1988 – Nicole
An excerpt from The Only Road Manuscript 1988 – Nicole
People Talk
How could Mother Nature be so cruel? The mocking silhouette in the window did nothing to answer.
A fat drop of condensation streaked down the fog covered glass as the bus bumped and clambered down the road. Anxiety consumed Nicole Bradley. The girl hated school. Expressing disdain on the first day back was not new. But, since receiving the worst haircut known to man, she dreaded her return to the institution. Even the most well-balanced adult would be stripped of their self-confidence in the face of such an abomination. This was devastating at a catastrophic level for the preteen.
Nightmare Haircut
It was 1988, and grade seven awaited Nicole. To overcompensate for her misgivings, she stocked her September wardrobe with skirts and dresses in different colors and lengths. The summer had betrayed her. It seemed a mean joke that puberty had somehow called upon every other girl in her class while confining her to the underdeveloped frame of a fourth grader. She spent the entire season beneath an oversized t-shirt, hoping to conceal what she did not have. Meanwhile, her friends sported two-piece bathing suits and outfits that made it hard not to notice their blossomed womanly figures. Her lack thereof was just as obvious, and she was insane with envy. Insecurities rendered her breathless. She nearly drowned in the deep, turbulent waters of self-loathing. Fear held her back from splashing around in a swimsuit. On more occasions than she cared to recall, she was mistaken for a boy. Such blunders crashed against her with an undertow that continuously pulled her self-esteem below the surface.
This was a case of unwanted and unintentional gender confusion; not an ideal situation for a preteen desperate to come into her own. The self-worth of teen girls all too often was combed through, tied up, and weaving into their personal appearance. For twelve-year-old Nicole, an extremely short, masculine cut was the most tragic event yet. True to her unbearably awkward adolescence, she wished for nothing more than to look older. The thought of being mistaken for a boy at the hair salon was so inconceivable that her ego refused to consider it for fear of short circuiting.
“You’ll be beating the girls off with a stick.” Tammy, the hairdresser said, whisking a handheld mirror around Nicole’s shoulders and neck to display the back of her newly shaved scalp.
Confusion tapped its toe, while her optimism hogged the stage. Maybe she got the latest chic style. Images of Pat Benatar and Annie Lennox flashed in her mind as she bobbed her head, trying to convince herself that it was not so bad. At the chime of the store’s entrance bell that announced her mother’s return, Nicole’s chair was set in a slow spin. Then it all came into focus. Everything happened at once. The impact of the hairdresser’s words collided with the horrified expression on her mother’s face. For a moment, there was no movement or sound. The mood in the salon shifted. Tammy’s proud grin soured the instant she realized her disastrous error. Scrambling to lather her hands with styling gel, the hairdresser vigorously jammed her fingers into her young client’s hair. Intentionally blocking her client’s view with her own body, Tammy was determined to spike and shape the obviously masculine do. It was the eighties; hair was all about height, right? It looked more feminine the higher it stood, or so the women at the salon encouraged.
The tears did not come until after Nicole sat on the bathroom counter at home, staring at her reflection. With her sock feet in the sink and her nose inches from the glass, she studied herself in utter disbelief. No amount of brushing or tugging would bring her hair back. It was a mushroom. That was what they called it, a mushroom. A word Nicole could not bring herself to repeat after she and her mother stormed from the salon, less than impressed. Straight strawberry blonde locks seemed more golden now that her skin was visible beneath the extremely short stubble around her ears and across the back. The top was much longer in comparison, all three inches of it. With a heartbroken sigh, she tried to make the best of it until her sister charged into the confined room.
Enter Satan
“This, I have got to see.” Debra pushed open the door and stood with one hand still perched on the knob and the other on her hip. From the threshold, she stared at her younger sibling, unblinking for a long minute. It was unlikely that she was weighing her reaction before bursting into laughter.
“Oh my God, she scalped you, like you needed to look more like a boy.” Miss compassion’s exit was swift and in her wake, she levied and insult with permanent intentions. “Well, you’ve got the whole butch thing down.”
The mirror only galvanized her misery. It did nothing to improve her predicament. So, she climbed down from the counter. Behind clenched teeth, she swallowed the warm saliva that often gathers when preparing to cry or throw up. Her eyes welled and threatened to unload heavy streams of tears. Bravely, she walked down the hall and resisted all emotion until she reached her room and closed the door. To the floor, she crumpled in a heap. With her back pressed against the only wall separating her from Satan and the rest of the world. There, all alone, she wept in silence.
That was over a week ago. Nicole avoided going out or seeing her friends ever since. After clearly giving up on the notion that her hair would grow out in seven days, though not from lack of trying on her budget and resources. The fact that beer, egg, and leave-in conditioners were unsuccessful growing agents was a lesson she learned the hard way. Of course, both disaster remedies were Debra’s suggestions, in her typical matter, a fact tone. Once she cried tears of frustration, sadness, and rotten odor, resignation resounded, and reduced her to rely on hope alone.
