The Wisdom of Hair by Kim Boykin Page A

most colorful one of the bunch. The Bible lesson that followed craft time was about Joseph who was nearly beaten to death because nobody liked him the way he was dressed, either. I looked at my pot holder and prayed for the first time in my life that I would make it out of that place alive. Luckily, snack time followed the Bible story and Bible Bingo, because the only thing that kept me there to the end was the promise of cherry Kool-Aid and homemade sugar cookies.
    Later on, when Bryda Kay and I parted ways, she said she was real sorry about the way her mama acted. I told her that I was sorry for wearing the short-shorts, thanked her for inviting me, and said good-bye.
    “Zora,” Bryda Kay hollered just before she rounded the creek in the opposite direction. “I don’t think you’re going to hell for wearing them shorts. Honest.” She smiled and waved, then skipped off down the road like she had saved my soul all by herself.
    Mama never cared anything about church, and Nana always said that God is everywhere. After Nana listened to me whimper and carry on about what happened at Bible School that day, shesaid God was everywhere except the Holiness Church because he had the good sense not to have anything to do with those fool people. While Nana ranted, I pulled at the hem of my shorts with my chin still quivering and swore I’d never set foot in church again.
    One day, after school, Sara Jane’s mama asked me to go to their church and come to Sunday dinner afterward. I told Mrs. Farquhar I wasn’t much of a churchgoer. The only appropriate dress I had, my high-school graduation dress, was packed away in the cedar chest at home, and I knew I couldn’t wear Sara Jane’s clothes, so I told her mother I didn’t have anything to wear. Besides, I’d walked by the First Baptist Church of Davenport a time or two on my way downtown and had never seen so many fancy clothes in my life.
    “You can wear one of Emma’s dresses,” Sara Jane said under her breath.
    “Oh, my, that is a problem,” Mrs. Farquhar said. She was really sweet and was so thankful I was helping Sara Jane with her schoolwork. But I never expected her to go out and buy me a new outfit. It was pretty, though, pale blue, a church dress, as she called it, with little pumps to match. She was so proud of herself.
    “Mrs. Farquhar, I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive and I—”
    “Nonsense. You’ve put in so much time tutoring Sara Jane. Why, if I had bought you every dress in the store, it wouldn’t be enough to thank you properly. Besides, that’s what mamas do.”
    Not my mother. On the way home, I tried not to think about her and the last time’s she’d hung up on me. I still loved her in a distance-makes-the-heart-grow-slightly-fonder kind of way; I still cared about her. Mama was such a child, I knew that even with thelittle bit of time that had passed between us, she most likely still didn’t understand why I had to leave her.
    I stopped by the Red & White, and bought a tablet and poured my heart out to her in a letter. While part of me felt guilty for writing down words so that when she read them, she couldn’t pretend I didn’t love her, the other part of me said Mama didn’t deserve to know how much she’d hurt me. I was sobbing by the time I signed my name and sealed it up but walked to the post office to mail it right then because if I hadn’t, it would have never been mailed.
    I met Sara Jane on the steps of the church at 9:45. We had stayed up late the night before, and both of us were just a teensy bit hungover, but Sara Jane promised me we wouldn’t be the only ones who had enjoyed Saturday night a little too much. It was a fashion show, just like I knew it would be, with women sashaying down the aisles, showing off their new frocks. Sara Jane said that there were women in that church that had never worn the same dress twice, which made me think that if I started coming regularly, I’d have to wear that same blue dress