My High School Hairs
By: Jakob Jehn
Tags: Hair, Adolescence, LGBT, Memoir, Creative Non Fiction

A journey through some adolescent experiences and the hairstyles that accompanied them.

2010 — Fall

You dyed your hair black. You wanted to look like those pretty boys on the internet. But upon your head, you thought that dark mop seemed out of place. Just the same, you still felt brave for doing it, brave for being true.

Your hometown is butted up against the flood plains of the Mississippi River. A single highway bolted away from the yellow street lights and snaked through those dark, surrounding, desolate marshes. As the bluffs slid back like curtains and revealed the raw expanse of the river valley, the highway ended in a T.

If one were to keep driving up the letter’s spine, like that girl and her friend did a few years before, they would crash through the guardrail and sink deep down into the undulating waters.

You yourself sank deep down that year, though not into waters. Something else — much thicker.

The substance oozed out from its source: the night you lay in his bed with your pants slid down to your ankles, both wanting it and not wanting it.

After, turned away from him with your fist in your mouth, you bit down hard and told yourself nothing had happened. It was disturbing how you almost believed it.

2011 — Fall

A year after, while driving home from the grocery store, your mother found out about it all. She asked if you actually liked it. She asked if you could honestly enjoy doing that for the rest of your life.

You remained silent, as though speaking would fracture your entire body. The roar of your tears bellowed as they poured out.

On the way home, your head against the passenger side window, you watched the fields and woods zip by in a brown blur.

2011 — Summer

Summer, and your hair grew out. You felt more like yourself, but you were still ragged, like the Mississippi River had carved out a new space in your bones and tissue. The time in his bed happened over a year ago and felt as though it came from another lifetime. Images of it flashed in your mind, worn and sepia-toned, like the color of your fading hair — the black that finally broke away into light.

You felt ashamed, but you also realized, as you began to practice driving, that freedom was coming. You could feel whatever you wanted. But for now, with your chest still tight and sealed, you let it sit and tried not to stir up what had only just settled as you practiced your lane changes.

2012 — Fall

Beautifully bold, the future unfolded ahead as you slathered some red over your hair.

That passionate scarlet seeped into your brain through your roots and ignited a being you had no idea existed. A confident person who knew what he wanted.

You yourself reached out to a different boy. You yourself, with your new driver’s license, lied to your parents and drove to meet him.

You yourself arrived at his apartment.

You yourself saw the photo he sent to you, the one you looked at between classes with a warm flutter beating in your chest, was years and years old.

You yourself let him crawl on top of you anyway, his lips tasting of stale beer.

2012 — Summer

A new start, the buzz of the clipper, and you suddenly had short hair.

At night, you ran your fingers through it — an odd sensation. No tug or pull, just healthy shortness gliding between your knuckles.

It was the same color as his, the foreign exchange student. Handsome and strong-jawed. You liked to watch him run. You thought you were like him.

Europe was different, right? More open.

He said he wasn’t like that, and as you overheard it, you felt your guts being pulled out.

You assumed, selfishly, he was like you too.

You left the party, walked into the dead of night, and cried.

2013 — Winter

You learned from your mistakes, and when a different boy asked to take you out, you trusted that uncomfortable squirm in your gut.

You let him down gently, and when he got angry, you held your ground, chest aflame.

You dyed your hair orange, but washed it out shortly after, revealing its normal, mousy brown.

2013 — Spring

One month of high school left and a boy from your own school asked you out.

His face was flushed. He was visibly shaking when he said the words, “I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date.”

Him? You thought, inconspicuous as he was. You had known him since the second grade.

Though you ended up not going to the movie together, you told him how brave he was.

You understood that bravery, understood what it took to be nothing less than true.