HANDS

As her hands moved through my hair, I felt the hands of time turning back. She braided my hair. I had been asking her for months to braid my hair, and she would laugh. One day I asked what is so funny she said I don”t do well with white hair. I looked at her in awe, my Latina curls bouncing in the light I said what are you talking about? Girl, please, you are going to do my hair! It is quarantine, and your hands are going to be able to do anyone’s hair by the time we are let out again. I grew up with my hair braided all the time! French braids, multiple braids, Beach braids, you know. Hot weather hair! We braid straight, curly, etc.! I felt younger and younger as she pulled. I even laughed, telling her to make it tighter so my wrinkles would stretch with every twist. I remembered moments of my youth in rollerblades laughing with my friend Carolina as we jay rolled. Crossing the street on our blades while rolling a joint! Miami in the early ’90s. When she finished, I looked in the mirror and laughed so hard as I looked shinny and young, my eyes sparkled, bringing even more attention to all my beautiful grey hair!

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