"So what made you decide to go back?" Monique asked.

"I gave it a try and it just didn't work for me. It turns out I'm mousy brown on the inside and out the outside." My eyes were closed and warm water trickled down my hairline. I imagined the watery black falling into the drain.

"I never liked that description of brown hair. Or at least the connotations that go along with it. Brown hair is warm and hospitable. It's like a library or cozy cabin. It's comfort food and friendship." If this hair styling thing ever fell through for her, Monique could be a poet. I smiled up at her, thinking that sounded an awful lot like something one of my shadows would say. More and more I was noticing the people around me were awfully shadowy in their own unique ways.

Monique was still talking. "... I could have told you that very day you weren't going to like black hair." She tucked a strand of her own ultra black hair behind one ear. "But sometimes people just have to get things out of their systems." She massaged my scalp and I made a conscious effort not to moan at the luxury of it. "So, did you?"

"Hm? Did I what?"

"Get things out of your system?"

"I think I did. Or, I'm working on it anyway."

She nodded at me, sagely and let me close my eyes again and not think. The hum of blow dryers and chatter made the time pass quickly and the next thing I knew, she was spinning me toward the mirror. My hair was brown again and heavy curls sat below my shoulders. I looked like my mom.

"Wow, you look so young!" Monique exclaimed. Itwas an odd thing to say because she'd known me for years, but I had to agree. Isaw old Nora in the mirror. Happy and hopeful. It was good to see her.