The Obesession

October 19, 2012
By PaigeBerriochoa BRONZE, Central Point, Oregon
PaigeBerriochoa BRONZE, Central Point, Oregon
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Today was the day. What I had been working at for two years; it had all come down to this. I was shaking when I walked into the salon. It was a strange place not my usual fancy, dim lit, vanilla-scented salon I was accustomed to. I was shocked when I had been waiting for five minutes and no one had offered me a beverage! I noticed how snotty I was being to think that, how stuck-up I was acting. Did I forget what I came here for? I’m not that type of person.

“Berriochoa for 2:30,” I heard from a girl sitting behind a counter in her fake, happy voice; her “designer” reading glasses were on the end of her nose, like a librarian. That always bugs me. She repeated herself as my mind processed what was happening; chills were sent sprinting up my spine. I got up off my chair, still shaking; I’ve never been this nervous in my life. I had given a speech in front of a hundred people that didn’t phase me, but this, this was scary. I slowly made my way over to a woman by a hair cutting station, flashing her phony grin at me. As I got closer, she smelled like sweet-pea body splash and cigarette smoke. “Have a seat in the first blue chair sweetheart,” she said.
“Okay,” I managed to mutter out. It felt like I had been on death row for the past two years and this was the electric chair calling my name. It seemed to smirk at me; this little blue chair could sense my fear. SIT DOWN! I thought in my head. I finally did. The pleather chair squeaked as I sat down; it was cold on my bare legs. Summer was coming to end, but I still was wearing tank tops and daisy dukes everyday. I didn’t want it to end, I don’t like change. I hated the sound of the chair as I adjusted to get comfortable, like nails on a chalk board.

I pulled my long hair to one side; it was the color of the clay by the lake in California we visit every summer, we didn’t go this year though; everything was changing. I ran my fingers all the way through it, wiggling my hand every time I got to a knot. “I heard what you are doing this for; it’s a very sweet thing of you. Don’t worry your pretty little head, everything will be alright.” She said, “Are you ready?”

“Go ahead,” I said with a sigh, “just get it over with.” I was regretting everything as I said it. I wanted to scream and run out the door. I was slowly changing my mind about this whole thing, but something in my head didn’t let me jump out of the chair and never step foot in a salon again.

She took a firm hold of my hair. I felt something warm and wet roll down my cheek. I was crying? Me? Crying over hair? Something that you would think would mean nothing to a person, something that everyone can easily live without. Who would have thought this would mean so much to me? I should be happy, now there would be less: blow drying, straightening, curling, and hair spraying, but I was crying even harder now. I was soaking the black, synthetic cape that was draped around me.

Snip! Snip! I cringed, but it was all over. I was okay; there was no turning back now. So I smiled the biggest smile you could possibly imagine. I had just done an amazing thing.

I felt so accomplished. I had just donated 12 inches of my long, silky, auburn hair to a young girl with cancer. I gave a young girl with a life threatening illness the chance to obsess about something like I had my whole life. I sacrificed what had me feel so good about myself, to help make a beautiful young girl feel even better. That was a good thing. The smile didn’t leave my face for the longest time. I don’t regret anything and I vow to myself that I will do it again next year. As I left the hairspray aroma of the salon I smiled and waved as I walked out the door and yelled, “I’ll be back next year!” The tears that I was feeling on my face now were tears of joy.

The author's comments:
I wrote this paper as a personal narrative in my english class. I really enjoy this peace

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