Going down memory lane…..
I feel like it was just yesterday that I was at the hair salon trying to do a complete makeover on my curly do.
Two days ago, I had been dumped by Mr. PB&J, and I needed a makeover stat!
Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw the girl who had fallen in love with him, and I didn’t want to be reminded it off that. I needed a new me to look back in the mirror.
Ultimately empowered and determined, I went to the hair salon without an appointment hoping and praying that I can get into a chair.
Holding tightly in my right hand a bottle of keratin treatment; the miracle potion that would turn my naturally curly hair into a Selena Gomez-after-a-$500-blowout-mane, I walked through the door.
After a ten minute conversation, the stylist welcomed me into her fold, and I get in!!!
At first, the stylist was a little apprehensive and gave my keratin bottle a look of disdain. “People kill for your curls,” she told me.
“We are just putting these curls in a comma; we are not killing them just yet” I sarcastically replied.
She didn’t a laugh, not even a little bit.
I guess my sarcastic wit was not going to be a hit with her that day. But that was ok, all she needed to do was put the keratin treatment on my hair, follow the directions, and give me an amazing flat iron straightening at the end.
My makeover plans also consisted of letting my eyebrows grow so that I can have the Cara Delevingne thick dark eyebrows framing my eyes.
So far, the plan was working.
I looked in the mirror, as the stylist was performing step two of four and I started getting a little bit of my happy back. I began to get a bit of that ‘fuck you PB&J I’m going to be alright!’ feeling.
But this wouldn’t be my life if it wasn’t a little messy and broken…
In walks, this tall bleach blond with boy-short haircut woman into the shop. As she walks closer to my field of vision, I notice that she’s quite older than me because of the wrinkles located on the corner of her eyes which deepened each time she laughs. She’s followed in by her also bleach blond with boy-short haircut friend. Two peas in a pod I thought.
Amongst them, they have a vodka bottle and red plastic cups. I thought, ‘this is a unique way to pass the time while waiting on a stylist.’ I usually go for magazines or bring a book to pass the time, but silly me I should have been carrying liquor into the salon.
Bleach-Blond sits next to me and starts having a conversation with her friend and tries very hard to bring me in it. But I am focused on my makeover and in no mood to chat. I am putting all my attention into getting my happy back.
After avoiding her not so subtle entry requests, I start to eavesdrop instead. Sometimes I find that it is much more fun to observe and hear than to talk and be part of a conversation.
After putting two and two together (it took me a few minutes), I come to find out that the great boyfriend she’s gushing about to her friend is my PB&J! Or more like my ex-PB&J who had dumped me two days ago!
According to her, they are deep in love with one another and are planning a great holiday party in which he will do all the cooking and a holiday ski trip after the party and hangover, in which he will be doing all the paying.
The realization that this was the same man that had told me he loved me a week ago and who had dumped me just two days before was too hard to handle. My eyes betrayed me, and I felt a tear coming through the corner of my right eye. I immediately picked it up with my index finger, flicked it away and blamed the chemicals for my red eyes. “These fumes are strong,” I tell the stylist, and try my best to give her a smile, but what comes out is a sheepish and awkward half grin when I say this.
I’m sure no one noticed the sound that the pieces of my heart made as they shattered on the salon floor. Only I could hear that. Nor did anyone see the profound sadness that engulfed what was left of my heart, much the same way that the moon covers the sun and darkens the earth during an eclipse. Only I could see that.
No one in the shop noticed because all of my feelings stayed inside. My eyes made contact with my reflection in the mirror, and I challenged myself not to show what I felt at the moment.
Finding strength from a place I did not know existed, I did just that and stayed glued to my seat as I listened to all the fairytale plans that involved Bleach-Blond and my ex.
Finally, step three came in and then step four; the final step! I was ready to get out and be able to breathe and cry. Once the last swipe from the straightening iron had run its course, and the stylist gave a thorough inspection of her handy work, I quickly and profusely thanked her and rushed to the register.
I could not believe that my ex’s new girlfriend and myself were sitting next to each other and that my keratin treatment and her bleaching would take the same amount of time! What are the odds of that shit happening?!
But again it wouldn’t be my life if it wasn’t just a tad bit messy and broken, I thought. It goes with the territory.
As I leave the register and go to collect my bags, I notice a familiar white Volkswagen Golf parking in front of the shop, and I thought, ‘there’s no way!’
As if my heart is not broken enough, as if the wound is not deep enough, there’s more for me to feel.
A set of long, strong legs step out of the car, and the noticeable bow-legged walk approaches the shop. I turn to my bag on the floor and try quickly to put everything together, but I realize that if I leave now, I will pass him, and I did not want to pass him, I did not want to see him.
I decide to keep my gaze down while slowly getting my bag ready and wait till he’s inside and distracted by Bleach-Blond to leave. I thought ‘this will be the best way to leave.’
But, I wasn’t the only one who had noticed his car, Bleach-Blond had seen him too. When she sees him, she tells her friend that she needs to put lipstick on and rushes off to the bathroom to put on her face for her man.
The bell rings alerting the shop that someone new has walked in, but I already knew who it was. I did not have to look up.
I keep my face down and my gaze averted to the floor focused on heading towards the door and leaving quietly.
But Bleach-Blond exits the bathroom with a lot of fanfare and squeals loudly at the sight of him.
As a masochist for pain would do, I turned my head to look at the commotion, knowing exactly how much it will hurt.
Bleach Blond had painted her pale lips scandalous red and had jumped up on PB&J to surprise him.
Something must have told him to look because his eyes met mine for a few seconds and quickly he dropped his gaze in embarrassment.
He let go of Bleach-Blond and gave her the excuse of not wanting to ruin her lipstick for not kissing her.
His gaze said it all. He was ashamed, and just like me, he quickly masked his face thus hiding his emotions. He then moves to the cash register to stand and wait for his new beloved who was gathering her things.
At that moment, I was thankful to have already paid and could leave now.
As the stylist yells “Goodbye Johanny,” he looks at me once again, having been reminded of my name, but Bleach-Blond says she’s ready, and he turns his head to look at her instead. His focus has changed I thought. He looks at her the way he used to look at me.
I raise my head and let my bone straight hair move with every bold step I take towards the door. I wanted to cry so bad, but I was determined to stay tough all the way to my car and never look back.