Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Brush My Hair

Big girl, pretty, bored face, heavy-lidded eyes like she's always on the verge of sleep, hands her taller friend a tube of chapstick from her pocket.

Friend pulls off the cap like she's wringing the neck of a very small animal, twists the base, and applies it to her lips.

I envy their casual intimacy (sharing lip balm!) the way, as a kid, I used to envy the girls at recess, brushing one another's hair. I would steal glances as we ran by, yelling, playing Elves and Gnomes, or Battle of the Planets, some confusing bubble of longing filling up my chest as the brush turned blonde to burnished gold or brown to shining auburn falls with gentle, deliberate strokes.

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