Thread: A Place to Hang your Hat [AnnaBeth and Sigr]

I really do, Beth said, enthusiasm in her voice. It's very thick, not just the amount of it but the individual strands. Mine is so baby fine it gets all flyaway and the ends split something awful, she complained, then held up a handful of hers so Alba could see for herself. Wind whipping at it all day doesn't help any, but lucky it grows so fast I can just trim it back every three or four weeks and get rid of them. But yours, not a lot of wind getting at it I guess and it's just...hefty? I know that's a weird word for it but I don't know one better. Hang on, let me get somet things, she said and used a hand on Alba's shoulder to get off the bed. Beth went down the hall to the bathroom and came back with a comb that had very thick, wide teeth on it and a handful of cloth scrunchies. She also had a bottle tucked under her arm that she let fall then caught with her free hand. Okay, lean on back, she said and undid the top of the bottle, squeezing a little foam into her hand. Leave in conditioner, she said then looked past Alba's shoulder at her, faces close together so Beth's warm breath whispered across her face and her freckles were a connect the dot puzzle. What? Just because I live out in the middle of the country doesn't mean I don't know a few things. YouTube taught me a lot and the general store man will order whatever you ask him to. This stuff, she sat back and began to slowly and carefully run her fingers through Alba's hare, being super careful not to pull on it, was twenty-four dollars and boy did Granddaddy howl when the bill came in, she laughed. It had a light, clean smell, a little hint of chemicals but not unpleasant. Soon Beth began to pull the wet comb through Alba's hair. the tines of it scratching gently at the woman's scalp. Any time Beth felt resistance she stopped, put the back of the comb between her teeth, and carefully picked apart the almost tangle with deft fingers so that Alba wouldn't feel even the slightest pull or ouch. Beth took her time, stretching the act out when really she could be done in just a few minutes. Alba, you said I could ask anything, right? Or tell you anything? Pausing she shifted so she could look Alba in the eye, getting the reassurance that it was true, before going back behind the other woman and resuming her work. You said, she began carefully, that you felt like your mom was using it to punish you. Tugging at your hair when she didn't need to, her own fingers joined the comb in brushing through the silky strands, feeling them glide wetly over her fingers and leaving them slick with conditioner. And maybe she was, but... Fingers and comb went still and Beth seemed to be framing her words. Momma's an angel in the ground out in the north pasture. We got a little plot of there all the way back since this was our spread. She died when I was real little, just a few days old, and I didn't really know her except for some pictures and what Granddaddy told me about her. It used to tear me up something fierce, but I reckon I got past most of that. Beth fell silent and when she spoke this time her voice was real hesitant. When I'm done, do you think maybe you could brush my hair, or maybe braid it into pigtails or something, like she woulda done? I know you're not my mom, you're way too young, but just once I'd kind of like to feel what it would have been like. You can even ouch it if you want, she said in a joke that she felt fall flat. I mean, if it's not too weird to ask. If it is, we'll just say no more about it, she finished quickly then began to divide and pull Alba's hair into two thick ropes and started to very, very loosely fishtail them together before slipping a pretty dark green scrunchie over the end to hold it together. Beth got up off the bed and went to put the comb and conditioner on her dresser, back to Alba.