“Try it on, girl,” she said. “That look like you.”
I touched it with my fingertips and the hair felt soft and wild at the same time. I stood in front of the lil’ mirror they had set up, took a breath, and pulled the wig on my head. When I looked up, a stranger stared back at me. She had the same lazy eyes as me, the same wide nose and the same big mouth, but her spirit looked different. It was stronger, louder and unbreakable. She looked like somebody who could survive anything.
And that was the day I became someone different.
That was the day Toni Roc was born…
That red wig wasn’t just hair. It was armor. It was freedom. It was the first choice I ever made for myself.
And I ain’t never looked back…
After years of livin’ a fast life, I finally decided to sit my ass down somewhere and figure out what the fuck I was gon’ do with myself, ‘cause the streets was fun until they wasn’t. I turned eighteen and looked around like, damn, this can’t be it for me. I done survived more bullshit than most grown women, and I wasn’t tryna die young or let life keep draggin’ me like it been doin’ since I was nine. I woke up on my eighteenth birthday feelin’ tired in my bones even though I was still young, and that was the moment I told myself I wanted more. I ain’t wanna keep runnin’ the streets every night or dealin’ with niggas who ain’t have nothin’ for me except wasted time andstress. I wanted a future, even if I ain’t know what that meant yet.
Grandma Glo kept sayin’ I had a healin’ spirit and that God didn’t bring me through hell for no reason, and even though I rolled my eyes sometimes, a part of me believed her. I remembered bein’ nine years old holdin’ Jaksonn’s head on the playground while he was shakin’ on the ground, and even then I ain’t leave him. I stayed ‘cause somethin’ inside me wouldn’t let me walk away from somebody who needed me. That same feelin’ followed me into adulthood, and I started realizin’ I liked bein’ there for people. I liked makin’ folks feel safe, even when I ain’t feel safe myself.
When I turned twenty-one, I finally got my GED. I walked into that lil’ testin’ center nervous as hell, but when I walked out with that certificate, I felt like I had just climbed a mountain. I held it like it was a trophy and took it straight to Grandma Glo so she could hang it on her wall. She cried and kissed my forehead and told me she always knew I was gon’ get it eventually. I didn’t cry, but I felt somethin’ warm spread across my chest that I ain’t felt in a long time.
With my GED in my hand and a lil’ confidence in my step, I went lookin’ for work and ended up landin’ a job as a home health care aide. That became my career. I ain’t know what to call it at first except “takin’ care of old folks,” but it was more than that. I cooked for ‘em, cleaned they rooms, helped them wash up, sat with them when they was lonely, and talked to them about they memories ‘cause old people love to talk about when gas was ten cents and everybody knew everybody.
I spent a lot of time with the ones who was dyin’, holdin’ they hands through hospice when they families ain’t show up or when they got scared at night. I couldn’t sing worth a damn, but I used to hum songs they liked while I wiped their faces with warm cloths and rubbed lotion into they hands. Some of‘em would smile with their eyes closed like they felt peace for the first time in a long while, and that touched me for real. Even the ones who barely talked used to squeeze my fingers when they needed comfort, and those squeezes stayed with me long after they passed.
I was still ghetto. Let a bitch be clear. I might’ve been somebody’s caregiver in the daytime, but I was still Toni Roc at heart. I talked loud, cursed too much, and wore my attitude like lip gloss. I had a soft side, but I wasn’t soft. I would fuss at my patients for tryna get up by theyselves, then turn right around and kiss they cheeks ‘cause they reminded me of the elders I lost. I had a way of makin’ folks laugh even when they was hurtin’, and everybody said I brightened up the room even though I ain’t do nothin’ but walk in.
And yes, the wigs grew with me too. I started out with cheap beauty supply wigs that slid back if the wind blew too hard, but by the time I turned twenty-three I was wearin’ lace fronts that melted into my scalp like butter. My red wigs went from Halloween bright to real grown woman red, the red that looked expensive even when it wasn’t. I mean, it was still loud but hell, I loved it. My hair game stepped up with me, and every time I walked outside, folks knew exactly who I was by the way that red swung.
