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A gentle breeze wafted through the open balcony doors, smells of zinnia and thyme cleansing the acrid stench of burnt hair and chemicals. Dawn examined the results of another failed experiment. The results were… mixed. Half her hair lay limp and crisp over her shoulders while the rest maintained its usual catastrophic frizz, weighed down by sheer mass. And worst of all, it still tangled.
She dropped the bottle of false promises into a deep drawer full of other disastrous hair products and rifled through the collection of specialized brushes, clips, bands, scrunchies, and combs that had accumulated on her dresser. Her trusty scissors, the only hair-related item that never failed, had been pushed to a corner in her excitement. After a brief debate, Dawn selected the Argan Oil over leave-in conditioner, and set to work salvaging the mess on her head.
Of all the beautiful traits to inherit from her mother, Dawn had to get her thin, curly hair. Marianne took after their father with thick, dark hair that seemed to cooperate with any style. Lately, Marianne kept it short and gelled back. Dawn envied the option, but her hair curled so tightly, short hair would look more like a clown wig. So she kept it long, waist length when wet and uneven from breaks and burns as she tried to exercise some control.
Another piece broke off instead of absorbing the oil as it should. Dawn glared at the strands, then threw them away and selected a comb at random. Slowly, carefully, working in small sections, she worked the knots out, often forced to untie snug bundles like string. Some were too small or tight to untangle; that’s what the scissors were for. Dawn’s frustration grew with each snip and break. She dragged the comb faster with each pass. Finally the comb caught on yet another tangle, the momentum pulling her hair and head painfully to the side. With a yank, the comb tore free, but the knot remained. The comb clattered to the desk as Dawn snatched up her scissors and cut the knot free. Only after she threw the hair away did she notice how much hair had vanished. The damp lock lay against her forehead, only a few inches long and just beginning to dry and curl. She watched herself in the mirror, almost in a daze, as she lifted another section of hair and cut. And cut again. Pale ringlets piled on the floor at her feet with each metallic snip. It seemed to take no time at all until her scalp eased, free from the weight of so much hair.
Dawn bent over and ruffled one hand through her hair to shake out any stray bits, amazed at how her fingers did not get caught. “I should have done this ages ago!” she crowed to herself, then stood straight to grin into the mirror.
Her face fell as the realization sunk it.
“Oh, my God…”
* ~ * ~ *
Sunny rang the doorbell a third time with no answer. The mid-morning sun warmed the air to a comfortable degree, but would grow hot soon enough. Neither Marianne’s sporty coupe nor their father’s sensible sedan were parked in the driveway. Probably for the best, he thought. Even after a dozen years, their dad still did not like him. He thought it inappropriate for Dawn to have a boy for a best friend after grade school. Now that they were neck deep in college, he found it downright unseemly.
Sunny could not really blame him. Dawn went through boyfriends on a weekly basis and never seemed to run out of suitors. And why should she? Sunny had seen guys literally trip over each other to introduce themselves to her, what with her blue eyes, sweet demeanor, and long blonde hair.
Sunny smiled to himself. For all she complained about it, Dawn had beautiful hair. Handfuls of ringlets swirling down her back, thoughtlessly tossed about when she moved. Carelessly strewn over Sunny’s arm while they watched bad movies. Brushing against his cheek sending the sweet smell of shampoo to his nostrils…
Sunny tapped a finger against his forehead. “Snap out of it, buddy,” he cautioned. When he first recognized the crush he nursed for his best friend, Sunny ignored it and figured it would pass in time. Now, a solid decade later, he simply lived around it. She was the closest friend he ever had, and he was not going to ruin things over some silly feelings, no matter how cute she looked when she smiled.
To avoid that dangerous line of thought, Sunny dug his phone out from a pocket and called Dawn.
She answered with a quiet, “Hey.”
“Hey, Dawn,” he answered brightly. “What’s going on? Messing with your hair?” He only meant to tease, and Dawn wrestled with her hair often enough that it was a fair guess. He did not expect the long silence followed by loud sobs.
“Dawn? Dawn! Are you okay?” She answered in intelligible blubbers. In a panic, Sunny looked around for another way in. Dawn only cried at animal movies, reality television, and for one tragic hour after her mother’s funeral.
