TENDER-HEADED
By Danny Lore
Akilah buzzes apartment 3C, because the witch has stolen another hair-braiding client.
Everyone on their block knows Auntie’s a witch. Akilah’s mama knows: “Don’t go crossing Jayleen’s auntie,” she says. “Be polite, keep out of her way, leave her alone.”
Akilah’s homegirls know, too: “I don’t know why anybody gets that ol’ woman doing their hair,” Tiana says, “when you’re cheaper, faster, and less creepy.”
Jayleen’s daddy is Auntie’s favorite nephew, so even though they’ve been dating for a year, Jayleen never gives Akilah their opinion on the matter.
Except today.
“Lala,” Jayleen pleads. “Don’t start with Auntie.”
For once, Akilah isn’t trying to hear it. When Sonia came around Akilah and Jayleen with a head full of fresh, beautiful extensions, Auntie had to be responsible. No one else on the block braids like Auntie does.
Akilah holds up a hand to keep them quiet. “I’m tired of this.” She buzzes again; she knows the woman is upstairs, so she’ll do it for however long it’ll take. “That’s the third this month. Last week it was Derek, and I’ve been doing his hair for half a year. How long am I supposed to put up with her poaching my clients?”
“You kind of poached them first.”
Anyone else would get the full brunt of Akilah’s irritation, but even now Akilah can’t keep that momentum up with Jayleen. Her mama says it’s because Jayleen’s too sweet, too honest, but Akilah suspects it’s because of the way sweatpants settle on the curve of Jayleen’s hips. But still. “There ain’t no way that Auntie’s so gentle or amazing that it’s worth twice the money.” She buzzes a third and fourth time, barely seconds in between. “Bet their hair smells like musty old ladies and strawberry candies anyway.”
“Maybe you need to treat your clients better, Lala.” Even annoyed, Jayleen uses Akilah’s nickname.
Before Akilah started braiding hair, everyone went to Auntie unless their parents did it. Akilah heard how much people paid and was aghast; she learned to braid on cousins who wriggled and whined, and she realized that, if her clients could put up with a little roughness, she could get a full head done in half the time it took Auntie. So, she charged less, and soon enough, most of the girls and guys in her school who rocked braids were coming to her.
And then the first one went back to Auntie. And then the next. And the next. It’s become a cash flow problem.
“Oh, whatever.” Akilah sucks her teeth.
“So what are you going to do, huh?” Jayleen moves to block Akilah from pestering the poor intercom. Akilah exhales in a huff. “You’re gonna fight an old woman over a few bucks?”
“Your aunt isn’t just an old woman, and you know it,” Akilah hisses. “I’m not some bully—and I’m not stupid. I just wanna see what’s so special.” Jayleen frowns, confusion in their dark-brown eyes. “She’s gonna do my hair.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Jayleen,” Akilah says. “Or maybe you didn’t, because you’re all ready to step in with some Old Lady Protect Squad crap. I’m gonna see what the hype is about and then show all of you”—Akilah jabs Jayleen in the chest firmly—“that I’m better for the money.”
Jayleen presses their lips together for a moment, and Akilah almost dares them to say whatever else is on their mind. Jayleen turns to the intercom and presses three of the apartment buttons at once; the door clicks. “Fine. Just . . .”
Akilah pushes the door open and turns to look over her shoulder. Jayleen is hovering, but they’re not moving to follow Akilah upstairs. “Just what?”
“Don’t go rushing her, okay? Have some patience.”
Akilah has been in Auntie’s apartment once or twice before, but always with Jayleen. Nothing has changed since last time. It’s an old woman’s apartment, with overly embroidered flower patterns on the couch and armchairs, slightly yellowed and crackling wallpaper, a dated dark-wood coffee table. Akilah remembers using the bathroom there once and finding one of those crocheted doll-dress toilet roll covers on the back of the toilet. There are herbs drying on the windows that might be the same ones Akilah saw here last time. The orange near-setting sun comes through the window, hitting the shimmering line of a pair of spiderwebs in the corner.
Aside from the webs, the apartment is clean when Akilah steps into it. It smells strongly of incense, frankincense or myrrh—Akilah doesn’t know the difference between the two. All she knows is they both remind her of annoyingly long church sermons. The TV is on, and a daytime court show is playing. It bothers Akilah that the door is open, because it means either that Auntie ignored the buzzer but opened, or that Jayleen called her.
“Just give me a minute, honey, I’m just finishing these dishes.” Auntie comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands with a dishrag. She looks Akilah up and down, not dropping her smile. “You’ve gotten bigger since last I saw you.” Akilah hasn’t gotten bigger since she hit five foot three at fifteen, and that was two years ago. Old people seem to think that’s the highest compliment they can offer. You’ve grown.
“How much to fix up my head?”
Auntie strolls up to her and holds up a hand to touch her hair. Akilah’s hair is pulled back into one thick puff. The amount Auntie quotes is twice what Akilah charges, but before Akilah can say anything, Auntie cuts her off. “We both know you don’t need me to do your hair, but it’s still time and labor . . .”
Then Auntie tugs, just enough to make Akilah wince.
It’s a month ago, in Akilah’s living room. The room smells like the rice and beans Jayleen has on the stove. Jayleen stays near the room entrance. Akilah doubts it’s more comfortable there; Jayleen probably doesn’t want to get involved in Akilah and Sonia’s argument.
For a beat, Akilah is lost: Had she been here a second ago? Had it smelled like rice and beans or incense? Had it been dark outside or had the sun still been shining bright? She remembered this moment—until suddenly it isn’t a memory, and her brain snaps back into this present.
She remembers what the argument was about and gets back to it. “I don’t have to finish your head, you know that, right?” Akilah walks around the chair so that she’s in front of Sonia, cell phone in her hand, frowning.
Sonia’s mouth is dropped, and Akilah must screw her face into a frown so she doesn’t laugh. The expression probably isn’t any better. “I already paid half up front, and I’m not paying the rest just because Tiana called you—”