Blonde
When I was a little girl, I begged my mom to dye my hair blonde. I fell somewhere in limbo between lovely dark hair and stunning golden locks. Like the color of mud drying on the road. Growing up with barbie dolls, I'd pedestalized the blondes. I could never be pretty if I didn't have hair like that.
Eventually I flew to the other side of the spectrum. If I couldn't be pretty, I'd be a tomboy. I refused to put on dresses even on Sundays. My mom had to fight me to brush my hair and soon gave up and chopped it all off. All my best friends were boys when I was little.
High school came around, and all of my friends were finding girls they liked better than me. The other girls thought I spent too much time with their boyfriends. I found myself shunned by both sexes.
My father moved my family ten hours away my junior year, but perhaps it was for the best. The fresh start helped me make friends, play sports, and even get a boyfriend myself. He was kind of a jerk, but every girl had a boyfriend, and I didn't want to waste time finding another one.
He put me in the hospital after we argued once in our senior year and my family moved again right after my graduation. I left for college as far from home as I could get. I traveled to Europe and South America. I moved from place to place and person to person. I guess I’m still looking.
I've never really fit in anywhere. I still want to dye my hair blonde, but I never do.