The personalities of my hair, unknown to me, change with the coming day. “How long will it take for me to do the only hairstyle I know?” rushes to my brain as I look in the mirror the with the out of place waves and frizzy fraction staring back at me.

Mom's hair, curly but styled and never out of place. Her hair always looking at mine with little hope or happiness. The bounce of the curls off her cheeks when she laughs or yells.

Cassidy's crinkled curly hair somehow looks good with everything. “Should I try dreads?” a question when asked is responded with a known silence between us, “no”. The free spirit of her hair follows her on the plane rides to Paris and Kenya.

Kylie though, with the blonde contrasting the sea of brunette beside her, has straight simple styles, a quick brush through and she goes. The jealousy in my veins subsiding as I matured.