The Way I used to Be

“IT’S TIME,” MARA DECLARES
as we sit in the middle of her bedroom
floor. I just finished cutting a big wad of pink bubble gum out of her hair that
someone had stuck in at some point during the day. It had hardened beyond
the point of peanut butter and careful untangling.
The debate has been going on for months now.
“So, red,” I confirm, as we stare at the box of hair color standing upright in
the space between us. I didn’t say anything when she stopped showing up to
band practice, or when she started sneaking cigarettes from her mom’s purse,
but I have to say something now, before it’s too late. “Mara, you realize that’s
really, really red?” I ask, looking at the girl on the box.
“Cranberry,” she corrects, picking the box up gently with both hands,
studying the picture. “Do you think you could cut it short like this girl’s?” she
asks me. “I’m so sick of having long hair—it’s like I’m inviting them to throw
things in it.”
It’s true; she’s had the same long brown hair falling to the middle of her
back ever since I can remember. “Are you sure it has to be right now?” I
double-check. “’Cause if you wait just three more weeks, it’ll be summer, and
then if it doesn’t turn out, you’ll have time to—”
“No,” she interrupts. “That’s all the more reason it has to be tonight—I
can’t go through this for another year. I can’t go through this for three more
weeks. I can’t go through this shit for another day!” she almost shouts.
“But what if—”
“Edy, stop. You’re supposed to be helping me.”
“I am, I just—do you really think coloring your hair is going to change
anything?”
“Yes—it’s going to change 
me
.” She rips open the lid on the box and starts
pulling out the contents one by one.
“Why right now, though—did something else happen besides the gum?” It
was the question I had been waiting for her to ask me for months.

---

“Like anything else needs to happen? It’s been years of this—every single
day—stupid names, gum in the hair, ‘loser’ signs stuck on my back. Can only
be expected to take so much,” she says, her voice getting chopped up by the
tears she tries to hold in.
“I know.” And I do know. I get it. She gets it. It has to happen, and I
understand why.
“Well, let’s do it then,” she says, holding the scissors out to me.
I take the scissors from her like a good friend.
“You realize I have no idea what I’m doing, right?” I ask her as strands of
hair begin to fall to the floor.
“It’s okay, I trust you,” she says, closing her eyes.
“No, don’t,” I say with a laugh.
She smiles.
“Can I ask you something and you’ll promise not to get mad?” I begin
cautiously.
She opens her eyes and looks at me.
“This isn’t about Cameron, is it? Because he should like you the way you
are. I mean, if you’re doing this so he’ll be interested, or so he’ll think you’re
cooler, that’s not—”
But she stops me. “Edy, no.” She’s calm, not mad at all. She talks quietly,
explaining, “Yes, I like him, but I’m not trying to be like him. I’m just trying
to be like me. Like the real me. If that makes any sense at all,” she says,
laughing.
I don’t even need to think about it—I know exactly how she feels. “It
makes sense, Mara.”
“Good.” And then she closes her eyes again, like me cutting and coloring
her hair is the most relaxing thing in the world. It’s quiet for a while.
“Can I ask you something else?” I finally say, breaking the silence.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not coming back to band, are you?”
“No.”
“Thought so.”

---

She turns around to look at me. “Sorry, Edy. It’s just not me anymore; I’m
interested in other things now.”
“It’s okay, I was just missing my stand partner is all.” I try to make light of
it, but it really does make me sad. “You know they’re gonna stick me with that
smelly girl who’s always messing up, right?” I tell her as I start mixing the hair
color.
She laughs. “I’m sorry. Just hold your breath!”
“I kind of need to breathe in order to play!”
“True,” she admits, still smiling.
I start brushing the mixture into her hair in sections, trying to be as neat as
possible. “So, what other interests?”
“I don’t know. I think I’ll start taking art classes next year. And I know
what you’re gonna say, but it’s not about Cameron. But becoming friends
with him, it’s just made me realize I want to try new things.”
I’ve never known Mara to be interested in art. “Well, that’s cool.” I kind of
mean it too. Because I can’t think of anything in the world that I’m interested
in anymore.
“Do I look tough?” she asks once we’ve finished, giving herself dirty looks
in the mirror.
I study her reflection too. “You look . . . like a completely different
person,” I tell her, consumed equally with admiration and jealousy. She walks
past me over to the window and cracks it open. Then she pulls out a cigarette
and a lighter from the rhinestone-studded jewelry box in her desk drawer,
watching herself closely in the mirror as she brings it up to her demetallized
mouth. “I look mean, don’t I?” she asks. “I look like a bitch,” she says slowly,
her smile perfectly straight.
“So you want to look like a bitch now?” I laugh.
“I don’t know, maybe. Why not?” She shrugs. “I’m reinventing myself.
Everyone else gets to change.” I know that what she really means by
“everyone” is her parents—they get to change their minds, change their lives,
and hers.
“I guess.” I can’t exactly protest too much, because honestly, the idea of
reinventing myself sounds pretty appealing. I’m not sure who I’d want to be,

---

though.
“I really don’t care what anyone thinks about me, as long as they don’t
think I’m just going to sit back and take it anymore!” She exhales a cloud of
smoke with the words. “I’m just sick of getting pushed around, treated like
shit. I mean, aren’t you?”
She shifts her gaze from the mirror to me. I can’t lie. Can’t admit the truth,
either. So I say nothing. Instead, I walk over to her and take a cigarette out of
the pack. I place it between my lips. Mara doesn’t say a word. She just smiles
cautiously and brings the lighter up to light it for me. I breathe in. And then
choke on the horrible chemicals. We laugh as I cough and gasp.
“That’s so gross!” I tell her, choking on my words. But then I bring it to my
lips again anyway.
“Don’t breathe in so deep this time,” she says with a laugh.
I don’t. And I don’t choke this time. I watch Mara watching me, and I
think maybe I can change too. Maybe I can become someone I can actually
stand. I take my glasses off, take another drag, and look at Mara. “Seriously,
what do you think? Should I get contacts?”
“Absolutely!” She keeps the cigarette dangling from her mouth as she
reaches over and swoops my hair back from my face. “You could do this,” she
tells me, her words muffled through the smoke.
“I could?” I ask her, not sure exactly what she means by “this.” Just my
hair. The contacts. Or everything.
“You could be so hot—so beautiful, I mean—if you would quit hiding.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes, Edy. I know so.”
I smile again, letting the chemicals go to my head, and imagine what I
could be, all the things I could do.

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