Alyson's Hair

Saturday, July 17, 1999

People danced along to a song being sung in Spanish. It was on the roof of a loft against the night sky. The ages ranged from small children to the youngest set of Silent Gen.

Nine-year-old Alyson Bauer sat in her chair, feeling bored out of her mind. She was in Brooklyn visiting her relatives on her mother’s side. They spoke a lot of Spanish around her, which made Alyson’s head hurt. Half of them were visiting from Texas, hailing from San Antonio.

Alyson, on the other hand, was from Boston. A whole other world than the boiling hot Texas. The song they were playing was by a singer name Selena. She heard of her music. She also saw the movie played by Jennifer Lopez.

Her mother would sometimes play cassette tapes imported from Texas, though she was born and raised in New York City. She was in touch with her Mexican roots. Her maiden name was Torres.

This would be on top of practicing Christianity while observing her Jewish heritage. She was a Sephardic Jew with a history in Spain.

There had been times Alyson was told she looked like her mother. She had the same black, curly hair as her mother. Spanish eyes. Yet her face and her skin color were like her father’s. He had straight brown hair and was almost as white as the poles holding the string lights. They both wore glasses.

Yet Alyson was sure she was nothing like her mother. Or maybe she was. After all, she found her mother to be kind of scary. Alyson wasn’t exactly the nicest person in the world.

Alyson looked around. She was the only person sitting in her chair. Her father was dancing along with the relatives. He was an Ashkenazi Jew from Germany. Alyson was much more familiar with his culture. A vast difference between the Sephardic and Mexican cultures.

Her sister Melissa walked up to Alyson. She looked exactly like Alyson, but a few years older. She had been practicing her passages for her bat mitzvah as she was turning twelve in September.

“Aly!” Melissa exclaimed. “Come dance with us?”

Alyson shook her head. “I don’t feel like it.”

“But you love to dance!”

“Not to this.”

Melissa took a deep breath and yelled, “MOM!”

Alyson sighed as she watched their mother walk up to them. The woman asked, “Alyson? Melissa? What’s going on?”

Melissa whined, “Alyson won’t dance with us! This is a part of us!”

Alyson shrugged. “I don’t speak Spanish, and I wanna listen to Britney Spears.”

The mother said, “Alyson, listen to Melissa. This is your culture as much as your father’s.”

Alyson looked away. “Can I go back inside and watch TV?”

“Not unless one of us join you.”

Alyson looked at a strain of her hair. Black, loose curls. She had grown annoyed with them. Every time she tried to style her hair she would look like that girl on The Big Comfy Couch. She wanted it straight like the girls she would see on TV. Be as pretty as the girls on teen TV shows and movies she would catch.

“Mom,” Alyson began, “can I have a hair straightener for my birthday?”

“Excuse me?” her mother asked, seemingly shocked by her request.

Alyson looked up and said, “I just wanna straighten my hair. I wanna be as pretty as the girls on TV.”

“Alyson,” her mother said sternly. “You watch too much TV. Besides, you’re too young to use such tools.”

Alyson sighed as she watched her relatives and her father continued dancing to another Spanish-language song. She was told it was called Tejano and cumbia. She preferred Latin Pop though. Wanting to listen to Shakira, Fey, and Paulina Rubio. Yet she preferred the pop songs sung in English. Maybe she was too American.

Yet that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she bored beyond her mind.

>>>>>>>>>

Alyson looked around her, making sure her mother wasn’t around. They were still in Brooklyn. She was nowhere to be found. Alyson picked up the landline phone and dialed in some numbers. She twirled the wire, waiting for the other line to pick up.

“Hello?” a girl asked.

“Is this Bailey?” Alyson asked.

“Aly? Is that you?”

Alyson blinked. “Can I speak to Bailey?”

“This is Bailey, Aly!” Bailey exclaimed.

Alyson smiled. Bailey was her best friend since kindergarten. Her ride-or-die until the end of time.

Alyson said, “I need a favor from you.”

Bailey said, “No, I can’t go to New York.”

“No, it’s not that. I’ll be back in Boston tomorrow.”

“Then what is it?”

Alyson looked around again, making sure her parents and sister where still nowhere to be found. She saw her mother walking out of the bathroom. Alyson bit on her lip, feeling rushed to finish the call.

Alyson said hastily, “Buy me a flat iron for my birthday.”

“Wait, what?” Bailey asked.

“Just do it,” Alyson said as she hung up.

She saw her mother walk up to her. The woman asked, “Who were you calling?”

Alyson said in a snarky tone, “No one, mom.”

“Alyson Sarah Bauer,” her mother said sternly. “Do not use that tone with me.”

Alyson raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I am your mother, Alyson. And you’re too young to be acting like a rebellious teenager.”

