Wash Day

I love you, Ma'Khia Bryant.

I washed my hair yesterday. Jazmine Sullivan’s voice cut through the steam and the shampoo and even the water pooling in my ear canal with every rinse. She reached me through the water.

I let my head roll from side to side because it could. I conditioned twice because I could. I stood under the shower head and let the water pressure plaster my eyes shut so I didn’t have to see anymore. Even though I could, I didn’t want to. It was enough to remember that I could.

I don’t like washing my hair. It’s never not roulette. When I lift the damp T-shirt from my scalp my curls emerge, timid and unsure of themselves and surprised to be seen. They rarely dry the way I want them to, and I never know what to do after spending so much time with them.

But yesterday I let my hair do what it wanted because I still could.

I could still learn from Ma’Khia. She knew how to transform her curls from one beautiful thing into another. She was a shapeshifter in that way.

I will probably think of her every time I wash my hair, because, at least for now, I still can.

If there is one other piece you read today, please make that piece it takes what it takes by Alexis Pauline Gumbs.