FFP#11 – Braids
The grandmother braided the little girl’s black hair into two neat plaits.
“There,” she said. “Look how pretty you are.” She turned her granddaughter around so the child could see herself in the bathroom mirror.
“They’re heavy,” the child said, holding a braid as though she were picking up a worm. Standing on a step stool, she shifted from one foot to the other. “My head feels tight.”
“No, it doesn’t,” the grandmother said. “You look lovely. Neat and clean.”
The girl gave a little hop. The stool beneath her shuddered.
“Stop that.”
“I hate my stupid braids.” The little girl shook her head, whipping the braids around her face. “See. They get in my way.”
The grandmother withdrew a pair of scissors from the cabinet and yanked on the little girl’s hair. With two hard snips, she lopped off both braids. “There,” she said. “Now they’re not in your way.” She placed the two ropes of black hair on the counter.
The child’s eyes widened as she looked from the severed braids to her altered appearance in the mirror.
The grandmother felt flushed and ran her bent fingers through her own hair, which was short and sparse, white tufts that popped out of her scalp like ragged chicken feathers. She glanced at her reflection and was surprised to see such a different woman staring back at her.
She used to have beautiful hair that hung to her waist, just like the child’s, and she had always kept it long, even after it turned white. That is, she had always kept it long until her children brought her home from the hospital, until they decided to cut it all off, to make caring for her easier on themselves.
Yes, she had been bedridden, but only for two weeks.
Only two weeks!
Now here she was, three months later, and her hair still hadn’t grown back.
The little girl laughed.
Outside, the older grandchildren called for the girl. She jumped off the stool and ran from the bathroom. “Look at my hair,” the grandmother could hear her saying. “Look what Grandma did.”
Alone, the grandmother stroked the braids. She held one up against the side of her head. Then she took both braids and hurried to her bedroom, where she found an old shoe box full of receipts in the back of her closet. She emptied it except for a silverfish which scuttled along the bottom of the container, so quick and translucent it was almost invisible.
She folded the braids softly in half to make them fit.
Someday, the grandmother thought to herself, when her granddaughter was much older, she would find this box and her perfectly preserved braids. They’d bring back memories of her childhood. And maybe she’d also remember the grandmother who had cared for her, the old woman who had braided her hair.
The grandmother licked her lips. She was crying, and her tears tasted of stale hope.
Tags: flash fiction project
Uncategorized | 
March 8, 2010 12:47 am
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