“They weren’t cheap. I’ll tell you that much.” I paid $150 plus tip to Shirley, and that didn’t include the cost of the hair. That was another $160. When I wore box braids, they were significantly cheaper—about sixty dollars for a whole head of synthetic braids. I’ll go back to that next time, but I wanted to try this weave. Just once I wanted to look glamorous, like Beyoncé, even if she is ten years younger.
“I’d be wearing them, too, if I were you,” Allie says. “Money for hair comesfirst. If it were a choice between food or hair, I’d choose hair any day of the week.”
“You and me both,” I say. “This girl wants to look sharp.” For fun, I swing the hair off my shoulder the way Beyoncédoes on the TV set.
Both of the girls laugh.
Then a picture of my bald tires crosses my mind. All of a sudden I feel shame. I might look glamorous today, but what about my car? It’s hard to pray for safety when I’ve spent all my money on beauty. Allie and Kerry may can do that, but who do I think I’m fooling?
Kerry takes her hair out of the towel, swings it free. “And speaking of, I better get this mop ready before I’m late for class.”
I move on over to their door. Before leaving, a thought pops into my head. Something I’ve been wondering for a long time. “Can I ask y’all a question?”
They nod.
“Why do you girls get your face and hair looking all pretty, then put on those big T-shirts and exercise pants every day for class?”
They both look at each other, kind of bewildered like, and shrug. “Because everybody else does it?” Kerry says, glancing at Allie.
“Okay then. Thanks for solving the mystery. I’ll see you babies later.” They wave and I shut the door behind me, chuckling. Why doesn’t this surprise me?
As soon as I step into the hall my phone goes off. I answer on the first ring.
“Pearl? It’s Carla.” I don’t know why she insists on identifying herself. I know her voice and she knows her number is in my phone.
“Hi, Mama Carla. You need me for something?”
“It’s not urgent, but when you’re done up there will you please stop by my apartment?”
“Of course. It won’t take me but another twenty minutes.”
“That’s fine. Just stop in when you can.”
I’m almost finished with trash pickup, but after lunch Mr. Marvelle and I will be performing shower surgery. That’s my term for cleaning the drains. We work as a team. He unscrews the drains, then uses his scalpel—a plumber’s tool with teeth on both sides—to lift all that long nasty hair out. I stand by with gloves and a plastic trash bag as he empties the mess inside. Then wemove on to the next shower stall, till we finish the whole operation. With all that hair, and as many showers as the girls take, we have to do this every month. Not something I look forward to, but it’s necessary.
***
When I make it to Mama Carla’s apartment, I find her on the phone. Her door is always open. Once she notices I’m standing there she holds up a finger. “Okay, stay calm,” she says to whomever is on the other end of the line. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.” Then she softly lays her phone down on the table next to the chair and hangs her head.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, while sitting down in the chair next to hers. It troubles me to see her this way.
She looks up. I can tell she’s been crying.
“Are you okay, Mama Carla?” I reach over and touch her on the knee.
“I’m okay.” She stares down at her lap again, lightly shaking her head. “But my child is not.” Finally she looks at me. “It’s Patrice. Philip walked out on her and the kids two days ago.” She wipes her nose with the back of her hand before disappearing into the bathroom. Trudy hops down, trots right behind her.
Moments later, Mama Carla returns with a box of Kleenex in one hand, Trudy in the other. They both settle back down into the chair. “I knew something was wrong. Mother’s intuition,” she says with a sniffle. “Patrice hasn’t mentioned his name in months. Never talks about him unless I do. She used to sing his praises.” Mama Carla’s dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Her nose is red.
I’m not sure if I should pry or keep my mouth shut. I might not be raising children of my own, but I know what it’s like to have a marriage fall apart. I reach over, touch her on the knee. “He’s not cheating on her, is he?” Soon as I say it, I regret it. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. I just know what that’s like.”
She sniffs, blows her nose before answering. “It sounds that way. They haven’t slept together in six months. And they’re only thirty-six.”
“Men are so ignorant. They always let that other head do all the thinking.”
That makes Mama Carla laugh and I’m glad to see it. “Why do you think I’m alone? I was done with that little head alongtime ago.”
Now I’m the one smiling. “Me, too.”
