Nicki's Hair

Nicki had always had long hair. Not always, of course. Not when she born. It’s not like that, not a mythical story of long hair.

Nicki didn’t have an aversion to cutting her hair. In fact, she’d gotten it regularly trimmed. Every six months she’d go to the salon and go through the same charade.

           “Just a trim?” her stylist would say.

           “Actually…” Nicki would start twirling the ends of her hair, folding pieces in half, or pantomiming scissors near the top of her shoulder.

           “Yeah?” her stylist would squeal excitedly.

           “I’m joking. Just-”

           “A trim. Yeah, yeah, yeah,” her stylist would cut her off.

           So by the time she was seventeen, Nicki’s hair was well past her waist. She would make spectacular braids, voluminous buns, or just let it fall down her back in a tremendous, golden waterfall. It would swish behind her as she walked and she knew people looked. She liked that people looked. Sometimes she liked to listen to what they said about her.

           “Oh my god, her hair.”

           “God I wish mine was that healthy.”

           “I heard she’s gonna chop it.”

           Wait, what?

           Nicki was standing in line at the deli when she first heard the rumor. The words were prickly and hot, more tactile sensation than auditory input. Suddenly the need for a Muffuletta was diminished and all that mattered was getting out. But that would look obvious, she told herself. She planted her feet firmly to the teal and white checkerboard and waited for her sandwich.

           Outside, Nicki walked a few blocks before throwing the sandwich in the nearest trash can. Shake it off, she told herself. It doesn’t mean anything.

           The following Monday Nicki had all but forgotten the incident at the deli when she heard the horrid rumor again. This time she was standing at her locker in the bustling halls of Crimson Valley High.

           “I’m so serious, like she’s gonna go short short,” the vicious whisper floated across the hall. Nicki wanted nothing more than to whip her head around and find the source of the salacious audio byte. But god would that make her look suspicious. There was no earthly reason for people to speculate about her hair. Unless, of course, they were also speculating about why she wanted to cut it, what it meant to her. But there was no way. No one knew. Well, not no one. She took a shaky breath, shook her mane of blonde and closed her locker.

           In fourth period Nicki lost it.

           “I heard she’s going to cut it all off because she’s -”

           “Who’s saying that?” Nicki hissed, whipping around to face Tom and Mabel behind her.

           “Oh shit didn’t see you there,” Mabel fumbled.

           “Shut up, who said that I’m cutting my hair off?” she knew she looked flustered, so she added, “it’s total bull. I just want to know who’s spreading rumors about me.”

           “I heard it from Kayson,” said Tom sheepishly.

           Nicki had spoken to Kayson twice in her life. Once at swim practice when he splashed her from the neighboring lane:

           “Kayson, you’re splashing.”

           “Oh, sorry.”

           Once at homecoming freshman year when he held the door for her on the way into the gym:

           “Thanks.”

           “Yup.”

           That week Nicki went on a veritable witch hunt. Kayson had heard from Tyler at lacrosse practice. Tyler had heard from Stephanie when they were…you know…in his car. Stephanie had heard from Ana who had heard it from Angel at a family cookout. Angel had heard from Gus and on it went.

           By Friday she was confronting Lola in the locker room.

           “Like I said it’s not a big deal because it’s like not even true at all I’m just wondering who’s spreading weird, unfounded rumors.”

           “Well, I heard it from Alina,” Lola said. Nicki’s heart stopped. “She was really drunk at my house and when she said it, she cried so it totally makes sense that it’s like not actually true.” Nicki struggled furiously to remember how to move her jaw. “She said you guys-”

           “No,” Nicki sputtered. “I mean, yeah no not planning to cut it. She must have heard wrong. Thanks for your help.”

           At 5 p.m. and exactly one week after she’d been in line at the deli, Nicki knew the ultimatum set before her. She’d sat on the front porch for four hours going through all the possible outcomes in her head. Nicki was nothing if not methodical. Ultimately, when the possibility of a meteor or nuclear warfare or simply melting into the ground were taken off the table, she had two choices.

           She could ignore the rumor. For the rest of forever she could laugh when people said she was going to cut her hair. She could keep it long forever; she could tell herself she liked it long. She only wanted long hair, she’d only ever wanted long hair. She wasn’t interested in short hair, she’d tell herself and in repeating it would be true.  

           Or she could put an end to the rumor. And that’s what she had to do.

         Alina walked into school that Monday feeling small and sad. She’d spent the weekend crying, checking her phone for any messages from Nicki, but to no avail. Her eyes were puffy, her limbs felt leaden, and her heart ached.

She stood at her locker contemplating what to do. Staring at her shoes she told herself for the hundredth time there was nothing to do. You’ve done enough, she thought bitterly. She was angry with herself, mostly. Alina closed her locker and became keenly aware of what can only be described as commotion. People were whispering fervently, crowding, craning, shuffling, and whispering more. The hubbub rippled down the hallway towards Alina who felt enraged. What rumor was it now, what horrible gossip had the populous glommed onto only to contort the details of…

Suddenly she was there. Standing in front of Alina with a shoulder-length bob: the girl she was desperately in love with. Nicki looked entirely differently and yet entirely herself. She looked the way she did whenever they were alone together. Her shoulders were a little more relaxed, as if the weight of her hair had made all the difference. For a year and a half, Alina had been the only person in the world who knew about Nicki’s secret. Her desire to be herself, to be seen, to love who she wanted to love, out loud. For a year and a half Nicki had said again and again, “when I’m ready you’ll know.”

“You ready?” Nicki said, holding out her hand to Alina.

“For what?” Alina beamed.

“To start a rumor,” Nicki said and Alina grabbed her hand. With fingers intertwined they walked through the murmuring crowd who now definitely had something to talk about.