Sarah’s Story
My life… there certainly have been some noteworthy events, but so far, not many terrifying moments to send me under the covers in horror, never wanting to face another day. Sure, there have been sorrowful deaths’ of grandparents along the way, broken friendships, and certainly a few grades I wish were better. However, the focus of this story is not about my deceased relatives, a social dilemma, or even me. The focus of this story is about Sarah.
Sarah was the type of girl that made you smile no matter what type of day, or what type of mood you might have been in. Ever since I was a little girl, I looked forward to accompanying my mother to the hair salon, and watch Sarah “work her magic” She would turn my mother’s mangled strands of hair into a lustrous mane of color within two hours. It wasn’t that my mother was disorganized, or scatter-brained (because she was quite the opposite), she just always seemed so preoccupied with other things. Her hair was obviously last on that list of preoccupation. I knew that her hair was in desperate need of a trim or deep conditioning session weeks before she did.
On one particular Tuesday in April, I urged my mother to see Sarah. I literally forced her into the car and told her that her hair was in desperate need of Sarah’s “detoxifying mask”. When we arrived, Sarah was waiting by her chair, with a towel in one hand, and a comb in another. I don’t know why Sarah was working at this hair salon to be honest; she was so talented at what she did, and it seemed to me that she should be at a prettier, more sophisticated salon in NYC. This salon was in desperate need of a paint job, some new mirrors, and a few new blow dryers wouldn’t hurt. Maybe it was because she was still so young. She couldn’t be older than 25. Sarah was unconventionally beautiful. She had auburn hair that flowed down to the bottom of her rib cage, and she always wore a pair of heels that made her legs look nine feet tall. The most...