||Wildwood Vol. 3||

||Wildwood Vol. 3||




Jessica:
If I freeze the teabag now - it'll be ready by nine - which gives me two hours to make the swelling go down before work. If all else fails, a little concealer will cover it up. It's not that bad, my last fight with Brent left a huge bruise from my elbow to my shoulder - stayed for a week. Good thing, I am the queen of home remedies - I've got a concoction for any illness or injury. Last year, when Nate's baby had colic, my herb mixture had her sleeping every night. I'm known as the herbal MacGuiver around my way - I can fix anyone. So, why can't I fix my life? I wake up, cook Brent his breakfast, do my online courses - pay bills, then head off to work. Every day is the same. One burn mark on his toast - and the whole plate is flying at my head.


When did it become like this?


He wasn't always so angry. When I met Brent, he was the epitome of a gentleman. Dinner cooked at my place, flowers every weekend - things were perfect for about a year. Then, we went and got married. My mom told me he was a keeper - and I felt the same way. We made it official at the courthouse, and the honeymoon ended before the papers were even stamped.


We got home, and he started complaining about the apartment. Week by week, he got more and more miserable. When he lost his job - it sent him over the top. One night, I came home exhausted, just needing to vent about work. Brent got angry - said he was tired of me bragging about being employed. I tried to apologize, but he was already worked up. I stood up to talk to him, and he struck me in my face - the first time a man ever hit me. Surprised, I greeted his slap with a punch to the nose - but was quickly overpowered. The fight lasted a whole thirty-minutes, but felt like only a second had passed. I lay in the couch that night and cried, but wouldn't close my eyes out of sheer fear of what could happen next.


The morning after as I went to get ready for work, I caught my eye in the bathroom mirror. The purple, greenish bruise went from my eye to my cheek. I froze a spoon while I got dressed, and pressed it to my face. When the purple faded, I took a warm green tea bag and soothed some of the green irritation down. I figured the swelling would be gone when I reached work - but the blatant stares from my co-workers and customers proved me wrong. 'The car door slammed on me-' lame, but it was all I could come up with. I know my co-workers see right through my excuses, but I refuse to admit my truth. I'm ashamed that I've let it get this far - and acknowledging it is just going to make it harder to bear.


I take customers quickly - putting my head up to greet them and periodically to chat. It's hard to be like this and work, but as a manager - calling out sick is not an option. Aside from the occasional stare, I've grown used to covering up my bruises. Being uncomfortable here at work is better than being hurt at home, so I dig myself into the job - seeking perfection in everything. When my shift ends, I drive home slowly - afraid of what new trouble waits for me at home.

Maya:


Today's one of those shifts when I get all the weirdos in my line. Usually it's funny, but some of them really try to push my buttons. I'd like to think I'm very good at keeping my cool with customers, though - so I look at every one as an adventure. It's fun to see what each one will be like. Sometimes it's hard to communicate with them, but no matter what - I always give them eye contact. I believe everyone deserves that respect. I make sure I look them in the eye, and wish them a good day. No one can ever say I've been rude to them, because I refuse to be the stereotypical store clerk. I've been to those stores where the clerks disregard the customers, throw their items around - then ask for their money. As a customer, you end up leaving feeling robbed sometimes - like you're spending your money against your will. I try and make everyone's shopping experience a pleasant one, and I'll ignore all the rudeness and disrespect I receve in return. To a certain extent, anyway.


I wore my afro out today, because I was in an earthy mood. I had on a Bob Marley top with a "rasta" colored skirt, you know - a cute afrocentric outfit. Quite a few customers complimented me on my wooden jewelry and woven earrings - so I feel pretty good about my fashion choice. It's hard to find nice clothes that are practical for work and school. Anyway, an older white woman steps up, and I greet her with my hello and a smile, she barely acknowledges my presence, and continues her phone conversation. I put my head down slightly to scan a difficult item, and a wisp of hair falls over my eye. Almost immediately, the lady shoots her head up and looks at me, as I subconsciously tuck the hair behind my ear. As I continue scanning, she snaps at me, "Shouldn't you be wearing a hairnet or something?" I didn't understand, so I asked her to repeat herself. "Shouldn't you have on a hat? I don't want your dirty hair falling into my food and things." Considering that I washed my hair this morning, I was slightly put off, but still confused. "Look, I don't want you picking out your 'fro' over my food. Here's my card, I can make you an appointment for a straightening on Wednesday. I'll even give you a discount - perms are kind of pricey for your people's kind of hair." At this point, I am reeling - first she was rude to me, now she's insulting me?


