The Beauty Shop

 My aunt was a hairdresser. She had a shop in the front of the house and then in an addition built onto the back of the house. I think my grandmother wanted that addition to be her kitchen and wasn't happy. But the shop was cash. 

I had a teacher in my MFA program who wanted me to write about it. He thought a salon was an interesting space. Where mysterious things happened between groups of women. It is. 

I was a kid. My memories are more visceral than other memories from that time. 

I remember sitting in one of the chairs in a sun dress. My legs were sweaty and sticking to the plastic. My aunt was putting perm rods in my hair. The smell of various products, sprays and dyes and the perm solution filled the room with noxious fumes. And sweat. And perfume. 

I remember begging my aunt for a quarter so I could get a Pepsi from the small machine in her storage closet. 

There was a women named Tinny. She was wealthy. She and my aunt had been friends since high school. She came to get her hair done once a week. 

My aunt had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She was scheduled for a double mastectomy. I understood it was serious, but I didn't really understand what was going to happen. I heard my aunt tell Tinny that it didn't matter because no one was using them. They laughed but Tinny looked uncomfortable and sad. 

It's only now, looking back into the fog of memory that the scene emerges. I know the dialogue was real.