With that, Parker headed towards the door and started unloading our bags from the car. We take the staircase to the next floor and walk down the hall to room 608. As Parker shoves the keys into the lock, I take a look around the building.
There’s a small pool behind the motel where a group of women were drinking 40’s and singing to a pop song. Down the hall from our room, there was a man smoking a joint and speaking loudly on the phone. Not too far from him, a young woman cried at the foot of the opposite staircase.
The door budges open, and the smell of moldy carpet and stale cigarettes welcomed us. A small table sits in the corner of the room with a Bible in the center. The room holds a queen-sized bed with paisley sheets that look like they’ve been there since the 70s and a tiny bathroom with a stand-in shower, a toilet, and a warped mirror.
Parker brings our bags to the table and shuts the door.
I sift through the store bag for what I need for the night. I had picked up two t-shirts, a pair of shorts, a pair of jeans, a generic pack of underwear, some travel-sized toiletries, and a box of hair dye, remembering Danny’s warning to alter my appearance as soon as possible. Parker insisted on paying for everything, and I couldn’t really tell him no. The only things I left New York with were the clothes on my back, my cell phone equipped with a new SIM card, and the false Georgia ID Danny gave me stating that I was now Willow Norris.
Although we were warming up to each other, I still felt timid. I grabbed a t-shirt, underwear, some toiletries, and the box of black hair dye, then walked over to the bathroom without another word to Parker.
Entering the dimly lit bathroom, I checked out my appearance in the smudge filled mirror. If my mom were here, she would have told me I looked frowzy. My hair was a mess, curls were springing from every direction, and I could still smell the scent of smoke on my clothing and skin. The more I looked at myself, the more reality sank in.
I gripped the edge of the sink, fighting to keep my tears at bay as I stared at my reflection once more. Pushing off the sink, I grabbed the box of hair dye that I had placed on the toilet along with my clothing. Not bothering to read the instructions, I mixed the two bottles in the box and put on the gloves I found inside.
I sectioned my hair the best I could without a comb, then dipped a hand into the dye and smoothed it into the back of my head.
Celeste would’ve known how to do this properly. As I worked through the back of my hair towards the center, I could almost imagine her telling me what to do.
“Can’t believe it took you twenty-three years to do something fun to your hair, and I’m not there to witness it.”
My sister was an artist. We both were. While she loved painting, hair, and makeup, I was more drawn to music, writing, and sketching. She was always the first to jump on the latest beauty trend. You never knew whether she would show up with her hair dyed blue or a bedazzled cat eye. Meanwhile, I was a creature of habit—my hair was most likely in a messy bun—and I stuck to wearing my three favorite colors, black, green, and blue. She preferred the light, while I was comfortable in the shadows.
She would’ve found me dyeing my hair for the first time in a crappy motel bathroom to be hilarious. There was no use holding back my tears.
“I bet you’re having a good laugh at me right now,” I whispered to myself.
My tears fell freely as I continued to coat the rest of my hair in the deep auburn dye. The color was so drastic compared to my natural black hue. The person in front of me was becoming more unrecognizable.
“Don’t be so afraid of change, Ev.”
Her voice rang so clearly in my head that it was jarring. Celeste never stopped encouraging me to try new things and get out of my comfort zone. Schedules were comforting, and structure was safe; I craved both. But every once in a while, she would remind me it was okay to go with the flow, sometimes something good was on the other side of things.
My vision blurred from the tears as I stepped into the cramped shower stall, turned the handle past warm, and straight to hot. Leaning against the wall, I watched as the steam rose and covered the small bathroom.
Everything is gone, Cellie. Our life together is fucking gone.
The composure I tried to keep disappeared as my breath hitched and a sob made its way out. This wasn’t just a small change. Our home, our memories are gone. Everything I fought so hard to preserve was nothing but a heap of ash.
Her favorite Backstreet Boys t-shirt that I used to fall asleep with. Gone.
Photos from her sweet sixteen, where she begged Iris to rent a limo. Gone.
Our home, the last place we laughed together. It was gone.
The water ran reddish-brown as I slid down the tiled wall, slapping a hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds I had no control over.
I stayed on the bathroom floor until I had to wash the dye from my hair, then went through the motions of washing up before stepping out.
Standing in front of the mirror again, I parted my hair and began weaving my hair into two braids, my eyes focused on the auburn coils. Tomorrow, my hair would be a mess from the lack of conditioner, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.
Tomorrow, I would start my new life as Willow Norris.
Cellie, please help me get through this.
Chapter 11
Parker