I start wrapping up my hair with a scrunchie. I'll show her something about my people. "Listen lady, let me tell you something. My father -" I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder and hear Jessica whisper in my ear, "Don't let her do it to you, honey. You've got thirty minutes left in your shift. Let her and her misery go." I take her business card and gently tear it in half. I staple it to her receipt, hand her the bag and tell her - "I won't be needing your services, ma'am, thank you. You have a great day." It hurts, but I throw a smile at her. Embarrassed, she snatches the bag, takes her receipt and with a red face, walks away quickly. Jessica leans in and says, "Next time you get ignorance like that - ask yourself - what would Bob Marley do?" I told her he'd light a big blunt, and puff the smoke in her face. We both laughed until the next customer appeared.


My customer that comes next keeps staring at me throughout the transaction. Slightly uncomfortable, I move my head behind the screen ever so gently. I try to hide, but he moves his head to follow me. I smile at him, he quickly glances down. I look at the screen - he starts to look at me. Is this some sort of game? "Sir," I say - he jumps back, startled. "Here's your receipt, have a good day." I give him a quick wink, and his shaky hand takes the slip of paper and hurries out the door. I smile to myself and take my drawer out the register. I've got to count my money before I run out of here for school, and boy, it's been a long day. As I walk to the office, I check my reflection in the window - hair still looks decent. Out the corner of my eye, I see a figure standing outside. I look over just in time to catch the shaky customer man scurrying away into his car. Wow - another interesting day at Wildwood.







George:
I could send my personal assistant into the store to run my errands, but I go in for one reason only no. wadays - Maya. When I first began shopping here, it was simple in and out, light purchases between the weekends - until she started working here. She is so - beautiful, I can just feel her aura. Her energy radiates and shines on everything around her - even in this mundane store. Her smile is just perfect; pink lips encircling her white teeth, with dimples by her glistening brown eyes. I am enamored, fascinated with her - infatuated even. She has no idea, but I see the way she smiles at me - it's special, different from the others.

I get shy when I'm around her, yet I can't take my eyes off her face. She plays a little looking game with me; a sort of hide-and-seek. Oh, I hope I win. She smiles - yes! What do I do next? I didn't expect such a reaction. Oh dear, she's going to think I'm some sort of moron. I've got to go before I make things worse. I take my receipt, thank her, and with my tail between my legs - I rush out of the door.

But I've got to see her face one more time. I watch her as she preens modestly through the window's reflection. Her soft, curly hair shakes gently, lightly as she moves. How long have I been standing here? She spots me - I flee to my car, ashamed of the fact that I must run from the one I admire. The day will come when I find the courage to speak to her. It must be soon, for I am already longing to hear her gentle voice again.

||Good Hair - the Paradox||

So - I have been inspired by Chris Rock's new documentary - "Good Hair" that's coming out this weekend. Of course, we have had this discussion before, but watching the View today made me realize - that there are a lot of people who don't quite understand the issue of "Black" hair. Barbara Walters brought out the fact that she always thought Black people got perms because they wanted to look like White people. I found that intriguing. So I set out to do some quick research on the matter, and of course - opinions will vary greatly. I just want to know where our hair culture is coming from, where it is now, and what's to come in the future. Let's start with history. ((I think the info is best left in its original form, so I will simply quote and include my thoughts as well)) It all started in Africa...

Via "A Beautiful Hair Affair":

"In the early fifteenth century, hair served as a carrier of messages in most West African societies (Tharps and Byrd 2001) These Africans--citizens from the Mende, Wolof, Yoruba, and Mandingo were all transported to the New World on slave ships. Within these communities, hair often communicated age, marital status, ethnic identity, religion, wealth, and rank in the community. Hairstyles could also be used to identify a geographic region. For example, in the Wolof culture of Senegal, young girls partially shaved their hair as an outward symbol that they were not courting (1). And the Karamo people of Nigeria, for example, were recognized for their unique coiffure a shaved head with a single tuft of hair left on top. (1) Likewise, widowed women would stop attending to their hair during their period of mourning so they wouldn't look attractive to other men. And as far as community leaders were concerned, they donned elaborate hairstyles. And the royalty would often wear a hat or headpiece, as a symbol of their stature."


Timeline of Transition and Change...

Via Long Hair Care Forum:

"1444: Europeans trade on the West Coast of Africa with people wearing elaborate hairstyles, including locks, plaits and twists.
1619: First slaves brought to Jamestown; African language, culture and grooming tradition begin to disappear.
1700s: Calling black hair "wool," many whites dehumanize slaves. The more elaborate African hairstyles cannot be retained.


