Leaving Eden

1992 The promise of beauty--the kind of real personal beauty that can transform a person's life--arrived in Eden, Virginia, on the fourth Thursday in June. As usual I arrived through the rear door of the Klip-N-Kurl, and so a few minutes passed before I caught sight of the sign in the front window. I'd been working at the Kurl since school let out. Mostly I did chores: swept the floor, cleaned the sinks and mirrors, refilled the shampoo and conditioner bottles, dumped the ashtrays, straightened out the magazine table, that sort of thing. Because I wasn't licensed, that was supposed to be the extent of it, but once in a while, when she got behind, Raylene let me do a shampoo or a comb out. I found soaping a head of hair pleasurable. You would be surprised to discover the wide variety of hair. Thin. Coarse. Thick. Wiry. Growing in ways that defy imagination. Hair with three natural parts, or platinum streaks there since birth. It is not false pride when I tell you that my hair was my best asset, though I'd cut it that spring--a mistake that never would have happened if Mama'd still been with me. I'd started out planning to give myself a little trim, like Elizabeth Talmadge's new do, but getting it so the sides matched wasn't as easy as you might think, and Raylene had to fix up the mess. I'd vowed when it grew out never to cut it again. Just trim the dead ends. I planned on wearing it down over my shoulders, like Kim Basinger, an actress I continue to admire even though that town she bought went bankrupt. "Morning, Tallie," Raylene said. She was working up a head of suds on Sue Beth Wilkins. An unfortunate mop of hair topped the list of Sue Beth's sorry features. Some of the meaner boys in our class called her LB--short for Lard Bucket--but a kindhearted person like Mama would call her sturdy. Mrs. Wilkins was sitting over by the dryers flipping through the style magazines. Raylene caught my attention in the mirror and gave a quick eye roll. You had to feel sorry for Sue Beth. Every year in late June--when they held all the practices that led up to tryouts for next year's Flag Corps--her mama dragged her in and, armed with pictures she'd clipped out of some teen magazine, set Raylene to work. Sue Beth wasn't in the least consulted about this and had told me herself she didn't want to be a Corps member--as if that were even a remote possibility. The whole time she sat in Raylene's chair she looked about as happy as a rain-soaked rooster. It was clear as crystal Sue Beth wasn't going to make the Corps or the cheerleaders or the Sparkette twirlers or much of anything else except maybe, maybe the chorus. It wasn't just her weight, which certainly wasn't any asset. It was her whole yard dog look, which--having Mrs. Wilkins for a mother--you could understand. Still, year after year, Mrs. Wilkins persisted. Last fall she'd had a wooden floor installed in their basement and a lumberyard banister attached to the wall and told anyone who would hold still for a minute that she'd built a dance studio for her Sue Beth. She even hired a private teacher to come in once a week to give lessons. The whole thing about drove Raylene mad. "Hi, Sue Beth," I said. "Hi," she said from beneath a cap of foam. She wasn't really so bad. Mama might have found possibilities in her. "I hear girls' soccer has openings this year," I said. "You thinking about trying out?" "Sue Beth doesn't go for that sort of thing," Mrs. Wilkins said. Raylene gave me a warning look like Don't even get started. Mrs. Wilkins was a steady customer. Shampoo and set every week, and once a month the whole works--color, cut, and nails. Raylene didn't want me antagonizing her. "Anything special you want me to do?" I asked. "Got a load to be folded," Raylene said. "Right," I said, and headed forLeClaire, Anne D. is the author of 'Leaving Eden' with ISBN 9780345445742 and ISBN 0345445740.