A Slice of LIfe by Ms. Guiney

Imperfect Blueness

I hear the thumping of her boots before I recognize her voice. I am upstairs putting clean clothes away and trying unsuccessfully to organize my bookshelves. But I have been waiting for this moment, dreading is too strong a word because I am actually going to enjoy this and I know it and feel a little guilt in that.

“Hey, Auntie Heather, I’m home. I couldn’t find my key, so I had to use the lock box and I totally forgot the code for a few minutes.” She rambles on nervously while ascending the staircase.

“Oh, yeah, what is the code? I think Papa changed it for me last year, but I can’t remember it either.” I can play this game too, I think to myself. Let’s distract ourselves from the real point of our conversation which is about to begin.

“It’s 379, Papa’s old bus number.”

“Good memory, that would have taken me hours to figure out. Of course you could have just called me to let you in. Oh wait no, you couldn’t since you broke your phone again.” The first bit of sarcasm has reached my voice as she reaches my room.

She smiles at me and shrugs off my sarcasm completely used to it by now.

“It really wasn’t my fault. My roommate kicked it off my desk by accident because her bed is so close to mine and she’s so clumsy and totally useless.”

“Plus the fact that you’ve dropped it like three times in the last month, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she admits sheepishly.

I take a second to drink in her current look. She’s wearing a faded green cabbie cap, her blue winter jacket, worn jeans, and dirty UGG boots. I know from experience that there will be a pile of laundry waiting downstairs that she will conveniently forget to do until I can’t stand it anymore and do it for her, but for now she looks reasonably put together.

“So, let’s see it.” I say and point to her cabbie cap. “You know your mom called me and I know all about it, so let’s see it.”

“Mom hates it, she says I have to keep it in a hat, if I’m going to be around her.” But I sent a picture to my dad and he likes it.” I have no comment for either of these remarks and have to almost bite my tongue from saying something that will hurt her and I will ultimately regret.

She takes the cabbie cap off and pulls her hair out of the short ponytail that has been restraining the shocking locks of blue that she has dreaded showing me. Streaks of blue fall down from her ponytail and frame her face. The blue is a bright electric blue, a strong deep blue. It is a blue that you notice, a blue that you will remember long after she has left the room.

“Oh my God. What were you thinking? Turn around, let me see the back.” She turns around and I steer her toward my full length closet mirror. I turn on the overhead light and the yellow glow of the lamplight makes the blue appear even more vibrant. She faces the mirror and I pull and push at the back layers of her hair, discovering clumps, not streaks, of blue. “Who did this to you? Were they mad at you? Why did you let them just clump it all together? Why didn’t you go to Siobhan and have it done professionally, if you really wanted this?” I hurl questions at her in rapid fire as we both continue to stare and the unending layers of blue.

“ It was too expensive for Siobhan to do it and I like it. I’ve always wanted blue streaks and my friends think it looks good.” Again I bite my tongue and try not to say something I’ll regret.

“If you’ve always wanted it, why didn’t you just tell me? I would have paid for Siobhan to do it this summer for your birthday.” To be perfectly honest, I did know she wanted this or I can at least admit that I remember her talking about it before; I just always ignored it and chalked it up to being a ridiculous teen rebellion. I feel a twinge of guilt because she looks at me with this last offer and I can see that she believes I would have let her do this for her birthday. The thing is I probably would have, if I had realized how serious she was, but I never actually gave it a second thought until now.

“Well, I say there’s only one thing left to do. Stay here while I get my camera. I definitely need to send Nana a picture of this.” I smile an evil grin and go to grab my camera.

“Noooo..... no picture. Come on, that’s not fair. Nana will kill me!”

“Yep, she will probably have some choice words for you. I can’t wait to hear them! Just remind her that your mother bleached her hair when she was sixteen and it turned orange and I chopped off all my long hair at the end of senior year, without telling her. It’s like an unwritten rule for girls, we all have to do something stupid to our hair before we grow up. I turn on my camera, point and shoot capturing for all time her youthful smile, the self-conscious tilt of her head, and her very imperfect blueness.