“Hold on. Are you in your room? I’ll be up in a second.” Sunny darted around the side of the house and, phone clutched in his teeth, hopped the wrought iron fence. Dawn had one of three rooms with a balcony facing the backyard. No trellis lined the walls, and the veranda sunk inward rather than sticking out like a porch, which left no obvious path up to Dawn’s bedroom. However, after years of free-running, Sunny did not exactly need a ladder. He kicked off a pillar to the other and used the momentum to reach the barely-there ledge. With a quick prayer of thanks to all honest construction workers, Sunny slid along the wall to the first balcony. He grabbed a post on the first try and shimmied over the railing. Before he let himself think, Sunny dropped his phone into his palm, took a running start, and leapt onto the rail and over to Dawn’s balcony. He tumbled to his feet, shoulder wrenched and mind in a belated panic. “Way too risky,” he gasped.
“Sunny?”
The small voice reached him through the phone and the open balcony doors. Sunny ended the call and darted into Dawn’s room.
She sat on her bed, a satiny pillow clutched to her chest and a knitted beanie on her head despite the day’s warmth. Red, puffy eyes leaked tears as she sniffled into the cushion. At a loss, Sunny looked around the room for some clue to her distress. Everything seemed normal. The stark white walls had no gaps to indicate a missing picture frame. A thousand hair products scattered across the matching white dresser. They were off for the summer, so it probably not school stress. She broke up with Bobby a few days ago. Maybe she was having regrets?
He took a step closer to the bed, the usual platitudes waiting on his tongue, when a ray of sunlight previously blocked by his shoulder glinted off something lying on the floor. Sunny stepped towards the shine and knelt down. Nearly invisible against the golden carpet, handfuls of curly blonde hair and a discarded pair of scissors littered the floor.
“Oh.” Sunny picked up a lock of hair. It was long. As long as Dawn’s hair had been. His eyes darted over the floor with fear. Had Dawn cut all the way to her scalp? Did she cut herself? No blood dotted the pale carpet. Sunny turned back to Dawn, uncertain. He did want to help, but might just upset her more.
Taking a risk, he climbed onto her bed and sat cross-legged in front of her. “Can I see?” he asked softly.
Dawn hesitated, face still red from crying, but finally lifted one hand to her hat and pulled the beanie off, exposing her shorn head.
Air escaped Sunny’s lungs in a rush.
The fine strands had been reduced to 3 and 4 inches long, irregular curls sticking out across her head. The ends teased at her cheeks and framed her face, creating a pixie-like quality. The bulk of long hair had eclipsed Dawn’s enormous blue eyes. Her cheeks curved down an elegant jawline to a neatly pointed chin and finally just an inch or so higher to her lips. Pearly teeth dug softly into the lower lip, and Sunny wanted nothing more than to kiss the tiny hurt away. In all the years he had known her, Dawn had never looked lovelier.
Sunny shoved that thought away and cleared his throat. “Looks good,” he croaked. “It’s a good look for you.” He cringed at the redundancy.
Dawn toyed with a ragged strand at her temple. “Really?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Yeah!” He noticed a loose lock sticking to her ear. Sunny leaned forward to gently brush it away. The curl fell to the bedspread but his fingers remained where they were, almost touching her ear while the ends of her hair tickled the tips of his fingers. Her damp eyes searched his for any dishonesty. Had her eyes always been so perfectly blue?
Dawn released a calming breath that coasted over Sunny’s lips. He jerked back, suddenly aware of how dangerously close he let himself get. He dragged his hand away from the tempting line of her jaw.
Dawn stood and stepped toward her dresser. Standing on the piles of discarded hair, examined her what remained on her head critically. She ran her fingers through the short curls which refused to smooth out. “I guess it’s not so bad,” she ventured. “Maybe a salon could even it out a little?” She caught his eye in the mirror.
Sunny shrugged with a smile. “Whatever you want.”
She grinned back, her usual cheer restored. She turned to face him, and the full impact of her smile nearly stopped his heart. “Okay…. okay, let’s go!”
“Let’s go,” he agreed. Dawn hastily shut the balcony doors, slid on a pair of shoes and grabbed a purse before starting down stairs. Sunny almost followed her, but paused at the door. With a quick glance down the hall – Dawn had started down the stairs – he picked up a long lock of hair and tucked it into his pocket.
He darted down the stairs and met Dawn at the front door, too aware of the guilty treasure he had stolen. He had ignored his feelings for years, Sunny reasoned. Giving into temptation this one time wasn’t so bad.
He glanced over his shoulder just as Dawn stepped away from the door. Her hair shimmered like satin in the sunlight. She turned her face up towards the day’s warmth and Sunny felt his heart jerk, trying to beat its way out of his chest to reach her. He turned away, consoled by the familiar yearning and the heavy knot in his stomach. Dawn's new look merely startled his senses. He could live around this. He had to.