My Mom’s Hair

By Olivia Perry

My mother’s hair is very long. When she takes it out of her braids at night, it curls about like shoelaces. When she brushes it, the brush glides over her hair like a rushing river. When she dyes it, the kitchen sinks smells like summer apples, and it feels like you are walking through an orchard.

After she gets out of the shower, the sweet smell of shampoo and conditioner lingers in the bathroom. She goes to the sink and splashes the cold water over her face. I take life in slow motion as I watch myself carefully try to French braid her hair. How I breathe in the ravishing scent of lavender and ripe strawberries; smelling so good, I could eat it.

The sight and feel of the soft, curly, brunette locks come into my mind and create the image of a babbling brook. I sigh and watch the crystal clear water, rushing over the rocks, taking its trip to the sour, salty, fishy ocean. The fragmented picture of a boat out at sea makes my hair waltz in the wind.

The sound of my mother waking up in the morning with her hair rustling on the pillow reminds me of the whisper a butterfly’s wings make in the cool, crispy autumn air.

My mom’s hair takes me to the days when I was five. My friends and I would go to the beach and let the wind take our hair with it. We would laugh and splash in the water, letting the cold numbness come over us and overtake our whole bodies.

The stinging golden sand tickles my toes, and the tiny seashells crunching beneath my feet take me to a mystical dream. The yellow sunset shimmers off of the blue green water and reminds me of being out on a lake, when the calming sensation of nature around me makes me feel as if I am the only person in the world.

I step into the water. A shiver is sent down my spine, from my head to my toes. I close my eyes and let the wind blow my hair about like the sway of the beckoning waves.

I love that feeling when you first race into the water——with your adrenaline pumping and then your heart feels as if it stops all together. I love the thrill of being swept under by the giant swell and the rip—tide swallows my head. I plunge under the surface to view the mystery of the underwater reefs with the black and yellow bee fish, the orange and white clown fish and the light gray staple-like sharks.

It is like an old phonograph repeating itself in my head. Just like when I climb the slippery, rocky path up to my favorite spot on the rocks. I hike upon the old path, worn green with algae and sea water, to my special place among the tide pools.

Right where the stiff, gritty stones touch the frigid water is my favorite spot. I could stay up there forever, and I would never need to come down. I love that amazing feeling where you cut off all your senses and just let everything go. You know nothing, nor do you desire to know anything, for you have everything in the world you want. It’s almost like I have passed through into another world, leaving all else behind and not caring when I will go back.

If a bad day occurs in life, the ocean will solve all problems. If relaxation is what I want, the seashore will save me. If I need a break, the water will cover me.

We finish the day off. My friends and I gather around our crackling bonfire. We are the only ones left on the beach. The quite surrounds us. The sun starts to set. We all settle across from the stirring fire, staring into the ashy flames. I am sitting alone, watching the sun disappear, only to complete its journey in the morning.

I sigh and ponder how astonishing it is to be here, and all because of my mother’s hair.