’s expert when it came to the application of wigs, so as Chantal focused on my hair, she discussed each of the options with me. The first one was extremely long and straight, and also the darkest of the three options. The second was a little shorter, with blond highlights mixed into the brown. The third was a rich chocolate brown with a slight red tint. As they’d said, none of the wigs were an exact match for my hair, but they were close enough that they wouldn’t look abnormal once applied.
While discussing the options, we ended up talking about how I used to wear my hair when it was long. The conversation came so naturally, that soon I found myself revealing memories that I didn’t even realize I had. I told the women about how my mother insisted on styling me with long hair and dresses from the day I was born, so that was the look that I found most comfortable. However, once I went to live with my father, long hair and dresses were no longer acceptable. Because of that, the only feminine style I’d been able to experience was that of a child. I’d never known what an adult woman’s style was like, so I wasn’t sure what my preferences would be.
After I’d finished talking, I was startled when one of the other customers chimed in with a story of their own about when their strict parents tried to dictate their clothing. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but as I looked around the salon, I realized that everyone had been listening to me, and to my surprise they seemed to relate. Everyone had some story about a parent, or a teacher, or an ex that disapproved of their style and tried to control them. A few of the women had even been forced to throw out their clothes before, just like I had. The reasons were all different, but the longing for acceptance and individuality was the same.
When I first set foot in the salon I felt completely out of place, but by the time my hair was done and the wig was applied, I felt just as comfortable here as I did at Auggie’s apartment.
In the end, I’d chosen the third wig, the chocolate brown with the slight red tint. It had a slight wave to the hair, which I liked, and fell several inches past my shoulders. Chantal trimmed up the layers around my face, so they lined up with my bone structure a little better, and then I was done. My clothing was still a disgrace, and the marks from my burns still remained. However, when I looked in the mirror and saw the long hair framing my face and tumbling around my shoulders, I felt like a layer of gauze had been lifted from my eyes. I could almost see myself again.
After we left the salon a few hours later, we were finally able to go shopping as we’d intended. Throughout the day, I kept startling myself whenever my new long hair brushed against my skin, but my reactions made Melody laugh, and I managed to find the humor in it as well. Long hair had once been natural for me, and I would eventually get used to it again.
I’d never gone shopping for myself before. My mother had picked out all my “girl” clothes”, other people had forced “boy” clothes on me, and when I’d been homeless, I’d worn whatever I could get my hands on. So, I let Chantal lead the way for our shopping trip.
She took us to an outdoor shopping plaza where we could easily dip in and out of different stores, like butterflies sampling the nectar of different flowers. We’d flutter in through the doors, grab whatever caught our eye to try on, and if we weren’t satisfied, we’d leave just as quickly as we came to find better options elsewhere.
The first time I went back to the changing room to try something on, I held the dress in my hands with my heart beating like a marching band in my ears. Since Chantal was with me, no one had looked twice when we’d grabbed the dress off the rack, but surely, someone was bound to notice when I was the one who came out wearing it instead of her. There was no telling how the other customers or the store employees might react to the sight of a man wearing a very obvious woman’s outfit.
If I just put it back now, no one would notice.
“Mia?” Chantal called as she knocked on the changing room door. “How’re you doing?”
“If you don’t like that one, I found another pretty dress,” Melody’s voice called just before something puffy and covered in sequins was shoved under the door.
Laughing, I picked up Melody’s choice and set it aside, thanking her despite the fact that I had no intention of wearing it. The dress was colorful, but hideous.
Chantal’s original pick for me, however, was beautiful. It was a shade of blue that reminded me of summer, with a subtle purple gradient toward the bottom, and was made of several light layers that seemed like they’d be very fun to twirl around once I was wearing it.
Biting my lip and steeling my resolve, I put the dress on.
It wasn’t a perfect fit. It had been made for a woman, after all, and I just couldn’t fill it out in the right way. However, it was much more comfortable than I expected. As the fabric settled around me, I felt something shift behind my ribs, like a splinter that I’d forgotten about had finally dislodged.
My hands shook when I opened the changing room door, but I didn’t hesitate when I stepped out.