I Drowned the Garden

Haircare as love language and a bridge for connection. A memory from high school.

Your afro was untamed, unshaped, dried out, and you shed everywhere. You called it "nappy"; you said you liked it that way even though you got picked on by your family and people at school. Looking big, scruffy, and a little wild was important to you.

Whenever you'd lay your head on something, or fall asleep, the side of your head would look flattened, almost cartoonish. You could make pointed angles, triangles, trapezoids with your hair if it was just squished the right way. You'd walk around all day, oblivious to your goofy appearance, then shrivel up with embarrassment once you looked at a mirror.

In the afternoon you'd fall asleep in your last class and stumble out at the ring of the closing bell. You'd find me, waiting for you, between the trailer classrooms. I'd coo at you until you got to me, "Look at my baby, my sleepy baby," I'd grasp in your direction as if I could pull you faster to me.