1800s: Without the combs and herbal treatments used in Africa, slaves rely on bacon grease, butter and kerosene as hair conditioners and cleaners. Lighter-skinned, straight-haired slaves command higher prices at auction than darker, more kinky-haired ones. Internalizing color consciousness, blacks promote the idea that blacks with dark skin and kinky hair are less attractive and worth less.

1865: Slavery ends, but whites look upon black women who style their hair like white women as well-adjusted. "Good" hair becomes a prerequisite for entering certain schools, churches, social groups and business networks.

1880: Metal hot combs, invented in 1845 by the French, are readily available in the United States. The comb is heated and used to press and temporarily straighten kinky hair.

1900s: Madame C.J. Walker develops a range of hair-care products for black hair. She popularizes the press-and-curl style. Some criticize her for encouraging black women to look white.

1910: Walker is featured in the Guinness Book of Records as the first American female self-made millionaire.

1920s: Marcus Garvey, a black nationalist, urges followers to embrace their natural hair and reclaim an African aesthetic.

1954: George E. Johnson launches the Johnson Products Company with Ultra Wave Hair Culture, a "permanent" hair straightener for men that can be applied at home. A women's chemical straightener follows.

1963: Actress Cicely Tyson wears cornrows on the television drama "East Side/West Side."

1966: Model Pat Evans defies both black and white standards of beauty and shaves her head. 1968: Actress Diahann Carroll is the first black woman to star in a television network series, "Julia." She is a darker version of the all-American girl, with straightened, curled hair.

1970: Angela Davis becomes an icon of Black Power with her large Afro.

1971: Melba Tolliver is fired from the ABC affiliate in New York for wearing an Afro while covering Tricia Nixon's wedding.

1977: The Jheri curl explodes on the black hair scene. Billed as a curly perm for blacks, the ultra moist hairstyle lasts through the 1980s.

1979: Braids and beads cross the color line when Bo Derek appears with cornrows in the movie "10."

1980: Model-actress Grace Jones sports her trademark flattop fade.

1988: Spike Lee exposes the good hair/bad hair light-skinned/dark-skinned schism in black America in his movie "School Daze."

1990: "Sisters love the weave," Essence magazine declares. A variety of natural styles and locks also become more accepted.

1997: Singer Erykah Badu poses on the cover of her debut album "Baduizm" with her head wrapped, ushering in an eclectic brand of Afrocentrism.

1998: Carson Inc., creator of Dark & Lovely and Magic Shave for black men, acquires black-owned beauty company Johnson Products of Chicago in 1998. L'Oreal purchases Carson two years later and merges it with Soft Sheen.

1999: People magazine names lock-topped Grammy award-winning artist Lauryn Hill one of its 50 Most Beautiful People.

2001: Rapper Lil' Kim wears a platinum blonde weave, while singer Macy Gray sports a new-school Afro. Some black women perm, some press, others go with natural twists, braids and locks.

2006: Black hair care is a billion-dollar industry. "













































I was drawn to the issue because I'm going through a transitional period with my hair right now. I have been perm-free for three years, but I have battled with what exactly I want to do with it. I've done it all - the first few months after I chopped my permed hair off, I texturized it. I didn't like it, so I cut it off again. I weaved it for a while, then I decided to let my soul glow and leave the fro out. Then I was flat-ironing it daily for the straight look, but humidity was killing me! So I went back to weaves. The cycle continues. Hearing Barbara Walter's statement struck a chord for me. I realize, a lot of my white counterparts don't really understand the issues that we have as "ethnic people" with our hair. I have a co-worker who will come to work with wet hair, and by the time an hour passes, it's dry and in a cute bob. I could never try that. I used to - but I'd have to put so many products in it before I walked out of the house - it was too much of a hassle. I have white people who like to touch my hair, some who say "I wish my hair would do that," of course, we know they don't - but it's funny nonetheless. Then again, I can't say they wouldn't want kinky hair - cuz 'reverse perms' are raging in Japan right now.