Alyson rolled her eyes as she stood up from the chair. She stormed to a room she shared with her sister and two other young cousins. She walked up to her bed and plopped down on it. She grabbed her cassette Walkman, put on her headphones, and began blasting the Backstreet Boys’ latest album. Nick Carter can put her mind at ease.

>>>>>>>>>

Alyson grinned as she saw her birthday cake. She was at the small playground stuffed inside the Beacon Hill neighborhood with her friends and some of her classmates. Well, it was missing Andrew. He was stuck in New York City. He was probably bored out of his mind while playing video games. At least his friend Ethan was there.

“Blow out the candles!” Bailey exclaimed.

Alyson blew on all ten of the candles. She was finally ten, ready to be as cool as the teenagers from both the TV and the students at Beacon Hill Secondary.

Bailey handed Alyson a large pink bag.

“It’s so pink!” Alyson smiled as she inspected the bag.

“Open it in your room,” Bailey said.

Alyson raised an eyebrow. Wait, was this is flat iron she asked for?

Alyson said, “Okay, I will.”

Bailey smiled.

>>>>>>>>>

Alyson looked in the mirror in her room while she played her burnt CD of tracks she downloaded from Napster. The room was slowly being morphed from a little girl’s room to one belonging to a teenager. Instead of stuffed animals and old drawings of hers, she had posters of Nick Carter, Britney Spears, and Christina Aguilera.

She couldn’t wait for the moment to turn thirteen. Sure, she was beginning to wear the clothes they would wear. She didn’t have much of a choice. She already looked like a teenager when she just barely turned ten.

Her hair was dripping wet. She just got out of the shower. Well, all she did was wash her hair. It was the only way this would work.

Alyson pulled out her new flat iron. It was pink, just like her personality. For a while now, she had been wanting to become like the popular girls and means girls on TV. Be as pretty as they are. Say the snarkiest things to make people cry.

She was already a mean girl by bullying everyone at the school playgrounds. Andrew would watch while she physically pushed people half her size around. She just needed to switch her tactics. Don’t get physical, get verbal. Make all the losers cry while they worship the ground she walked on.

The first step was to straighten her hair. The next step was to get contact lenses. The third step was to become a cheerleader. Advent Academy did have a cheer squad, but it was only for fifth and sixth graders. Alyson was starting fifth grade in September. She needed to hurry up and get ready to become popular.

Alyson took a deep breath as she plugged her flat iron into the wall socket. She set the iron to its highest setting. Ready to turn her curly hair crispy and flat. She grabbed a lock of her hair on the left side of her head. It was a piece that was next to her forehead. She placed the iron almost at her scalp. She heard crackling as if it was popcorn. She slowly slid the iron down until it reached her ends.

Once she was done, she held that lock. It was still wet, but it was straight. Alyson bit her lip, feeling determined to do all her hair. She grabbed another lock and went to work.

She didn’t care if this would piss her family off. She was tired of being told she was exactly like her mother. Be nothing more than a “mini-me” to her. Expected to grow up like a clone.

No! Alyson was going to be herself! Not a “mini-me,” not a clone. It was already more than enough that her mother didn’t like her interests. Already telling her that she gained a “bad attitude” from watching shows like Arthur and Hey Arnold. Now she was being told she was too young to act like a rebellious teenager.

Alyson looked in the mirror. So far, her hair was flat yet wet. She reminded herself to get a blow dryer next. Air-drying was so last century!

She grabbed a mirror that had a handle from her desk. She used it against the reflection of her full-length mirror. The back side was still curly. Alyson placed the handheld mirror on the floor and began to straighten the back.

Alyson heard a knock on the door.

“Alyson!” her mother called out. “It’s time to leave!”

“Crap,” Alyson muttered.

She forgot she had to go grocery shopping with her mother and Melissa. The only day off the mother had from her hospital job. Trips to Whole Foods and Target.

“I’m almost done, mom!” Alyson yelled as she frantically straightened her hair. “Give me five minutes!”

She examined her hair, making sure all of her locks were straight as a needle. She needed to dry her hair, so she turned on the fan that was by her bed. Alyson leaned her head towards the fan, trying to quickly dry her hair.

“Alyson!” her mother shouted. “We need to leave!”

Alyson groaned as she looked at the mirror. It was still wet.

“I guess I’ll go out like this,” she muttered.

Alyson made two mini-ponytails on either side of her head. At least now she looked like Britney Spears. Well, she didn’t, but she was determined to look like her pop idol. Even down to her pink tee and her black skirt. Both items looked a bit short. After all, she was having a fast-moving growth spurt.

She opened the door, seeing her mother and Melissa standing there. Their mouths were wide open. Clearly shocked by Alyson’s new straight hair.

