Locks of love for kids who have cancer- there is a little girl out there wearing my hair. Starting when I was five, I cut of ten inches every two years. Every time I cut off another ten inches, my life changed. I lost a piece of my identity- that girl with the auburn waves. My fingers would grope for it and there would be too much shampoo in my palm. I lost a piece of myself and held a sea of reality in my hands, watching it drip through my fingers.
She pulled a chunk of it out- my mother. I was fifteen and we were fighting. I hadn't eaten in two days. She had locked me in my room and hit me. We hurt each other that night and when she kicked me onto the front step, a chunk of my hair was left in that house. I haven't seen her since.
I moved to college and got bangs. They hang in my face acting as blinders to things I don't really care about. My hair is always in my face and I have to donate my time to pushing it away, trying to keep it out of my eyes. It is my ever present reminder that life changes. You lose things, you leave things and you wish you could take it all back. I want to back to the day with my full head of hair and stop that five year old girl from giving it up, even though it's selfish to want to hold onto your childhood when a sick little girl has just lost hers.
This was an assignment for my creative writing class where we had to write about three incidents involving hair that could tell a story.
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