To answer Barbara's statement in my own words - straightening my hair was never about trying to look white. In elementary school, there were about two white kids that I could count. Nobody paid attention to the fact that they were white, and we damn sure weren't worried about their hair. I asked my Mom for a perm at the age of nine - because I was tired of the hour that it took in the morning to wet my hair, comb it out - plait it up and put hairclips in it. I wanted to be able to comb it into a nice, simple ponytail and go about my business. My desire for a solution ended up being the problem. Once I got comfortable with having my hair in a ponytail - that's all I would do. Eventually my hair broke off, and was never quite the same again. Perms do that sometimes. That being said, Barbara continued on to say that she didn't understand why we got perms, knowing that they burn our scalps and whatnot. I couldn't help but sense a tinge of ignorance, because Barbara is white - and she should know and understand that white people get perms, too! Curly-haired white people often get straight perms because their hair is unmanageable. Straight-haired white people often get "curly perms" to add body to their hair. Does she not know this? It has little to do with them wanting to look Black, either. It's mostly about style preference and manageability.

I know there are people who are self-conscious about their hair, and that's where the word "Good Hair" resurfaces. I remember going to a former friend's mother's salon to get my hair done for prom (after going natural). She was washing my hair in the sink and said to me, "Girl, you've got good hair - why were you getting perms?" I could never understand this, but now as I sit back and analyze - I get it now. People consider "good hair" as those with certain textures. Hair that waves up when brushed wet, hair that has a certain curl pattern when it dries, hair with sheen to it. My parents blessed us with "soft hair," as I like to call it. It's somewhat course, but soft enough to comb through and apply water to. Some people have extremely course hair that is impermeable to water, absorbs all oils and products, and is super hard to comb. Those people are considered to have "bad hair," or "nappy hair." I think it's just misunderstood hair. Anyone with the proper knowledge can transform their hair into the way they want it. Whether you perm or keep it natural, good hair is hair that is healthy. Good hair is moisturized, well maintained, and happy. It doesn't have to be long or wavy to be good. I have seen some beautiful afros from women with course hair, they have mastered the art of taking care of it.


My household is full of afros. My parents rocked them back in the day in Jamaica, too. Mom used to tell me stories about how she wrecked the good forks at home, because they couldn't afford a hot-comb. She used to heat the fork on the stove and curl her hair for special occasions, and the forks would get bent sometimes. Grandma would have a fit! And she didn't do it to look like any of the white girls in school - she did it to look cute and be in style. This was back in the day when Carol's Daughter and Mixed Chicks didn't exist, so women were forced to make due with what they had. Now that we are blessed with products that can help us - I see a natural revolution starting all over again. Now, don't get me wrong - I don't knock perms. When properly taken care of, women can have healthy, long, beautiful hair with the aid of relaxers. I spent a large majority of my teenaged life with perms, and my hair was great. I think that the wear and tear of a busy life, combined with the perm is what truly wrecked my hair back then. I know girls who had wash and sets weekly, deep conditioning every month, all that - and their hair looked great. I was a tomboy - I had soccer practice, choir rehearsal, work, and school to deal with - I didn't have time for that! Going natural was as simple as getting my hair braided every two weeks, or rockin my afro or ponytail. Why didn't I think of this sooner?



The emergence of weaves was a breakthrough in my world. It was taboo initially to wear, especially in high school. Girls would try to pretend the hair belonged to them, until it got down to it, and the guys would feel for tracks, or the wind would blow - or a fight would break out and extensions would be on the floor. Eventually, though - it became the norm - who could get the best weave? Pound hair is still the best kept secret. Confidential locations where you can't see inside - custom made colors that are hand-sewn on site. Women pay top dollar for these luxuries, just to look good. I can't lie - I feed into these things on occasion. I'll pay $60 for some hair that'll last me a few months. Some people spend money on plastic surgery and botox - us young black women pay top dollar for hair. It's a societal thing, I suppose - but then again - didn't Paris Hilton make weaves the standard for young white women? In essence, it's the same story - different books.


In any form, the ultimate goal should be healthy hair - in order to add to one's beauty. I think people obsess over hair, because they are concerned with how they look too much. The first time I had to cut my hair short - I was devastated. I thought I wasn't going to look good, because my hair was about an inch long. I got over it in about an hour. If everyone could encourage each other, uplift each other, and bring positive vibes to one another - we wouldn't concern ourselves so much about the little things - like hair. You can have the longest, silkiest, strongest hair in the world, but a negative attitude and narcissistic tendencies will trump that - and you still won't get the attention you seek. Confidence is key, no matter what kind of hair you have. If we'd never seen a before picture of Amber rose - would we know what texture her hair was? No! We'd just know she's hot. And she is. If your head is held high - your hair comes second. I'm going to find out the showing information for the "Good Hair" documentary, so I can go further into the topic.

