specks of lost thoughts in the legend

there were those things. Those most uncomfortable things. Things that made you different in the way where it was shameful.

you know, it is the odd thing you remember forever; those things that echo down your mental hallways of eternity ….the odd significance of a seemingly light conversation about …. my looks brushing my then, conversing ling hair, as heavy as lead to carry around….always it was my hair …it drew so much attention all the time from total strangers. I hated it. It was so hot. And so heavy and misery to suffer the administerings of whatever hairdo was the mood meant to be imposed upon the head beneath…. but on they would go about the not auburn and not strawberry blond was it but some infusion of something else and tug at the roots until my head would explode….but where did she get it from? Turn this way snd that—that chin? Thst nose??the slant ov her …but no, it was the hair—not just the color but —its —shape like a savage lion’s mane if let to be free and ….the difficulty of it to manage with its massive volumes….how thick and wild it was; how untamed wherever did it come from?—but then grabbed by the roots of it pulled to be examined ….

“unusual color ….not the usual blinding red, this is different, deeper and the texture and shape of it ….it’s so wild! Let it be free!” (Norma)

they rubbed lanolin into my hair and wove it into braids 

“One day you won’t be able to hide it,” someone said, “look at her—she is as obvious as ….”

And only then they looked at my face and realized I could comprehend what they said but —not comprehend at all