Читать книгу Something Beginning With - Sarah Salway - Страница 12
ОглавлениеHair
My hair is very long and black. There’s a little nub of black at the end of each strand. Like a small pool of ink. I can squash it between two pieces of paper so it sticks and leaves a dark streak when I press on it. I can even write with it. Sometimes I find marks I have left in books and forgotten about. Once I even did it to a library book. If I am ever captured, I will be able to write a note with my hair. It is possibly the one advantage brunettes have over blondes.
Actually, I have started to pull my hair out. Each time I tug at a strand, there is a second when I don’t think I am going to be able to bear the pain. It’s the only thing I can think about, but it never lasts long enough. When it’s over, I flick the hair to the ground and immediately pull at another.
I was trying on some clothes the other day and I saw what I thought was a bald patch at the back of my head in the mirror. My legs nearly buckled, but when I went closer I saw that it was just the reflection from the light shining on my hair. I told myself that I would stop pulling. Not that day, but one day soon.
When I was at school, I played netball with a girl called Susan Armstrong. One day she was just standing on the court itching her head and daydreaming. When the ball suddenly came towards her, she put her hands up in a panic to catch it, but she was still holding on to her hair and she yanked out the whole handful. It never grew back. The skin underneath was tighter and shinier than her face. It was like looking at the moon. She couldn’t have minded because she used to show it to everyone.
Mind you, she was a bit of an exhibitionist. When she left school, she went to work in a fish and chip shop and had to wear a little hat over her head. Maybe it was because she couldn’t let us see her bald patch any more that she would let us smell her arm. It was as if the oil and vinegar from all those fish suppers had soaked into her skin. I used to love smelling Susan’s arm, but one day when there was no one else around I couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward and licking her. Not hard. My tongue didn’t actually reach the flesh, it just brushed the hairs on her arm backwards and forwards. I could almost feel each grain of salt in my mouth.
