I waded my way through the mess of Amy's clothes, an unmade bed, some pictures on the floor; past the kitty who was covered by a blanket of magical colors and straight into the bath room. There she was playing with the empty box of hair-dye, black smudges everywhere; looking up with a smile; she welcomed me once again. "You want to go black?" she joked in reply to my wanting to dye my hair too, not expecting what came next. She squirted and squeezed the tar black dye onto my head, my scalp ached as she pulled and pushed working the dye into my hair. I watched in the mirror as my golddie-locks turned purple, then blue, then black, in the light, it kept changing but I can't remember all the colors. Up high, piled on the top of my head the dye streaked and dripped turning my neck bluish-black like a Dalmatian, white with dark spots. I dipped my head to rinse & the black-tar-dye streamed off my head as Amy worked the water into it. Warm clean water, clear as rain, tainted to a purple-blue-black as it swirled through my hair. Up we go to see the misses, "she'll kill me for this one for sure," I thought & straight into the bathroom to comb my hair I went as I got up there. I turned on the light & looked hard, the comb went through fine. My hair was blue! Streaked with purple, black and silver, oh what pretty colors were there upon my head! Pretty colors, none the same, not quite. It was like Christmas, like I was the tree; all shining and bright, like the sun kisses the moon. Oh how terrible, blue, how beautiful. Mama hit the roof and I almost lost my head, but the silver she liked, I was beat, taught my lesson. On the morrow, with hair blue as moonbeams, Amy fixed me again, a natural, brown black, the bark of a tree in a forest of ashes. It is now black, black as charcoal, black as night, black as Amy's. Black, with the memory of sweet blue tendrils.
