Imprisoned Motherly Love
Chapter 1
My mom always used to say, “A shaved head
is the best hairstyle for a girl.”
Clean, simple, easy to manage.
And it keeps you from, you know, attracting
the wrong kind of attention from boys.
Growing up, I always sported a bald head.
Yeah, I was used to the stares.
The summer after high school graduation, I
threw a major fit.
I only just barely managed to convince her to
く
Then, the night before I left for college, she
snuck in while I was asleep and shaved my
head again.
…
A bloodcurdling scream echoed from the
bathroom that morning.
I stood there, clutching my newly–shaved
scalp, feeling like I was gonna explode.
My mom, brandishing a spatula, stormed in
from the kitchen.
“What in the Sam Hill are you yelling about?
Do you want to wake up the whole
neighborhood?”
She shoved me hard.
Г
I stumbled forward, catching my stomach on
the edge of the sink.
I didn’t even feel the pain.
I spun around, screaming at her, “Why can’t I
have hair? Is it a crime to want hair? Do I
have to die for you to be happy?”
She just snorted.
“Go ahead and die, drama queen! I’ve never
seen a kid threaten her mom with suicide so
much.”
Her tone was so casual.
It felt like hitting a brick wall.
I remembered the last time I tried this.
Ilīdu a idzor pidue to my wIISL.
I was close to hitting an artery.
That’s when she finally caved, promising to
leave my hair alone.
I thought I’d finally won.
All summer, I watched the stubble grow,
fighting the itchiness.
I was excited about college.
I thought my parents loved me.
Maybe they just didn’t realize how much this
mattered to me.
I thought that maybe they would compromise.
But she didn’t care if I lived or died.
She just wanted to give me hope, then crush
- it.
Just to remind me that she was in control.
All the yelling woke up my dad.
He took one look at my head and frowned at
Mom. “Didn’t we say she could grow it out?
What happened?”
“So what if I shaved it? It’s for her own
good!” Mom shot back.
“She’s gonna be in ROTC! All that hair would
be hot and sweaty! And she’s never been the
cleanest! It’ll get gross.”
く
Dad rubbed sleep out of his eyes, and as
usual, tried to smooth things over.
“Okay, okay, settle down. Your mom’s just
looking out for you.”
“Get ready to go, the flight leaves soon, you
don’t want to miss it.”
“Looking out for me? What do you call this?”
Dad’s wishy–washy attitude hit me like a
bucket of ice water.
I pointed at Mom’s carefully styled hair.
“I’m eighteen years old! Can’t I even decide
what to do with my own hair? If bald is so
great, why doesn’t she shave hers?”
Smack!
Mom slapped me hard across the face.
“Chelsea, you’re pushing it! I’ve worked my
butt off for you, putting a roof over your
head, feeding you, and you’re gonna talk to
me like that?”
“I’ve always told you, successful women make
it on their skills, not their hair! It’s not a
beauty contest!”
“Now you’re suddenly obsessed with your
hair? You just want to go off and find a
boyfriend! Land a rich husband, that’s what
you want!”
Mom got even more worked up, grabbing my
く
acceptance letter and threatening to rip it.
“Maybe you shouldn’t go to college at all!
Stay home and stop thinking of ways to
attract boys!”
See, Mom had stolen my dad from her best
friend back in the day.
Mom was fixated on money.
So, in her mind, all women were scheming.
Even her own daughter.
She always did this.
Whenever I stepped out of line, she’d zero in
on what I cared about most and use it against
- me.
<
When I was six.
I didn’t want scrambled eggs because it made
it hard to breath.
She tore up the math homework I’d spent all
night on.
She even called my teacher and lied.
For six years, I stood beside the teacher’s
desk, head shaved.
In eighth grade.
I refused to let her shave my head.
She cut up all the sanitary pads in the house.
I cried and begged, but she forced me to
wear bloody pants to school.
Senior year.
I refused to use the used textbooks she
bought.
She cut off my allowance.
If it wasn’t for the free soup at school and
handouts from teachers.
I would’ve starved.
And now this.
She knew how much college meant to me.
The day I got my acceptance letter, I didn’t
sleep a wink.
To go to college.
