Pretty Hurts (Left 1.50)

Chapter One

Eifa

Some may call me vain, and they’re entitled to their opinion, but I don’t agree. I consider myself a connoisseur of beauty. Makeup, clothing, hair products, and shoes are a few of the tools I use to add loveliness to a grim, harsh, and at times unforgiving world. With these tips and tools, I can control how others perceive me with sleight of hand, cover up, and sass. I like it that way.

The real me is a persona I only let a few witness. I learned the hard way, not everyone who smiles in your face is your friend. Nor do they automatically wish for your success. The brutal Julius-Caesar-like slaying of my character by those I trusted in high school birthed the woman I glimpse daily in the mirror. That phenom in the reflection is damn near untouchable, with her sharp tongue, shrewd business sense, and icy demeanor. I subscribe to the school that believes one should kill them with kindness and never allow others to see you sweat.

Being on point twenty-four-seven is akin to wearing a form of visible armor. When I teach others to highlight their attributes, I boost their confidence, and issue a weapon no one can take away. The sad truth is, for women looks matter. Putting your best foot forward is more than books, degrees, and common sense. It shouldn’t be. But could, should, and would aren’t the same as what is. Woman are savvy. We adapt, adjust, and forge forward.

So, while others assume my career as a make-up artist and stylist is a petty, frivolous, and privileged position, it’s never been the way I see it. I unwrap the red, gold, and yellow tribal print scarf from around my head and peer at the patches of scalp visible among my once thick curls. My protective layer is failing. It all started six months ago when I noticed excessive shedding a few months prior. At first, I thought it was a conditioning issue. I know hair. I go to great lengths to care for my natural locks.

I understand health starts from the inside out. So I upped my water intake and watched what I ate. Slicing down my stress, I devoted daily time to yoga and pilates. When the problem persisted, I sought out a dermatologist. That’s when I discovered I had an autoimmune disease called alopecia. My white blood cells are attacking my hair follicles. Why? No one can say.

There’s no rhyme or reason, though there seems to be a genetic link in the family that may make one predisposed to it according to recent research. Alopecia comes in many different forms. Some affect the entire body, others the hair on the head or the beard area. There are some causes by scarring or excess tension on the hair follicle which can be recovered from.

It’s silly, to be so attached to my hair. But it’s a part of my culture. I can remember sitting at my grandmother’s feet getting my scalped greased, and my hair braided into intricate patterns.

I’ve babied, trimmed, deep conditioned, dyed, and manipulated my curls within an inch of their life. It’s a statement, a part of me people meet before I open my mouth. What will I do without it? How will I ever feel feminine?

I turn to the left and the right. I’m a hot mess. My head is a cornucopia of patch worked bald spots. When I run my fingers through what’s left of my hair, the curled strands cling to my fingers and come out. I bow my head. It’s time to accept what’s happening, and control it. So far, it’s been running me, and that stops now. It’s time to come out with what’s been happening.

Alopecia is nothing to be ashamed of, and in my case it’s permanent. I memorize my reflection; it’s the last time I’ll see myself with a full head of hair. I have to accept that my crowning glory is fading fast.

After rewrapping my hair, I step away from my vanity. My best friend’s husband, Houston, is meticulous about the hair on the top of his head and his face. If anyone can recommend a barber I can trust, it’s him. I’m also counting on his friends to be open-minded. With his unconventional career choice and sense of style, he’s acquired interesting friends over the years. If I walk into the shop solo and feel judged or, studied like a lab rat, I may just chicken out.

By the time I reach the car, my heart is knocking against my chest, and sweat is beading on my forehead like it’s a million degrees outside. Fear is a vindictive bitch, and I’m fighting to wrestle free of her grip. I stumble over my feet. I’m off balance and insecure. These aren’t feelings I’m used to dealing with.

I’ve been thrust back into my high school mentality and I loathe it. There’s nothing worse than being awkward, hesitant, and struggling to figure out who you are. Inside the vehicle, I crank the AC and give myself a mental pat on the back. I’m here. This is a significant milestone. I’ve been hiding the condition for half a year now. It’s past time I take the wheel and steer. For too long this condition has ruled me.

I had a lunch date with the Mahoneys planned weeks ago. It’s the perfect opportunity to come clean. It’s strange thinking of my best friend, Liv, as an official part of the clan, but oddly right. They’ve enjoyed six months of wedded bliss, and I couldn’t be happier. What Tony and Rain did to them was cold and devastating. She did more than leave her fiancé at the altar and steal her maid of honor’s man—she abandoned her triplets, and that’s despicable.

I couldn’t believe the heifer had the nerve to show up this year and try to get them back. I don’t want kids, and that act made my black heart bleed. Bitch messed around and got me in the feels. The triplets are adorable, well-behaved, sweet-tempered, and so eager to please. Being abandoned left its mark on them, but Houston worked hard to ensure it didn’t define them. It’s one of the many qualities I appreciate about him. I hate the pain Liv had to go through to get him, but damn did she trade up.

I feel the chains of secrecy, shame, and embarrassment loosening with every mile I drive. I’ve backed myself into a corner. I need to come out swinging, or I’m not going to make it. When I’m not in balance with myself, everything feels off. One thing I’ve learned in thirty plus years it this: you have to love all of you. The good, the bad, and the in-between combine to make up all the parts of me. I can do no less than embrace, nurture, and learn to appreciate this curveball.

I’m going to need strength to face the adversity that will come my way. Especially given my line of work. In a world where looks are everything you have to remain on twenty-four-seven, and have thick skin.

I’m hyper aware of everything as I walk up the drive. The grass is greener than usual, and the sky is a bold, bright hue. Happy clouds fill the sky like puffy cotton balls. It’s a

Bob Ross painting come to life. The picturesque Texas beauty mocks my mood. At one of my darkest days I’m bombarded with beauty. Life’s little ironies have me thinking the Universe very well may be flipping me the bird. The humidity is sticky and the heat clings to my skin like jersey knit.

I squint in an effort to curb the sun’s wicked rays. Texas is out for blood this summer. As I step up onto the porch, I’m thankful for the shade. I knock. A few moments later, Liv answers with a grin and a flowing top. She just reached the stage where she had to reach into the back of her closet.

“Come on in.”

‘Where’s the crew?” I scan the room for signs of the littles.

“Down for a nap.”

“That’s perfect. I need to talk to you and Houston.” I swallow around the lump in my throat.

“This sounds serious,” Liv states.

“It is,” I reply.

“Hey, Liv, what’s up?” Houston asks, coming in from outside.

“She wants to talk to us,” Liv says.

His eyes grow stormy with concern.

“Why don’t we sit on the couch?” I gesture toward the massive chocolate brown sectional.

We move to the area, and I perch on the edge of the cushions. “I’ve been hiding this for the past six months. So, I ask that you bear with my while I work up the courage to come clean. It’s not anything that’s life or death, but it’s difficult to deal with nonetheless.” I smooth down the black material of my knit skirt and decide it’s better to just go for it. “I noticed my hair was coming out in noticeable amounts, so I made an appointment with a dermatologist. From there we discovered I have Alopecia … Alopecia Areata to be exact. My condition causes anything from a bald patch to extensive hair loss, potentially all over my body. So far, it’s been contained to my scalp. I should be grateful for that. In a way, I think I’m getting to the point where I can I am. There’s no cure.”

“Oh my God,” Liv whispers. She covers her mouth.

“I spent the past few months in a state of denial. I hid it from you because that would be admitting it to myself. I’m done with that. It only made me feel worse. I’m ready to take charge of what’s happening. I want to shave my head.”

Liv shakes her head. “I don’t know what to say.”