06 | Desire: G
The light caught her hair, glinting across the caramel-blonde locks. It was straight today; a change from her usual messy pony-tail, pieces falling from its confines across her face, and looked exceptionally soft. She had probably taken a flat-iron to it, forcing all her normal fly-a-way’s down and in to place.
It looked nice.
Even still, I think I liked her hair better on the days she didn’t pay attention to the way it looked…Those were the days she had rolled out of bed, thrown it up into a lop-sided pony-tail or just let it air dry after getting out of the shower. Those were the days it was wavy and wild-it didn’t shine and more resembled straw than hair, damaged from years of blow-drying and color treating. Those were the days she desperately tucked her hair repeatedly behind her ears, trying to tame the unruly strands.
But today it was perfect-straight, smooth, and shiny. I imagined she had spent an extra twenty minutes in front of the mirror, clad in just a pair of her ex boyfriend’s boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt, blow-drying and straightening her shoulder-length tresses. I imagined her crystal blue eyes, void of liner and mascara, her lips bare save for a natural gloss attained by repeatedly licking them, as she stared at her reflection intently.
I watched her fidget in her seat, run her fingers through her hair, tug her jacket tighter around her. I had come to predict her movements; she never sat still, always bouncing her leg, playing with her hair, or shifting positions.
She was dressed up today. Each time she moved her skirt would give a different view of her thigh, exposing a section of creamy white skin here, a section there. She only dressed up once or twice a month; it seemed to correlate with how often she did her hair. Sometimes she’d do her hair but not dress up, but she never wore sweats if her hair was done and likewise never dressed up if it wasn’t.
It didn’t matter what she was wearing or how her hair looked-I always thought she looked amazing.
Her hair swung over her shoulder as she tucked her books into her messenger bag. It almost sparkled. A smile broke on to her face as her friend said something to her and they exited the lecture hall together. By the time I had packed up and walked out the door, she had disappeared down the hall.
It looked nice.
Even still, I think I liked her hair better on the days she didn’t pay attention to the way it looked…Those were the days she had rolled out of bed, thrown it up into a lop-sided pony-tail or just let it air dry after getting out of the shower. Those were the days it was wavy and wild-it didn’t shine and more resembled straw than hair, damaged from years of blow-drying and color treating. Those were the days she desperately tucked her hair repeatedly behind her ears, trying to tame the unruly strands.
But today it was perfect-straight, smooth, and shiny. I imagined she had spent an extra twenty minutes in front of the mirror, clad in just a pair of her ex boyfriend’s boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt, blow-drying and straightening her shoulder-length tresses. I imagined her crystal blue eyes, void of liner and mascara, her lips bare save for a natural gloss attained by repeatedly licking them, as she stared at her reflection intently.
I watched her fidget in her seat, run her fingers through her hair, tug her jacket tighter around her. I had come to predict her movements; she never sat still, always bouncing her leg, playing with her hair, or shifting positions.
She was dressed up today. Each time she moved her skirt would give a different view of her thigh, exposing a section of creamy white skin here, a section there. She only dressed up once or twice a month; it seemed to correlate with how often she did her hair. Sometimes she’d do her hair but not dress up, but she never wore sweats if her hair was done and likewise never dressed up if it wasn’t.
It didn’t matter what she was wearing or how her hair looked-I always thought she looked amazing.
Her hair swung over her shoulder as she tucked her books into her messenger bag. It almost sparkled. A smile broke on to her face as her friend said something to her and they exited the lecture hall together. By the time I had packed up and walked out the door, she had disappeared down the hall.