Unbeweaveable by Katrina Spencer

footsteps. I knew she heard me approach, but she didn’t do anything to acknowledge my presence.
    I coughed.
    Nothing.
    I waited a few seconds for her to say something, but she just sat there, her needle going through the fabric—in and out, in and out. No response. Nothing had changed. Why after all this time had I expected anything different? Anger moved my feet and I turned on my heel to leave the room.
    â€œWait,” she said, her cool voice laced with authority.
    â€œSit.”
    I walked over to her and sat down on the chair across from her. She continued her embroidery, her needle going in and out of the fabric systematically, revealing beautiful pink and red roses. She stopped, placed the embroidery in a basket near the sofa, and looked up at me.
    â€œI’m glad you’re here.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    â€œRenee’s happy, too. She can’t stop talking about it.”
    â€œIt seems like it. Did she leave?”
    â€œShe went to pick up a few things from the store. Things to make your stay here more comfortable.”
    â€œThat’s nice of her.”
    â€œWe both want you to feel comfortable. I know things have been hard—”
    I waved my hand. “I can handle things being difficult, Beverly. It’s how you raised me, remember?”
    The mention of her name made her wince. I stared at her and dared her to object to it. She simply sighed and picked up her embroidery hoop again.
    â€œSome things never change, do they?”
    â€œI guess not.”
    â€œSo, how long do you think you’ll be in Houston?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWell, how long do you think you’ll be here? Staying with us?”
    â€œNot long. I want to find a job as quickly as I can.”
    â€œThat’s good. You want to keep busy. Now about your hair—”
    I ran my hand over it.
    â€œI’ve made you an appointment tomorrow afternoon with my hairstylist, Henry. He’s very good and he’ll get your hair under control and ready for Houston’s humidity again. You’ll need a relaxer, of course, and maybe with a few deep conditioners we can get that hair of yours to grow.” She started to laugh. “Do you remember when you got your first relaxer?”
    â€œHow could I forget, Beverly?”
    She took me to get a relaxer a day after I got the perm, not telling the stylist what previous chemicals I had on my hair. I left the salon bald as a newborn baby, with red chemical burns all over my scalp that crusted over into unsightly scars over the next week. It took several months for my hair to grow back, and another year before I would even try another relaxer. Walking around with my head looking like Freddy Krueger made the teasing unbearable, and it was then that I met Norma Gomez, the new girl at our school.
    â€œYou got burned or something?” she asked, sitting down next to me at lunch.
    â€œSomething like that.”
    She stared at my head for a few minutes and then started talking about her old school.
    â€œMy parents thought private school would be better.”
    â€œLook at them, the Wetback and Freddy Krueger! Hey, Mexican, why don’t you swim back to the border and get me some tacos! I’m hungry!” Norma’s face turned red, while I continued eating.
    â€œLeave her alone, Michael,” I said.
    â€œIt’s okay,” Norma said, grabbing my arm.
    â€œIt’s not okay.” I turned back to Michael. “You better leave us alone.”
    â€œWhat you going to do about it, Tar Baby?”
    I don’t remember hitting him. I don’t remember the crunch of broken bone that his nose made when I hit it with my fist. I just remember being pulled off him and getting suspended for a week. The teasing continued, but it was different after that day. From then on, I said something back just as cruel.
    Beverly’s laughter jolted me from the memory. She kept laughing to the point