of
beauty, or perhaps a beautiful kind of ugliness, to her face. She
saw it for the first time. It was a face full of angles and bones
and character, but perhaps there was something in the height of the
cheekbones and the molding of the skin around them when seen from the
right angle. Maybe something in the lift of the head. Maybe
something in the darkness of the eyes.
The way she usually wore her
hair, up and pulled back away from her face, did nothing to soften
its angles, she knew. Mother always told her with hair like hers she
shouldn't bob it. With its kinks, if it was short, it would never
lie flat against her head. It would turn into a mushroom of frizz.
Not flattering.
She stopped putting her hair up
and let it fall where it lay, nearly to her waist. Maybe with a
different style, like the ones in the movie magazines ... They had
permanents now that could take out natural curl with its wilfulness
and put the curls right where they were supposed to be. What would
she look like with one of those hair styles? Now she had to know.
After work, she stopped into
Goldilocks' Salon on the off-chance they might be able to fit her in
right then. Marigold Simpson, the owner, had an opening and got her
into the cutting chair. Mari had been eyeing Ruth's hair for months,
itching for a chance to do something with it that would flatter
Ruth's features. It would be a challenge she'd enjoy.
"Are you nervous, Ruth?"
"A little."
"Well, don't be. You'll
look great. But don't do this if you're not sure. It will be a big
change. It's a lot of hair to go all at once."
"No, I'm sure. I trust
you. Oh, and Mari? You'll have time for the permanent today, too?
I don't want it cut but not permed. You know what kind of a
permanent I'm looking for, right?"
"We'll give you the works
today. You'll leave her looking like a new woman. You want to look
like the picture of Carole Lombard over there, except not blonde.
Got it. I think that's a style that should work well for your hair
and face. And it won't be so short as to be shocking to you."
"Don't worry about shocking
me. I'm looking for a little shock."
When it was all over, Ruth
couldn't stop looking. All the way down the street, the shop windows
enticed her eyes, not for the goods they sold, but for the reflection
of the person in them she barely recognized. But what would Graham
say?
When he saw her that evening, he
said, "What'd you do?"
"It's a cut and a
permanent. Do you like it?"
"I don't know. It takes
some getting used to. I liked your long hair. It made you stand
out."
"Well, get used to it,"
she snapped, more disappointed than she liked to admit. After all,
the new style wasn't for Graham.
" I like my new hair," she informed him with more emphasis and
volume than was necessary.
*
* *
From the time of the hay ride
on, though going steady was still not discussed between them, Graham
no longer dated anyone else. They had a tacit understanding. It was
turning serious.
In those gorgeous fall days,
they did a lot of driving, watching the progression of the colours,
watching the leaves fall, watching the branches bare, watching autumn
make way for winter, watching things change. At least Ruth watched.
Graham mostly drove or gave her instructions as she was driving,
though she barely needed them any longer. Sometimes they took his
pickup; sometimes her new, used car. The drives were ostensibly for
her to practice her fledgling, car-handling skills, but the driving
sessions usually ended in kissing sessions. With the change in their
relationship, it was all Graham seemed to want to do when he had Ruth
alone.
It wasn't that Ruth didn't want
to kiss him. It was just that she missed doing other things.
"Not right now!" she
told him firmly one day, putting up one hand and backing him away.
"Let's talk instead."
"Talk?" Graham said as
though the idea was foreign and outlandish. "About what?"
"About ... anything. About
whatever occurs to us to talk about."
Graham slumped back
beauty, or perhaps a beautiful kind of ugliness, to her face. She
saw it for the first time. It was a face full of angles and bones
and character, but perhaps there was something in the height of the
cheekbones and the molding of the skin around them when seen from the
right angle. Maybe something in the lift of the head. Maybe
something in the darkness of the eyes.
The way she usually wore her
hair, up and pulled back away from her face, did nothing to soften
its angles, she knew. Mother always told her with hair like hers she
shouldn't bob it. With its kinks, if it was short, it would never
lie flat against her head. It would turn into a mushroom of frizz.
Not flattering.
She stopped putting her hair up
and let it fall where it lay, nearly to her waist. Maybe with a
different style, like the ones in the movie magazines ... They had
permanents now that could take out natural curl with its wilfulness
and put the curls right where they were supposed to be. What would
she look like with one of those hair styles? Now she had to know.
After work, she stopped into
Goldilocks' Salon on the off-chance they might be able to fit her in
right then. Marigold Simpson, the owner, had an opening and got her
into the cutting chair. Mari had been eyeing Ruth's hair for months,
itching for a chance to do something with it that would flatter
Ruth's features. It would be a challenge she'd enjoy.
"Are you nervous, Ruth?"
"A little."
"Well, don't be. You'll
look great. But don't do this if you're not sure. It will be a big
change. It's a lot of hair to go all at once."
"No, I'm sure. I trust
you. Oh, and Mari? You'll have time for the permanent today, too?
I don't want it cut but not permed. You know what kind of a
permanent I'm looking for, right?"
"We'll give you the works
today. You'll leave her looking like a new woman. You want to look
like the picture of Carole Lombard over there, except not blonde.
Got it. I think that's a style that should work well for your hair
and face. And it won't be so short as to be shocking to you."
"Don't worry about shocking
me. I'm looking for a little shock."
When it was all over, Ruth
couldn't stop looking. All the way down the street, the shop windows
enticed her eyes, not for the goods they sold, but for the reflection
of the person in them she barely recognized. But what would Graham
say?
When he saw her that evening, he
said, "What'd you do?"
"It's a cut and a
permanent. Do you like it?"
"I don't know. It takes
some getting used to. I liked your long hair. It made you stand
out."
"Well, get used to it,"
she snapped, more disappointed than she liked to admit. After all,
the new style wasn't for Graham.
" I like my new hair," she informed him with more emphasis and
volume than was necessary.
*
* *
From the time of the hay ride
on, though going steady was still not discussed between them, Graham
no longer dated anyone else. They had a tacit understanding. It was
turning serious.
In those gorgeous fall days,
they did a lot of driving, watching the progression of the colours,
watching the leaves fall, watching the branches bare, watching autumn
make way for winter, watching things change. At least Ruth watched.
Graham mostly drove or gave her instructions as she was driving,
though she barely needed them any longer. Sometimes they took his
pickup; sometimes her new, used car. The drives were ostensibly for
her to practice her fledgling, car-handling skills, but the driving
sessions usually ended in kissing sessions. With the change in their
relationship, it was all Graham seemed to want to do when he had Ruth
alone.
It wasn't that Ruth didn't want
to kiss him. It was just that she missed doing other things.
"Not right now!" she
told him firmly one day, putting up one hand and backing him away.
"Let's talk instead."
"Talk?" Graham said as
though the idea was foreign and outlandish. "About what?"
"About ... anything. About
whatever occurs to us to talk about."
Graham slumped back
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