My mom liked to brush the curls out of Constance’s hair and style it into a bouffant as if Constance was a white woman in the 50s. There’s something about women that make them wish their hair was the opposite. My mom’s hair is curly, and so she likes straight hair. My hair is straight or wavy depending on the weather. I love any hair that’s not mine.
Constance hating having her hair done. One on a plane I whispered to her, “Do you want me to braid your hair?” And the guy in the row behind me leaned forward, made meaningful eye contact and shook his head no. Constance concurred with a, “No! iPad please.” She was a child who always knew what she wanted.
While laying in bed last night I had the overwhelming urge to swallow Constance’s father’s wedding ring. Instead, I ate of a wheel of cheese while recommitted myself to veganism in 2019. Then I thought of Constance, and tearful fell asleep.