Playing Hard To Get

“Now, let’s get upstairs to the penthouse,” Lynn insisted. “I saw some of my girls heading up there already. They said it’s already jumping!” She linked her arm with Tasha’s and pulled her toward the elevator. “Are you losing weight?” she said as they walked. “Your body looks amazing tonight.”

?

Tamia kept thinking there should’ve been a song. Like maybe India. Arie could’ve come into the bathroom with a guitar on her hip singing “I Am Not My Hair.” Yes, that would’ve been great. A song to set the tone. Set the theme. Set the stage. To take her mind off of what was about to happen. That morning, when she woke up in Kali’s living room draped in mudcloth she was using to make dresses for her sisters, she ran to the mirror and saw her hair. It looked strange, pulled back off of her face. It hadn’t been touched by anyone but her sisters since she’d started her process. She told herself she could let go of it. That she could take the next step in her life without it. Malik was wrong. Baba didn’t require the women to cut their hair. He only talked about the sacrifice. He spoke of how the knowledge they had now should affect them and that it was okay if these changes took place over time, but if each of them wanted to know how committed she was to change, she should start with what she held most precious. Tamia thought “precious” was an odd word to put next to hair. But when she thought about it, if it wasn’t so precious to her, what was the harm in cutting it? It was just hair. And if it wasn’t just hair, why?

But that was this morning and now Tamia, Fatimah, and Tanya were seated in the women’s bathroom at the project, surrounded by their other sisters, getting ready to get their hair cut off. All three of them had committed to doing it and Kali was chosen to assist.

“We are taught that we must rule the physical realm in order to reach our Creator—with Oludumare, God, Allah, Jah, Jehovah,” Kali said, standing before the three chairs where Tamia sat with her sisters. Behind her were most of the other women at the center whom Tamia saw each day—Nunu, the young girl she’d passed outside on her first day; Ayo; Afreu, the older woman who taught them their Adinkra lessons; Maria, who made them candles; Quin, who led their history lessons.

“Doing this selfless, brave act,” Kali continued, “brings you one step closer to understanding yourself. We’ve all been there, baby sisters. We know what you are feeling.”

The women behind Kali cheered and yipped African calls and for a second Tamia thought maybe she was in church.

“But today is yours. And today, you are our heroes.” Kali and her soft hands came and brushed against Tamia. “You are our spirits and your daughters are our future.”

“Yeeeyeeeyeeyeeyee,” a sister cried out.

“Let us begin.”

What Tamia saw in the mirror before her own eyes was herself for once. She looked like every picture of her mother she’d ever seen. And not much was different. Just her head. Just her hair. Gone. But still everything was different. It was just her head. And her hair was gone.

She’d done it. And that knowledge alone made her feel like she’d lost her mind. But she really hadn’t.

Kali kissed her scalp and whispered in her ear something she really needed to hear.

“You’re beautiful.”

The revelation sounded so much like what someone else in the project once said to her about natural hair that Tamia jumped up out of her seat and headed toward the place where she knew she could find him.

“Malik won’t be able to believe this.” Tamia laughed, touching her scalp and feeling like she just might want to wear her hair like that forever. “He’ll love it. He’ll love—”

She was stepping down on the last step that led to the level, but she could already see who was in Malik’s office.

Ayo, who’d left the bathroom when Kali was cutting Tanya’s hair, was sitting on the desk in front of Malik, reading what Tamia didn’t know was one of Nikki Giovanni’s love poems, one of Malik’s favorites.

“He’ll never think I’m as beautiful as her,” Tamia said, sighing and losing every ounce of excitement she was carrying.

?

Tasha noticed two things when she walked into the penthouse party with Lynn: 1. The only men there were wearing thongs and serving drinks. 2. The women were plentiful, beautiful, and seemingly unaware of the trend concerning the opposite sex.

She didn’t say anything, though. She kept her eyes on the prize—the thongs—and chatted it up with each of Lynn’s girlfriends as they made their rounds throughout the unusually large piece of Manhattan luxury in the sky.

It was clear either Lynn knew everyone there or they wanted to know who she was. Some women actually pushed past Tasha to get to her or pretended to like Tasha’s shoes or hair or shade of lip gloss (which was clear) only to say, “Can you introduce me to Lynn?” within minutes of the exchange. It was like hanging out with the female version of Lionel at a groupie party. Lynn was clearly the queen of this buzzing group of size-four bees.

After tackling and being tackled, she was relieved when Lynn suggested they sit at a table with three other women. She’d schmoozed and smiled enough and was so tired she didn’t remember anyone’s name.

“Who’s your friend, Lynn?” asked one of the women, who looked like she must’ve been half black and half Asian. “She’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” Tasha said, leaning over and shaking the girl’s hand. “I’m Tasha. Tasha LaRo—”

“I can introduce you,” Lynn said, cutting her off, and the other women laughed.

“Okay…,” Tasha said, perplexed and thinking Lynn must’ve had a little too much party punch.

Lynn slid her hand onto Tasha’s back.

“This is Tasha LaRoche,” Lynn said pointedly. “See, I can do it!”