The Weave
It was salon day. I was new in town and needed my hair done badly. My new neighbor Geneva had left me with some business cards for a local salon yesterday. She said she’d be going that day and told me to check them out when I got a chance. “The Weeping Willow Salon, sounds shady enough,” I thought. But being new in town, I didn’t know any better; and I happened to notice how pretty Geneva’s hair was even at the point that it needed to be redone. I thought I’d give it a shot, luckily it wasn’t too far away. As I walked down the hallway on the way to the elevator, I couldn’t help but notice that the rolled-up newspaper and mail that was stuffed into Geneva‘s door yesterday afternoon was still there. She obviously never came back home. I started to worry, but being new and all, it really wasn’t my business and I didn’t want to be pushy. So I pressed on all the way down to the new salon...
I walked into the unfamiliar surroundings all covered in knotty pine. In the distance, I could hear the low humming of some sort of tool, I chalked it up to construction, the building was kinda new. The stylist stood there smiling with that wide, weird grin. I thought nothing of it and sat in her chair, I couldn’t help but notice that I was the only one there. As she twisted and curled my hair, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. She spun me around and at last I faced the mirror. In the reflection, I could see two men standing in the distance, blocking the doorway. “They weren’t there when I got here, why are they here now?” I wondered. She spun the chair around and I began to feel uneasy. I saw her reach down and pull out these gorgeous extensions. They were beautiful but strikingly familiar. “Where have I seen those before?” I wondered. Before she placed them on my head, she told me to close my eyes and not to open them, whatever I do. As weird as the order was, I complied and she began placing my extensions. All of a sudden, I felt this warm liquid streaming down my face, but I had no clue what it could be “Just a little relaxer, dear.” She explained. I thought nothing of it.
She finished my hair in record time, I looked into the mirror and couldn’t believe how gorgeous my hair looked. The stylist stood there with that odd, slightly demented grin. I again felt uneasy. I thanked her, paid her, and started making my way towards the door. I felt so off, I just wanted to go home. For some reason, these strange men were still standing there, they wouldn’t stop staring at me. I didn’t make eye contact, all I wanted to do was go home. As I tried to brush by, they stuck their arms out and told me “No.” Puzzled I said, “What do you mean, ‘No?’” The men smiled wickedly. They told me that people come in, but no one leaves The Weeping Willow Salon. I stood there puzzled and slowly realized that one of the men was holding a knife. “Oh my god, what is this some twisted brothel?” I thought. I stood there frozen in fear. Then all at once I felt that warm liquid streaming down again, I wiped my face with my hand, and made a gut-wrenching revelation. This was no hair relaxer, it was blood! I spun around and looked into the mirror on the wall, and it all became perfectly clear. This wasn’t any weave, this was GENEVA’S hair! Bloody scalp and all. I screamed with horror and one of the men hit me with something. The room went completely black...
I lie here now on my back in total silence. I’m chained to a table and can move nothing but my eyes. I think I was drugged. I had to be. I’m horrified as I look around the room. As far as the eye can see, all I see are scalp-less corpses. One I recognize…it’s Geneva. This is why she didn’t come home last night. They killed her. And now...and now I’m next. My mind goes a million miles a minute thinking about what could be next, will I ever be found? I want to escape but nothing will move but my eyes. I barely feel alive. Suddenly, I hear the familiar ping of the shop bell on the door. My God, it’s another victim. Who is it now? Someone’s mom? Someone’s wife? Only God knows.
From behind, the hum of a buzz saw disrupts the eerie stillness.
Oh GOD! I’m next, and no one can save me! The Weeping Willow has its next victim!
My momma always told me to stick with natural styles. Stop trying to be something I’m not. One day, we black womenwill learn to listen...but for me, it’s too late! All because I had to have…THE WEAVE!
(BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!)