Nap time (No pun intended) for now - this insomniac is exhausted!!

||Wildwood - Vol 2||...

Wildwood...


Nate:
Watching Maya stumble past me gives an instant brightness to my stressful day. I wish she would admit that she likes me - but I've heard she only dates black guys. I guess that narrows my chances slim to none. I put my Zune on pause, and stop my "Go Getta" playlist so I can clock in. Nas' 'Untitled' album has been empowering me since it came out, especially this Louis Farrakhan track. Being a young, single father leaves me drained at times, especially when money's low. I love my daughter Naya with all my heart, and I refuse to be a statistic - so I work and go to school just for her. My relationship with her mother went sour when she decided college life couldn't include being a responsible parent. So, I decided to take it on by myself - and at the age of 24, I am Uberdad. But, I've got to do it. This job's not perfect, but they work with my life - I'm outta here as soon as my physical therapy diploma touches my hand. For now though - Wildwood will do.

As I step out into the store, I see Maya smiling with a customer. She leans forward to hand over his receipt, and a piece of hair lands over her eye - she truly is beautiful. Regardless of how harsh or how nasty the customers are - she always keeps that smile on her face. I see her go-getta attitude daily; she's never gonna consider a dude with a kid. She's young, she doesn't need that kinda baggage.

I take my first customer of the day - an older white woman. She tells me my face should be in a magazine. I laugh, and she starts telling me how she was a Versace model back in 89. I go to ask how much they paid back then, but I lose my train of thought. The smell of vanilla teases my nose - and Maya floats past me.

Damn. This girl drives me crazy.

Jamie:
I get a lot of female customers hitting on my daily, and I shrug it off with a smile - mostly because they just want to flash their giant wedding bands and talk about their yacht vacations. I have no interest in that - I just want to finish my shift and go home to my music. I get free studio time in exchange for tutoring this engineer's son in math. I met him while I was at work - networking really comes in handy. I'm exhausted when I get out of here, but I know combined with my talent and hard work - this mixtape can do big things for me.

Today was a pretty wack day - got the usual skimpy-dressed old housewives who've got no business wearing anything short or tight. I play the flirty game, and sometimes I'll find a ten or a twenty in my pocket - some of them with phone numbers scribbled seductively on them. Half the time, the money's spent before I even realize. I don't know what these older women want from me - I don't have anything to offer compared to their husbands. I guess there's something about lusting after fresh meat that they can't ignore. I definitely appreciate the gestures, though - it's always nice to eat a free lunch.

This evening, one of the regulars came on my line - fine looking cougar who always got her clothes on point. One thing about this place is - if you didn't know high-end fashion, you'll learn all you need to know in an eight-hour shift. My sister studies fashion design at the Art Institute - I know good quality when I see it. A men's Purple Label dress shirt was her outfit of choice, with a belt to transform it to a dress. Normally when the old maids try stuff like this, my gag reflexes kick in - but not this one. If I could guess how old she is - I'd say thirty-eight or thirty-nine. Her body is on point, though. Must be all of that free time - most of these dames don't work, so she's probably in her gym all day. She buys two or three things tonight, and I pack them up nicely, and give her a quick smile. Her Black Card slips out of her hand while she pays - I hear its heaviness hit the counter. I can't tell if she's trying to show off or not. She blushes, so I guess she's embarrassed. I help her with her bags, hand her the card - and catch the scent of Chanel No. 5 - a signature Cougar scent. I say good night, and start on the next customer, but I can't help but glance back and watch her red-bottomed heels click out the door...

Customer A -
I tell the cashier I'm in a rush, and she smiles and starts my order. I hate waiting - time is money. As I bark at my assistant on my BlackBerry through my Jabra earpiece - she hands me my receipt and nods. I throw it at her and leave. Wasting my time with stupid paper.

The latte's half way gone by the time I reach my X-Type - remote startup's got the car running and the top almost off. If only they could install a fax machine in this bitch. I've gotta finish that spreadsheet before the meeting. Why isn't Addison finished with the spreadsheets? The faster she does it - the quicker I can take credit for it. The Peterson account is on the line - and I'm gonna get my promotion at any cost.

I start going off on Addison about the spreadsheets as I zoom out of the parking lot. She's apologizing - something about her workload, blah, blah, blah. If she had taken the paperwork home like I told her - we wouldn't be having this problem. My personal Treo starts ringing - IN THE BACK SEAT! By the time I get a hold of it and shut Addison up - the blare of the big-rig horn is too late. A tractor-trailor fishtails as I slam into the -