My Demise by Way of Hair-Chalk

I was a terrible person.

It began on the torn up mats of CEE in the first grade. My best friend, Summer, and I had worked for hours trying to get our back walkovers. After a face-full of mat, my hands locked and I had just enough momentum to kick over. Soon after, Summer launched her body and landed upright. Cheering for each other, we felt victorious. 

It was Summer’s birthday soon, and I had known her for half our lives. I knew just the gift to get her. Earlier that day, I saw someone walking across the quad with hair like Harley Quinn, bright  red and blue. She strutted through the yard, her pigtails bouncing with each step. It looked awesome. The following weekend, I made my mom take me to Target to find hair dye. Apprehensively, she veered me towards the kids toys section, anxious I would damage my locks. It was next to the blue nail polish that I found a box of hair pens. 

“Hair pens?” my mother asked. 

“It’s better than box dye!” I told her.

I strolled out of Target holding my blue and green box, smelling the sharp aroma from the synthetic dye. I wrapped the pens in a jumble of paper, which was my version of neat. At school, the following Monday, Summer opened the gift and we rushed to the bathroom together to try it. To our surprise, our black hair masked the chalk-like colors. We left the bathroom, our feet dragging on the ground. I had wasted my weekly $5 allowance – the gift was worthless. We went back to the classroom, forgetting to hide the chalk. 

“What are those?” our teacher questioned.

“Pens,” I told him.

My teacher told us: “Come on, let’s go to the office.”

I was shocked. How could we be sent to the dark hole of the office for trying to dye our hair? We sat in two styrofoam chairs. Mary-Beth, the elementary principal, walked in, wiping her mouth from remnants of lunch. Our teacher made some remark about us pulling her away from her lunch. Summer and I were scolded for ‘not reading the student handbook.’ I was in first grade; I could barely read a Mo Willems story, let alone a full handbook. I fought back as hard as I could, telling them about the girl with blue and red hair, but I couldn’t persuade them. My death was upon me with an email that went out to my parents. Later, I held my breath as I loaded up into the car.