10. Beauty Parlor (cont.)

I ran the comb, again and again, though my father’s hair. He loved having his hair combed. He loved being touched, but he rarely touched me, so I didn’t touch him, either. Except, this once I wanted to play beauty parlor and he agreed so I was combing his hair. He even let me put in pin curls, dipping the comb in wave set and wetting his hair with the heavy goo, curling it around my finger, and stabbing it down to his head with a bobby pin. When I was all done, I left his hair to dry, wondering what he would look like with a head full of curls. Is that what Mom really wanted, curls?

A knock at the door. It was late, almost time for bed, and we were all startled. Our house wasn’t close to any other. Few people ever came knocking on our door.

Dad got up to answer the door, and I watched, fascinated. He had forgotten the pin curls. I wondered if I should tell him, but I didn’t. I was much too interested in seeing what would happen when he opened the door.

It was one of the men from the mill. He had walked over to tell Dad that there was a problem, that they needed him there, back at the mill. As the man talked, he gawked at my father’s hair. I held my breath. Dad, noting the direction of the man’s gaze, reached up to touch the pin curls. He laughed in an embarrassed way.

“My little girl,” he said, by way of explanation. “She was playing.”