believe you?”
“Yeah, he seemed to. He just shrugged and biked away.”
“Okay. We need to leave right now.”
I take Angela to my car. I tell her to put on a pair of sunglasses. I find a baseball cap in my trunk which I also give her.
In the hotel I pack up both her and my stuff and carry it down to the lobby. I check out and haul our luggage to the car and load it and we leave.
SHREVEPORT, La. – “How should I change my look?”
I enter the lobby of the David Motel alone and check into a room. Under a clearance, confined by the building, the parking lot is sparsely populated. I make sure no one is watching before I whisk Angela from my car into our room.
She stands and stares at herself in the mirror over the sink.
“Probably start with the hair,” I tell her. “Cut it. Change the color.”
“That’s what I was thinking. I was thinking of going darker, closer to what my natural color is. I’ve been blond for, like, three or four years now. There are no pictures of me with dark hair except when I was much younger.”
“How about cutting it shorter?”
“Who would cut it? I can’t cut my own hair.”
“I could help you.”
“Are you a trained hair stylist?”
“No.”
“Then no way. No one’s cutting my hair who hasn’t gone to school for it and knows what they’re doing.”
“We could just shorten it a little.”
“I don’t want to. I like long hair,” she says. “Short hair doesn’t look feminine to me. And besides, we just decided I’m going to dye my hair a totally different color. So there’s really no need to cut it.”
“Alright. I’ll go buy some dye right now so we can get this done and you can leave this room.”
“Wait, do you know what to get?”
“Black?” I ask.
“No, I’ve thinking of dyeing my hair a while now. I know exactly what I want. Get me the Color Me Vivacious Dark Brown Chocolate Warm Velvet No. 66.”
I stare at her, blink twice.
“What? You can remember that, right?”
I drive to a Walgreens on Airline Drive. I spend several minutes in the hair section, confused, until I eventually find the exact hair color Angela asked for.
Back at the motel I toss the shopping bag to Angela on the bed. “Good,” she says, taking out the hair color. “You actually got the right thing.”
From the television on the news I hear, “And the story of a missing teen in Pensacola, Florida …”
“Oh, shit, listen,” Angela says, grabbing the remote control and turning up the volume.
“Police are baffled by the sudden disappearance of seventeen-year old Angela Selby who was on a Labor Day weekend vacation with her parents and older brother,” a news reporter says, a sunny beach as his backdrop. Some photographs of Angela flash across the screen. “Her parents say late one afternoon, after a brief argument with their daughter, she left their condo and never came back. Almost one-hundred people have volunteered to help comb the beaches as police have been tirelessly searching the shoreline. Parents of the girl remain resolute that their daughter is alive and will be found. The case has shaken the town and police urge anyone who may have seen Angela or who may have any information to contact them immediately.”
“Wow,” Angela says. “Can you believe those pictures they showed of me? Those were
“Yeah, he seemed to. He just shrugged and biked away.”
“Okay. We need to leave right now.”
I take Angela to my car. I tell her to put on a pair of sunglasses. I find a baseball cap in my trunk which I also give her.
In the hotel I pack up both her and my stuff and carry it down to the lobby. I check out and haul our luggage to the car and load it and we leave.
SHREVEPORT, La. – “How should I change my look?”
I enter the lobby of the David Motel alone and check into a room. Under a clearance, confined by the building, the parking lot is sparsely populated. I make sure no one is watching before I whisk Angela from my car into our room.
She stands and stares at herself in the mirror over the sink.
“Probably start with the hair,” I tell her. “Cut it. Change the color.”
“That’s what I was thinking. I was thinking of going darker, closer to what my natural color is. I’ve been blond for, like, three or four years now. There are no pictures of me with dark hair except when I was much younger.”
“How about cutting it shorter?”
“Who would cut it? I can’t cut my own hair.”
“I could help you.”
“Are you a trained hair stylist?”
“No.”
“Then no way. No one’s cutting my hair who hasn’t gone to school for it and knows what they’re doing.”
“We could just shorten it a little.”
“I don’t want to. I like long hair,” she says. “Short hair doesn’t look feminine to me. And besides, we just decided I’m going to dye my hair a totally different color. So there’s really no need to cut it.”
“Alright. I’ll go buy some dye right now so we can get this done and you can leave this room.”
“Wait, do you know what to get?”
“Black?” I ask.
“No, I’ve thinking of dyeing my hair a while now. I know exactly what I want. Get me the Color Me Vivacious Dark Brown Chocolate Warm Velvet No. 66.”
I stare at her, blink twice.
“What? You can remember that, right?”
I drive to a Walgreens on Airline Drive. I spend several minutes in the hair section, confused, until I eventually find the exact hair color Angela asked for.
Back at the motel I toss the shopping bag to Angela on the bed. “Good,” she says, taking out the hair color. “You actually got the right thing.”
From the television on the news I hear, “And the story of a missing teen in Pensacola, Florida …”
“Oh, shit, listen,” Angela says, grabbing the remote control and turning up the volume.
“Police are baffled by the sudden disappearance of seventeen-year old Angela Selby who was on a Labor Day weekend vacation with her parents and older brother,” a news reporter says, a sunny beach as his backdrop. Some photographs of Angela flash across the screen. “Her parents say late one afternoon, after a brief argument with their daughter, she left their condo and never came back. Almost one-hundred people have volunteered to help comb the beaches as police have been tirelessly searching the shoreline. Parents of the girl remain resolute that their daughter is alive and will be found. The case has shaken the town and police urge anyone who may have seen Angela or who may have any information to contact them immediately.”
“Wow,” Angela says. “Can you believe those pictures they showed of me? Those were
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