M.F.A.


“Oh, the one with the curly hair.” This is all they have to say to identify me. My hair wouldn’t mind if I cut it all off for it has no feeling. Mentioned among friends though, the proposition brings impassioned resistance. Feeling is assigned; meaning is constructed, and I am, as always, “the one with the curly hair.”

“Will you brush my hair?” she would ask, knowing that I would. She had red hair, thick and straight, and she loved to have it brushed. The act of brushing over and over made it softer and softer, and brought to my nose her unique perfume.

“I miss the feeling of the wind in my hair,” she told me. She struggled now, as she had for nearly 5 years, to win the battle she fights to “feel like a woman” without long hair. I am never quite sure what to say.

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