Alyson said nonchalantly, “Mom, I need contact lenses. Glasses are so last decade.”

As her mother opened her mouth, Alyson put up her hand. Alyson said, “Talk to the hand cause I’m not listening. Now if you excuse me, I need makeup. I got cheer tryouts in September.”

Alyson squeezed between Melissa and their mother to walk down the stair. Alyson felt a smirk forming on her face. Seeing their reactions made her day. A way to show she was becoming her own person. No more comparisons to her parents.

No longer the “mini-me” version of Julia Torres-Bauer. No, she was now Alyson Bauer.

>>>>>>>>>>

FLASHFOWARD-Tuesday, September 7, 1999

Alyson walked through the halls of Advent Academy. She noticed the boys staring at her as they stood by their lockers. Even some of the girls were watching her. She twirled a strain of her straight black hair while sporting a confident smirk.

Ever since that summer, her mother tried multiple times to hide the flat iron. Every single time, Alyson would find it. She loved having straight hair for a change! Her mother ended up giving up and allowed her to keep the iron. Of course, she warned her that Alyson would never get her curls back. She didn’t care.

Alyson eyed her best friend since first grade. He was at his locker putting away his books. At distance, they looked like Harry Potter books. Alyson wasn’t allowed to read them. She didn’t care to read them anyway. She wasn’t into fantasy stuff. It didn’t help that her mother wanted to name her after a fantasy movie. She took one glance at the movie and was immediately uninterested.

Alyson walked up to Andrew. She almost tipped her glasses, but remembered she was wearing contacts now. Lots of begging, chores, and using her allowance money helped convince her parents to take the jump. She needed to prove to them that she can take care of her contacts.

So far, so good.

Alyson slammed her hand against the locker while grinning. Andrew turned to face her. His big blue eyes widened.

“Aly?” he asked in his tiny voice.

“That’s my name!” Alyson exclaimed, then said sternly, “Don’t wear it out.”

Andrew blinked. “Your…hair!”

Alyson paused for a moment. She had to remind herself that Andrew was still working on talking like a normal person. His speech was slow as he didn’t want to stutter. His voice was small, and it also sounded like he just started learning how to talk.

Alyson said, “Yeah, no more curly hair!”

Andrew looked away as if he was sad about this change. He muttered, “I l-like…your…o-old hair.”

Alyson felt a bit sad. She wasn’t sure why she was feeling such strange feelings toward Andrew. He was her best friend, but it seemed like there was something else to it.

Needing to change the mood, Alyson chirped, “Well, I like my new hair! I’m, like, so ready for the year 2000!”

Andrew nodded. “It’s nice.”

Alyson grinned as she hugged him. It made her happy that he liked her new hair. Truly a new start to finish out the late 1900s.

>>>>>>>>>>

FLASHFOWARD-Tuesday, September 6, 2005

Alyson looked in the mirror. The light in the bathroom was still bothering her eyes. It was her first day back at Beacon Hill Secondary. Sixteen years old, a junior, and a rising popstar. Well, UTurn was still starting out, but they had a new single out that proved to be a hit on Radio Disney. They had a high school tour coming up.

Yeah, Alyson was definitely a rising popstar.

Yet that had to be put on hold for a moment. She was just a high schooler.

Alyson picked up a lock of her hair. Blonde from the roots. A chaotic mess of curls and straight extensions. Her hair would end up regaining curls and frizz. When she had her band stuff, her hair would get locked in with a ton of products.

She refused to get a perm.

Surprising coming from a girl who never wanted her curls.

At the same time, Alyson didn’t care. Not having curls made styling her hair a lot easier. Yet it was a lot of maintenance, especially with her extensions. Apparently, the band’s hair stylists felt Alyson’s natural hair was still too short. Before the band, her hair stopped past her shoulder but above her bra strap. Now it was past the strap, and it still wasn’t good enough.

Alyson opened her contacts container and placed the lenses on her irises. She grabbed her pink flat iron from when she was ten. As she plugged it into the wall socket, sparks came flying out. She yelped, immediately unplugging the iron.

Alyson sighed. She wore that thing out. It was any wonder it lasted that long. It made her sad that it no longer worked. It was a part of her since fifth grade. Now it was time to hit up Target and get a new iron.

No! She was still the Queen Bee! She grabbed another flat iron. It was labeled “Amanda” on it. It was better than anything, so she used it on her hair. Smooth out everything, from curls to frizz.

Once she was done, she smiled as she ran her hand through her blonde hair. A satisfactory result before changing into her school uniform and putting on makeup.

All done. Alyson smirked at her finished look. New year, new Alyson. Time to rule the halls like no tomorrow.