Back to School
She was hopeful that by the time school started, she would have grown comfortable with her new look, maybe even creating ways to style it to give it flair. Hopefulness would not help that she looked like a confused little boy. All that distinguished her from the boys at school was the sea green pencil skirt she was wearing. Nicole was not permitted to wear make-up yet, and willed her apparel would be enough to avoid the certain snickers and head tilts of pity. Her spiky reflection glared back from the window of the bus. The dreaded first day back at school. Fortunately, Nicole remained oblivious to the next crisis lurking just around the corner.
Slow to descend the very large steep steps of the school bus, reluctance to face her friends was a weight at her feet, and the limited slit of her skirt narrowed her steps. Distracted by this maneuver, she almost didn’t recognize Lindsay as the girl who grabbed her arm and ushered her from the bus. Stopping only after they reached the sheltered insert of the external gymnasium double doors. The massive steel slabs were set into the red bricked wall of the school. Once out of sight, Lindsay’s giant blue eyes searched Nicole’s with wild intent.
“I know, I know. It’s really bad, isn’t it?” Nicole plucked at strands of hair sporadically; a nervous impulse which had manifested itself into a complex over the past week.
“What? No. This isn’t about your hair, but now that you mention it, WOW!” Her eyes grew even wider, which did not seem possible. A big eyed ‘wow’ from Lindsay Petticomb was never good. More sarcastic than anything. Nicole translated this verbal and facial expression as only best friends can. Lindsay managed to communicate in an instant that Nicole’s hair was shocking. It was not a great look, but they still could be seen walking around together. This gave Nicole a little solace.
“When was the last time you saw Frank Fortelli?” Lindsay asked with an interrogating edge.
“Why? Is he here?” The sudden need to survey her surroundings did nothing to ease the new onset of panic.
“No.” Lindsay returned, holding each letter’s sound as if ready to burst into song.
“Good. He moved to go live with his dad.” Nicole peered around her friend. Once she realized that scouring the yard was pointless, her gaze landed back on Lindsay, who was still demanding an answer with her wide eyes. Nicole instantly began to blink. Her eyes were dry and irritated, just looking at the strain in her friend’s unwavering stare.
“When did you see him last?” This time, her words were slow and serious.
“The last day of school.” Nicole said at the same speed and with exaggerated clarity. “When he dumped me!” She qualified this with a confused head shake and returned her speech back to normal. “You know this. You were there with me. Remember?”
Lindsay let out a deep breath. “I thought so. I just wanted to check.” She paused and pressed her lips together as if trying to smooth the jagged bits on her tongue.
“Lindsay!” The suspense was eating at Nicole.
“I heard something.” She shrugged apologetically. “Something that you are not going to like.”
Frank Fortelli was one of those guys that people just liked saying their entire name. He was never just Frank. It was always Frank Fortelli. A boy that Nicole used to go with, whatever that meant at the ripe age of twelve. This wasn’t odd, because she always had a boyfriend. From as early as grade two, if you could call them that. It never went beyond school. The inhospitable venues the country had to offer its youth did nothing to encourage preteens to hang out. People did not live close enough to another to go just visit, either. Never did she speak over the phone, and on those rare occasions, it was always with Lindsay. When she had gone with Frank Fortelli, her interest in boys extended as far as talking to them at school and taking part in some of their recess activities. She did recall that Frank Fortelli had attempted to hold her hand once. It was at Track and Field, an annual event that Nicole looked forward to every year. It was a big deal. As a retired tomboy, she always liked to consider herself an athlete, although her body and her skill level would disagree. This never stopped her from trying. However, her interest in sport drastically outweighed her interest in boys, explaining why she ignored the subtle advances from Frank Fortelli.
This momentary flashback of a boy she had barely thought about all summer brought a resolve. His reasons for dumping her never crossed her mind, and now the mystery was no longer. By turning him down, she crushed his fragile ego. An enlightened smirk crept across her face at this sudden realization.
Nicole reflected on the last day of school and Frank Fortelli catching up with her and Lindsay just before they stepped on their neighboring buses. She could not remember for certain what he said, but it was clear that he had dumped her. The memory of hiding crying eyes on her way home made her chuckle.
The Power of a Rumor
Lindsay’s story was a fresh stab in the heart. Serrated with inaccuracies, a merciless blade aimed to socially devastate its victim. The scar on her reputation would precede her for the rest of her adolescence. Even at twelve, she knew this with certainty. While within the shallow depths of the doorway, Nicole remained protected from judgment and ridicule. For the time being, she looked out at the fake friendly faces, ignorant to her arrival and impervious to her truth. The moment of insecurity upon her was disarming. For days, she prepared for the gawking expressions brought on by a bad haircut. A blemish, she was sure to outgrow in a matter of weeks, a seemingly manageable predicament in hindsight.
Her world had just fallen. And as it hung there, suspended in the morning sun of the first day of school, its future darkened. A circulated rumor was pointless to refute. It had a life of its own, as it pulsated and morphed from lips to lobes of bored and stagnated peers throughout the summer. No one was interested in the self- exonerating truth. Her name was whispered about unknowingly for weeks. Although she had never kissed a boy, she was marked as a slut; a groundless label that would bore a permanent imprint on her flesh, her name and her soul like a repulsive tattoo. Unfairly, the boy who branded her was gone, leaving only a rumour about him, her, and a blue blanket behind.
Meet Nicole
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