Twenty-three hit me hard ‘cause that was the year I really started lookin’ at my life with grown woman eyes. I loved takin’ care of old folks, but I was still broke, still tired, and still livin’ with trauma that never really left. I was better than I used to be, but I wasn’t where I wanted to be. I used to sit outside on my grandma’s porch with Sha’Nelle smokin’ blunts and talkin’ about how we wanted somethin’ real out of life. Not just survival, and not just gettin’ by. We wanted to feel soft. We wanted luxury. We wanted to feel like princesses even though we grew up feelin’ like nothin’.
Sha’Nelle was my ride or die for real. We had been through everything together. Heartbreaks, fights, jobs, no jobs, money, no money. She was the only person who could get on my nerves in the same breath she made me laugh. One night when I turned twenty-four, we was sittin’ in the backyard on the broken lawn chairs my grandma kept sayin’ she was gon’ throw out but never did. We had a blunt between us and a cheap bottle of liquor that tasted like melted plastic, but it was what we could afford so we ain’t complain.
While the smoke floated around us and the night felt heavy in that peaceful way, Sha’Nelle looked up from her phone and said, “Bitch, you need to sign up for that Diamond Contest.”
I squinted at her like she had lost her mind. “Bitch, what Diamond Contest?”
“You know that fine-ass prince from Trill-Land. Pressure Mensah. They doin’ this whole thing where he pick twenty women to come live in his jungle house or whatever. You can get you a rich man. A real one. One that smell good and don’t live with his mama.”
I started laughin’ so hard the blunt almost fell out my hand. “Ain’t nobody pickin’ me for nothin’, girl. I’m ghetto as hell. You think they want all this red hair and attitude in a castle?”
Sha’Nelle rolled her eyes and smacked my arm. “Bitch, shut the fuck up, hoe.” You that girl. You walk in a room and bitches get quiet and men get stupid. Stop playin’ with yourself. If anybody deserve a soft life, it’s you.”
I leaned back in the chair and let her words sit with me. The liquor warmed my stomach, the weed softened my mind, and suddenly it didn’t sound so crazy. Why couldn’t I shoot my shot at somethin’ better? Why couldn’t I get chosen? Why couldn’t I have a man who flew private jets and bought his girl diamonds? Why couldn’t life be easy for once?
Pressure Mensah was fine as hell too. Everybody knew that. I seen him on social media, lookin’ like he was crafted by God and a tattoo artist with holy hands. He was the kind of nigga who made you breathe different just lookin’ at him. And the idea of me showin’ up in Trill-Land with my red wig and my attitude made my heart thump in a way I ain’t expect.
So the next mornin’, I woke up still smellin’ like smoke and cheap liquor, and I signed up for the damn contest. I filled out every question with honesty and a lil’ hood flavor ‘cause I wasn’t about to pretend to be somethin’ I wasn’t. I sent pictures with my red wig layin’ flat like a magazine cover, and when I hit submit, I told myself it was whatever. If they picked me, cool. If not, I still had my life.
Then I got the email.
“Congratulations, you have been selected…”
I screamed so loud my grandma thought I hurt myself. I ran around that lil’ ass house like a chicken with its head cut off, yellin’ for Sha’Nelle to wake up ‘cause we had shit to celebrate. I ain’t even pack right. I threw clothes in a bag, grabbed my favorite wig glue, hugged my grandma so tight she almost fell over, and promised her I was gon’ come back rich. She laughed and told me to act right in Trill-Land but also be myself.
When the car pulled up to take me to the airport, I knew my life was changin’. I felt it in my soul. I felt it in my bones. I felt it in the swing of my red hair.
For the first time in my life, it wasn’t down. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t survival.
It was up!
And I was ready as fuck…
