AMANDA'S HAIR

On Saturday's when I work hard at the bakery and I think of all my troubles, the long trek home, the snow piled up, the bills, my enemies trying to destroy me... I think of Amanda's hair.

This isn't Amanda, but it's very close to her hair color. I said blond before. I was wrong. I suppose parts of it are blond, others brown, orange depending on the light. Perhaps even red at times. Mostly brown/blond though.

The hair has to start one color and end another. Sometimes when I shave and the water mists the cabin, and I rub the mirror to see, but I can't because it's so misty and foggy, absently, bored, I'll amuse myself by plucking a hair from her brush. The red one right next to the toilet, and I draw it out lengthwise in the light to see it... not to worship it, but to admire... I'm fascinated by how it changes tones 6 inches in, and then seems to lighten or become orange by the tip...

She cut her pony tail. That was a big deal, part of growing up. She placed the chopped off hair in a plastic baggy. I'd stare at it in the bag before bed. 2 1/2 feet of blond/brown/orange hair notted together. She saved it. Her pony tail. A message from her youth. It's stored in the black trunk next to her vanity.