Memory: 'Bryllcreem'

I’ve only been friends with G_ and the rest for a little while and they’ve only ever seen me with my red ‘Bulls’ cap on. I wear it to bed and put it on first thing if it’s fallen off during the night. My auntie from up North said wearing it all the time will make me go bald. I said I didn’t care but checked my temples in the mirror later.

G_ asks why I don’t take it off and stick some Bryllcreem in. I say it’s not for me. Really I don’t want people looking at me too much. I have mangled teeth with braces, fresh angry spots, and a chin that juts out if I smile - so I try not to. G_ insists I get rid of the cap and says I’m being a weirdo.

We go upstairs to the bathroom. The counter is full of his older sisters’ stuff - round prickly brushes, hairsprays, creams, slim little deodorant cans.

I wince as I take off my cap. My hair is a wiry cloud of dust like you’d fish out from under a bed. I spoon water from the the tap and pour it on top. He takes a dollop of the white sharp-smelling cream and rubs it in his hands. My shoulders jump up as he begins fingering it through my hair. ‘I won’t work’ I say.

He tells me to turn and face him. I feel awkward. With a comb he pushes up the fringe and then sweeps the whole thing from back to front so I have a a little lip of a wave at the front. The greying cream gathers in gloops between the teeth of the comb. He wipes it clean with toilet paper.

‘There, see!’ - In the mirror I see my wide spotty forehead, my hair wet and shiny. It looks like me trying to be everyone else. I feel like they will laugh at me. I don’t want to try and be good-looking. My cheeks flush but I thank G_ and agree he was right.

We find the others sitting on a curb bouncing a tennis ball about. He asks them what they think of my hair. The girl look up and squint. They say it looks much better and then ask who has got money for going to the shops. I try not to smile and hold my cap nervously by my side.

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