Real Family Grows Your Hair for You
Baby Brother Shape-Up
Half-brother and I grew up without much hair on our heads. Anthony was the boy and I was a girl, mistaken for a boy, we shared a barber. Mom said my hair was not right for ponytails, pigtails. With a barber’s help, I believed mom would help me look pretty, whiter. She never tried her brush on my nappy roots, only fingertips to comb. Nine months after my 40th birthday, I texted my breast cancer diagnosis. I was a near-bald preschooler, so I am not afraid of chemotherapy taking my hair. -Anth I need to tell you something. -Hearing it’s bad news. Love u more than anything sis. Please don’t be dying. Christmas Eve, Anthony started growing my gift. Eight months later on the day of my breast reconstruction I received a selfie. -Haven’t cut my hair since u texted me about ur cancer diagnosis in case u got chemo & needed a wig. Hair’s almost down to my ass for u -Love you, brother. I cry and smile because Anthony grew up and I don’t need chemo. -This was meant to be urs lol and it’s even kinda curly for ur head I laugh out loud because I want to wear some of my brother’s hair.
Boardwalk Ambassadors
I want to know how much there is to scream about in a city this small? I cannot call police on the brown girls below my window with no names they call each other bitch. Maybe they scream in the dark because they know what is coming at 10 p.m. after the curfew alarm sounds. Are they 9th graders? Nah, not yet. July afternoons they push the boys away with no facial hair. They hold hands like kindergartners, pull each other across sidewalks like they’re going somewhere. An alley behind Dollar General is more adventurous than the boardwalk. They would find the oceanfront if they just held onto one another, and crossed the wide, uptown intersection at Baltic & Atlantic Avenues.