She wrapped a black vinylcape around my dress and I sat down in the chair and leaned my head back asshe held up my hair. She wet it down with warm water and poured the shampoointo her palm where she then lathered it up lightly in her palm beforesmoothing it into my damp hair. She massaged my hair for what seemed liketen minutes before she rinsed it all out. She then used a squirt bottle anddrenched my head with a sweet smelling lotion. "We have to let that conditioner sit for a few minutes so I will go and seeif Cathy is ready for your extensions. So sit tight darling" I sat there for a few minutes alone. I was so excited! I was getting thefull makeover of my dreams! I had wanted this ever since I was a littlegirl. Oh sure, I played dress up with my mother's things and my friendsmothers things, and in college with my sorority sisters, but never with thefull trappings in a salon. I heard her return. "All done! Let me rinse this off and I will take you to see Cathy." Shesaid as she ran. The world swam before my eyes. After many long moments I somehow managed to stand. I looked down at my stepdad. The color was fading from his skin. The floor was slick with his blood, and the smell of blood mixed with cheap booze was strong enough to make me nauseous. I turned to look away from him to find my mother standing there staring at me in horror. As to be expected, weeks passed by and I was sitting in court again with my mother at my side. The welts from the rope had turned to bruises, some to scars. The police had photographed me from head to toe, documenting each mark, cut and bruise. I was taken to the Tallassee hospital and diagnosed with a broken jaw, two fractured ribs, several scrapes and lacerations, all neatly documented and sitting in front of my court appointed attorney as the proceedings droned on. Once again I heard words in adult-speak float about the stale air of the courtroom. ‘traumatized into this response’ ‘clearly a pattern of violent behavior’ ‘self.
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