"Is it just my concussion? Or do my roots look really light?"
I was sitting in the chair at the hair salon watching Tamara blow my hair out. My hair looked orange under the lights.
"Well I know you were worried about your hair getting too dark, so I lightened the formula by a shade..." she explained.
"Oh. OK. Uh huh. Hm."
I've spent so long with my hair being somewhere between dark brown and black. But as its ratio of black to white creeps slowly in favor of white, and the brown dye over it fades into a burnt auburn from exposure to the sun, I have to start accepting a lighter version of me.
I mean, I'm physically lighter, weighing 45 pounds less than I did two years ago. And maybe somehow having a lighter lode has helped me accept a lighter shade of my hair, my clothes, my nails, my lipgloss...
I don't remember the last time I wore an all-black outfit during the day.
I don't remember the last time I wore red lips or a cherry black pedicure.
And as my skin turns brown despite the slathers of sunscreen that are applied nearly daily, will my eyes lighten? Teeth whiten? Attitude brighten?
Will California sunshine emanate from my core? Will a bright shining light emit from my soul?
As my hair reddens and lips and toes sparkle, in my silver car carrying my silver purse wearing my silver shoes, will I remain black inside, as I always have been?
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