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Last month, I had gone with purple.
I was certain I’d continue changing it up, since it was impossible not to experiment when I had color this brilliant on hand.
“What’s that?” Patrick chuckled from behind me. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
I spun back around and shoved at his chest, moving him out of the bedroom and toward the front door. “I have work to do, such as delivering flyers before it gets too cold and too dark outside, and unless you’d like to help with that, it’s time for you to go. I’m running out of daylight.”
“It’s not even two o’clock yet.”
I ignored his solid point, not having a comeback for it, and stopped shoving him when we reached the tiny tiled entryway. “As a thank-you for the chair lifting, you get free haircuts for a year.”
“Figures you offer that when I’m growing this shit out,” he mumbled.
I tipped my chin up and narrowed my eyes.
He smiled, thinking my irritation was amusing, like always, then turned and pulled the door open, calling out a “Later” on his way out.
Stomach growling, I grabbed my food out of the kitchen and planted myself in the middle of the living room floor in front of the sofa, along with the printer paper I was using for the flyers and a few different colored markers.
I ate while I sketched up an appealing advertisement. I was offering haircuts as a walk-in service but recommended people call or text if they wanted color, putting my apartment and cell phone number on the paper. The ad looked good. It was bright and eye-catching, thanks to my colors—hot pink, purple, and black. In the very center in large, block lettering, I wrote Hair by Shay. And just below it, or Shayla, in parentheses. I really needed to make up my mind already.
After eating both chalupas, I walked around the apartment complex, knocking on doors before I slid the flyers underneath.
A couple people who happened to be home answered, but mostly everyone was working or out, or refusing to answer, so I didn’t get a lot of face-to-face time. But the ones I did get to speak to seemed interested enough. Or they were at least being polite. I was too happy to care either way.
This was happening. Finally. And, my God, this chair was fantastic!
The second I got back from distributing the flyers, I shared my news. I couldn’t wait another second.
“Guys! Check it out!” I turned the phone screen and showed my Snapchat followers my sick setup. “You know what this means, right? Hair by Shay, or Shayla, is open for business! Whoo!”
Taking a seat in my new chair, I added to my story and kept the filter giving me a pretty headband of flowers. I liked that one so much.
God bless the inventor of filters. It didn’t even matter I wasn’t wearing any makeup. No one could tell.
“I am so, so excited, you guys. Seriously, this is my dream. You know how I’ve been dying waiting for this room to get set up, and it’s finally set up and I’m just…I don’t know. I’m just so damn happy. I can’t stop looking at everything and touching everything. I never want to leave this room.”
I added my snap and switched to the cat filter, loving how this one made my voice sound.
“Follow your dreams, people. Follow them! Whoo! Just look at this chair! And it’s comfy too.” I slouched in it and spun around, smiling at the camera.
Once that snap was added, I switched to the life filter, the one that made you look flawless and needed to be installed on every iPhone, Android, Nikon, whatever the fuck camera you were using. All of them. This filter was life, hence the name I’d given it.
“Thank you all so much for following me and all of your sweet, encouraging messages while I waited for this. I am so beyond ready and excited. And I hope you guys are too. Dogwood Beach peeps and anybody living close, if you would like to set something up with me, a cut or a color or whatever, shoot me a message and we’ll talk. Okay? You guys are the best! Bye!”
I blew a kiss and waved, adding the snap to my story.
Standing from the chair, I took one more quick video showing the entire room, and then a still shot of the Hair by Shay sign hanging on the bedroom door, which I edited with a note that read or Shayla, still deciding, and a smiley face next to it.
My phone started ringing.
“Hey, Mom! Guess what?” I answered.
“Shayla, I’m sorry to have to tell you Nana died.”
My breath left me.
My nana had been fighting a battle with lung cancer for several years. Every time we thought she was over the worst of it, the disease would come back on, full force. It never let go of her.
