Good Conditioner

When I was thirteen and my sister was eight, our parents sent us to Louisiana to visit our grandparents and then to Texas to visit one of our aunts. It’s funny, but I can’t remember how my hair was back then. I believe it was permed. I do however, remember my sister’s hair, which was all natural. She had long, extremely thick hair that, although it wasn’t kinky, would tangle up in a blink of an eye.

The first leg of our trip contained no hair worries; my mom had cornrowed my sister’s hair into a neat, pretty style. However, by the time we reached my aunt’s house, the fuzz was real and my sister’s braids had grown a small afro.  “Can you take her hair down so I can wash and comb it?” my aunt asked me.

“Auntie, you don’t want to mess with her hair. It won’t be easy to tame it once you let it loose.” I ducked as my sister sent her Raggedy Ann doll sailing towards my head.

“Nonsense, all she needs is a good conditioner,” my aunt said confidently as she left the room.  “Take it down for me and then I’ll take it from there,” she called from the hallway not knowing what she was about to have me unleash. 

With reluctance, I took the braids out of my sister’s hair.  Once down, it hung—deceptively innocent—in long, pretty, crinkly waves, the fuzz now hidden somewhere beneath. “Auntie’s waiting. Good luck with the good conditioner.” I teased my sister as I sent her off.

Thirty minutes later, as I sat watching television, I heard my Aunt cry out in frustration, “Oh!” Hearing her, I only had one thought, Please don’t call my name. She called my name. I got up slowly and went in search of the crime scene. I entered the kitchen where my Aunt had lain my sister on the counter and begun washing her hair in the sink. Upon meeting water, it had shrunk half its length and had grown triple its size in width.  Her hair looked like it was climbing out the sink. 

Seeing me, my aunt said, “Every time I get the tangles out of one section and go to the next section, by the time I get done with it, the first section is tangled again.”

“Did you use the good conditioner?” I snickered until she cut her eyes over at me. That’s when I made a fatal error; I walked over and picked up one of the larger combs she had laying on the counter. Mimicking my mother I parted off a section, combed through, starting from the ends, and then quickly twisted that section up to keep it from tangling again. “See Auntie, you have to do it like that.” I looked over my shoulder and realized she was no longer there.  “Looks like you got it. Thanks,” she called from where ever she had gone.

I looked down at my sister, whose hair I’d never combed, and could see she was worried. Shell-shocked I went back to combing out the tangles, all while racking my brain on what style I was going to put it in once I finished untangling it. An hour later, with aching hands and a sister who was irritated by all the pulling and tugging I’d done, I had managed to braid her hair into two cute and neat, underhanded cornrows.

Two days later, we arrived home to our parents, happy to be back. That is until my mother noticed my sister’s hair. “Who did your hair? It looks good.” My sister looked over at me and so did my mother. I knew right then and there I would need to invest in some good conditioner.

I invite you to come along for the read by subscribing below and receiving a free ebook copy of my novella SSMD: So It Begins. Let’s engage in the comments by giving advice for the characters, laughing at their mishaps, or sharing our own version of their story.

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