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August 24 Sunday

Bottles of Punk Girl Red purchased: 1
Heads dyed Punk Girl Red: 0

Mom looked at me like I was crazy for even suggesting that I dye my hair Punk Girl Red.

�Are you kidding me?� She asked incredulously, muttering to herself that she had just bleached the bathroom for like the 50th time in four hours.

Not one word was mentioned that my hair would be bright red for the first day of school.

Only that her precious bathroom might get a few splatters on it.

The urge to run into that pristine bathroom, hair lathered with the red dye and shake like a dog getting out of the bath almost overcame me, but I kept the peace, as always.

I just stared at the girl on the box instead and then got out the ironing board.

Sunday is my ironing day. I lie out all my clothes for the school week and iron each one to a crisp. Meticulously smoothing the hems, running the scorching iron over the cuffs, feeling the smoothness of the board under each shirt brings calmness. I love to iron.

One Sunday last year, I was exhausted from softball practice and came home and went straight to bed. At 11, I bolted upright in bed, frantic that my ironing wasn�t done. I tried to convince myself that it could wait till Monday. Ironing was not that important. I needed sleep.

The pile of clothing grew and fell onto the floor, crept across my room and onto the bed, nearly suffocating me. I jumped out of bed, pulled the board and iron out of the closet and anxiously waited for it to heat up. With each arm and body ironed, the anxiety subsided and finally at 2, I was able to go back to sleep.

Ugh, school tomorrow. Another year of studying, eating cafeteria food and trying to explain to my friends why we had to stay at their house another night instead of taking my turn in the sleepover rotation.



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