A Freshmen Story

I wrote the following story as a descriptive writing exercise for one of my BYU classes, so forgive some of the "over the top" descriptions. Also, the story may include some exaggeration... maybe a lot :)Yeah, my roommates would probably tell a different story, haha. But it's a good memory for me.

The Freedom to Dye

I stood awkwardly in the aisle of the unfamiliar store, eyes darting over the bright boxes on the shelves. I felt a restless need to move as I picked up one box, put it down, and grabbed another. Panic squeezed me in its restless grasp as I realized that whichever box I chose would ultimately change the color of my long blond hair.
“Look at this one, Shelley, didn’t you say you wanted something with a little red in it?”

“Had I said that?” I thought as my slightly ashen face snapped towards Kaylee, my confident freshmen roommate. Kaylee tilted her head questioningly at me with a helpful smile. The tight muscles in my face relaxed a little as my eyes came to rest on my four best friends besides me in the aisle. Kaylee and Heather attempted to help me come to any sort of conclusion, while Kami and Jessica perused the shelves for themselves with more excitement than I could muster.

My throat relaxed a little, and I managed to produce an answer.“Yeah…but that one is too red. I think I want something that will make my hair look sort of, strawberry blond, or light brown with just a little red in it. But not too dark. I don’t think I want it to look super different...” Kaylee and Heather instinctively snatched the information I would give them and continued to pour over the hundreds of hair dye boxes in the aisle. I returned to being indecisive, both in my thoughts, and in my movements across the shelves. I read labels, looked at color guides, and hefted boxes. I continued my uncoordinated dance around my friends until both Jessica and Kami had chosen bold colored dyes and turned to see if I was done. Heather and Kaylee now sat on the floor, their backs against the shelves. I think they’d finally given up after having me turn down the twelfth box that met my rather narrow specifications. “I’m sorry guys; I’m just not sure if I can do this.” Jessica quickly piped up, “Aww, come on! It will be fun!”

I brushed my hair back behind my ear and glanced down tentatively at the only dye color that had come close to what I’d envisioned. As I fretted, a jovial store assistant turned the corner into our aisle, placing a few things on the shelves and striking a conversation up with my giddy roommate Jessica. The curvy black woman responded enthusiastically to hearing we were on a road trip to California as college roommates. Jessica thrust out her chosen box, saying, “Do you like this red color?” “Oh sure!” the woman replied, her voice carrying all the charm of a favorite aunt, “Everyone can use a little red in their life!” Jessica spun on her toes to look pointedly at me. We all laughed, the weariness melting out of Heather and Kaylee’s shoulders. I grasped the box in my hands tighter and smiled at them, putting up my white flag of surrender. “Okay, okay. Let’s go before I change my mind!”

As we walked out into the warm, moist California Coast air, I started to skip through the parking lot ahead of my friends. I felt bouncy and light, in the middle of an open lot in a place I’d never been before. My plastic bag flew around erratically as the five of us spoke over one another in happy waves of excited chatter. We piled into the car and sped through the hectic streets towards the house of Jessica’s family. Our bodies jerked forward like rubber bands just released from launch when we came to an abrupt stop in her driveway. We rushed through the front door like a gust of summer air as we quickly filed passed all of the messy sleeping bags splayed across the living room floor.

As Kami and Jessica began to open their purchases, I felt a quiver run through my chest. The giggles that had been on my lips a few moments before as we ran through the house were gone. What was I getting myself into? What if my parents hated my hair when I got home? What would my mother say? My roommates sensed my sudden stillness and turned to see my limp hand drifting toward my phone to call my mom. “What are you doing?” Heather asked suspiciously. My voice suddenly small, I replied, “I was just going to ask my mom what she thought about me dyeing my hair…” the words trailed off in the empty corners of the room. My four friends all blinked at me in unison. “Shelley, you already bought the dye! It’s your choice, you’re in college now!” Kami’s words of reason fell across deaf ears; it was too late, I was hitting speed dial, my slippery fingertips somehow managing to get the job done. The phone call was fairly brief. My mother’s hesitant voice sounded less than enthusiastic: “You want to dye your hair? I guess that’s fine; it’s your choice. But why do you want to change it? I love your blond hair.” As her doubtful words shot through the phone, something changed in me. I quickly finished the conversation, whispering goodnight to my mother. In a matter of moments I'd come to two powerful realizations: it was my hair, and my mother was hundreds of miles away.

In a faded t-shirt and paint splattered cotton shorts I eased into plastic chair on the porch and watched Heather dye Kami’s hair. My eyes shone and my hands animated my words as we chatted about tomorrow and all the places we would visit. The thought of this trip had helped us trudge through the hours of assignments and exams at college, and now we had no responsibilities ahead of us for the summer. When it was my turn to dye my hair, I bounded across the cool cement porch like a fawn just having spotted an open meadow. The chair that had looked hard and menacing before, was just a chair now. Heather’s artistic hands flew across hair with the ease of a professional. I waited for the sinking feeling to return. When the acrid smell of the dye wafted into my face, I simply laughed and screwed up my face. I closed my eyes and leaned back into the chair, content to let my friend toy with the silky strands. The cool liquid dye flowed across my scalp, refreshing and pleasant. The sun sunk slowly down behind the leafy bushes of her yard in the west, like chocolate melting into a puddle of nothingness.

Kami beckoned me over to the water hose when my head was properly sopping wet with a dark cherry brown syrup. I leaned over in a rather exuberant gymnastics stretch as she rinsed the excess color from my hair. Heedless of the old worn clothes I was borrowing, I ran around the yard shaking my hair like a dog. The rest of the night flew by, with little attention paid to the clock on the wall. When my hair was clean and dry I looked in the mirror expecting to assess my new look with a shrewd eye, but the moment hardly affected me at all; it no longer mattered what it looked like to me. I quickly fell asleep in my sleeping bag afterwards, hugging the floor of a distant living room.

The pictures from that trip include a tall girl with fiery, bronze-blond hair. I think people blink twice before they can even see my face. But in every photograph, in all the places we went to on a whim, there’s a smile on my lips, and freedom in my eyes.