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Eddie had a nightly routine.
It was something she learned as a little girl from watching her mother. Silently studying the way she primped, pampered, plucked. It fascinated her. Creams, oils, powders, curlers; everything a girl needs to feel her best.
On nights when Al was gone, Eddie sat on the bathroom counter and stared longingly at each item. Without fail, her mother would dollop a tiny bit of face cream on her nose and drip rose water on her cheeks. She would comb through Eddie’s hair with her grandmother’s silver hairbrush, fifty strokes on each side. Then she would slide the pearl hair comb from her wedding into Eddie’s curls.
She never judged Eddie for the way she was; never made her feel less than perfect.
When she finished, she’d turn Eddie to the mirror and kiss her cheek.
Pretty as a princess, she’d say.
Pretty just like you! Eddie would reply.
When she died, it felt like Eddie did too. Al sold anything he deemed ‘useless woman shit’, all while sneering in Eddie's direction. It broke Eddie’s heart to see her beloved mother disappear; but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
The only things she was able to save were the silver hairbrush and pearl hair comb her mother hid under her bed.
You’ll keep them safe, won’t you? She'd whispered.
Anything for you, mama. Eddie had promised and she intended to keep it.
On the day of Elizabeth Munson’s funeral, Eddie smuggled the cherished items into the hands of Al’s brother, Wayne. Wayne was like his mother; accepting even when he lacked understanding.
For years, Eddie pretended to be the son Al wanted. She forced herself away from anything soft and sweet; instead reaching for tough and mean, spitting blood at anyone who looked her way.
Then, Al made the wrong choice on a job; got himself locked away for a long time. Eddie packed a bag and was shipped two states away to live with Wayne.
It was there, in Wayne's trailer, with her mother's silver hairbrush, that Edward became Edith.
It was there, in front of a thrifted vanity, that Eddie let long buried memories of her mother flow through her.
First, she dabbed her face with rose water. It smelled exactly like she remembered and left her feeling refreshed. Then, she smeared on an overnight aloe mask.
In her hair, Eddie dripped peppermint oil. Once it was thoroughly raked through, she ran the silver hairbrush through her long tresses, fifty strokes on each side, slow and gentle.
Using a claw clip, she attached a satin curling rod to the top of her head. Eddie carefully twisted her hair around the rod, and secured the ends with a scrunchie, before removing the clip. Finally a silk scarf was tied around it all to keep it in place.
The last step, was the pearl comb. She didn’t wear it often, too afraid of breaking it. But every night, without fail, Eddie picked the comb up and pressed it softly to her lips.
“Pretty like you, mama,” she whispered.
As she laid down to sleep, Eddie swore she heard her mother’s voice on the wind pretty as a princess.