Chapter 7
Jess
The subject line simply read,“Can we talk?”Words Jess had pondered ever since they first hit her inbox two nights ago.
Now she sat on the bus heading into downtown. She didn’t usually go downtown this late in the day, but when the old love of her life messaged her to meet for dinner and drinks, she was inclined to go for it.
Deep down, she was still a smitten college student. A baby dyke hardcore crushing on the first girl to ever validate her sexuality. A fool.
Jess had spent more time choosing her outfit that night than she had crafting a response to Shannon’s email. Funny. Once upon a time, Jess spent whole hours writing and rewriting emails to Shannon.“Hey, do you think we could study this weekend?” “Do you need any help with the next party? Maybe I should run for dorm council LOL.” “There’s a red sweater in my room. Is it yours?”
“Are we okay after last night?”
What did it say that Jess no longer cared to write more than a short response and get on with her day? That she had matured? That she had moved on from Shannon’s indecisive spirit?
Hardly. She could say that all she wanted, but her heart laughed to hear it.
That was the source of her stress tonight. Old habits had reared their ugly heads, and now Jess risked exposing herself to hurt once more.
Oh, well. She wouldn’t fit the lonely lesbian stereotype unless she kept sacrificing herself to the altar ofpossibilities!
The bus slowed down as it entered downtown. Jess pulled out her pocket mirror and checked to make sure she got rid of her bed head.I need to get it cut so badly.Her hair wasn’t naturally soft and fluffy like Shannon’s. Jess needed serious combing to make her hair presentable to the public after it had grown an inch or two. To think! She used to have hair all the way down to her butt!
I cut it because it was time for a change. Because I wanted to look gayer.
She laughed now, but that haircut had changed her fate. Cutting the locks of her gender normative life hadn’t only allowed her to enter the next phase of her life, but it sent out that message that she was a woman to approach, to engage with, todate.Or so twenty-year-old her said when she went into a salon and cut off the hair she had been growing since she was seven.
Shannon had loved it. That was enough to tell Jess that she made the right decision.
***
Memory #7
“Oh myGod,Jess, is that you?”
I had been minding my business – as usual – when Shannon stopped me on my way to check my mail. I didn’t know she was around. I was still getting used to having the wind hit the back of my neck and such a light feeling on top of my head. After thirteen years of long hair, this was like a revolution of my own person.
And apparently Shannon’s.
“Holy shit!” She circled me, taking in the new look – the new me – and instantly comparing it to the old me she had once known. It was only two weeks before summer break and my mind was filled with fears of finals. Except the moment I saw that look of awe on her gorgeous face, I wondered if my luck was about to change. Was this the moment when she finally took notice of me? When she finally got that I was GAY! GAY! GAY! and she should join me for some serious college experimentation? “You look so good! I almost didn’t recognize you!”
Was that a real compliment? I couldn’t tell. “Thanks. I needed to get all that crap off my head, you know? That was hair I had since I was a little kid. I’m in my twenties now. Time for something fresh.”
“It’s totally fresh!” She extended her hand before pulling it back again. “Can I touch it?”
My eyes widened. Never, in a million years, did I think I’d hear those words come out of Shannon Parker’s mouth.
We had touched before. On accident, like when she crashed into me with her bike. But she had never gone out of her way to touch me, let alone such an intimate part of my body. My hair! She wanted to put her hand near my face. Tenderness! Save me, God!
“S… sure,” I stuttered. Whether it was because it made my hair look great or because it made this moment less embarrassing, I was grateful that I had shampooed my hair earlier that morning. “Knock yourself out.”
She grinned as she fingered my bangs and ruffled the topmost part of my head. “No gel?”
The world spun. She. Was. Touching.Me!“Nope. Hate the stuff,” I squeaked.
My ankles had weakened. My stomach performed elaborate somersaults in front of a frightening audience. My heart was a hurricane in my chest. Every time Shannon Parker stroked a strand of my hair, I risked collapsing in the middle of the walkway and dying from the elation racking my body.
“I love it, Jess. It’s sooo you.” She stepped back. Was it over? No more touching? How could I make her do it again? “I mean, you always looked good, but this hair really accentuates your style. Promise me that you’ll never change it.”
