13
Alina
“Ali, can you take a walk-in? She’s looking for a wash, cut, and style. I’m swamped, seeing as Michelle was late for her appointment,” Deidra—Paisley’s business partner and my other boss at Moxie—asks me. I’m cleaning up my workstation having just finished with my last customer, a sweet little ten-year old girl who wanted bangs so she could look just like Taylor Swift.
“Sure, give me five minutes,” I say, smiling over at Deidra, a petite red-haired woman I came to call a friend shortly after I started working here. Once I decided that college wasn’t the place for me, I enrolled at the Avola College of Hair Styling and Esthetics in Toronto, eventually receiving my hairstyling diploma. The diploma, which usually takes ten months to get, took me just over fifteen due to my illness.
Having an eating disorder made it hard to get up and function sometimes. There were days when I was too weak to think about spending my day in a classroom, too down on myself to subject others to having to deal with my fat ass and shitty attitude. The days when I’d punish myself by fasting for having indulged in a huge binge were the worst. Despite the fact that I purge my food, it doesn’t mean I always get everything out. I still manage to consume some calories, and ingest some food. Therefore, in order to help ensure I wouldn’t gain weight from the “leftovers” as I’d call them, I’d fast for at least twelve hours after my binge/purge cycle.
Even though I was disappointed at myself for having let my illness make me drop out of the music program at Mohawk College, it was for the best, as I wasn’t ready. By the time I was ready to try school again, I’d decided to become a hairdresser. And in the end, I found a career I loved. Luckily, Avola College offered evening and weekend classes, which allowed me to catch up, making it easier to make up the time I lost before I committed to therapy, finally admitting I needed help, and starting towards my recovery.
“Thank you, I’ll let her know. Her name’s Nichole, whenever you’re ready. You’re a lifesaver, Al. So happy we have you, not sure I tell you enough,” she smiles warmly, before scurrying to the front of the salon.
Like music, hairdressing is something I’m good at and that I enjoy, so taking walk-ins and working long hours to prove my worth doesn’t bother me. Paisley and Deidra took a chance on me after graduation, and the last thing I want to do is let them down. Out of all of us in the band, Paisley and I are probably the closest, and while she doesn’t know the extent of my struggle, she knows I’m sensitive about my weight and have been for a while. She knows I’d taken some time off from school after dropping out, and that I’ve missed a few opportunities on the job front, but has never pried too much about the reasons why. It was actually Paisley who’d planted the idea for me to consider hairdressing. She said she was convinced that, like with music, I have a natural ability for styling and cutting my own hair, and that I might want to look into it. Paisley even offered to let me apprentice at her salon if I wanted. And while I’ve never come right out and told her I was bulimic, and she’s never come right out and asked, I know she suspects but she’s always been there encouraging me, and helping me find the good, even if she has no idea that’s what she’s doing. Even if she doesn’t know it, I owe Paisley more than she’ll probably ever know or realize.
“Got it, it’s no problem. Glad I can help,” I say, tossing a few white towels into the hamper before sweeping the hair from the last cut from the floor.
Finally ready, I’m making my way along the row of mirrored stations trying in vain, like always, to avoid catching a glimpse of my side profile so I can call Nichole over to the sink. I pause mid-step, hearing Paisley shriek and then shout out my name.
“Alina! Holy shit. Come here right now! It’s my phone, it’s ringing…” she says, nearly dropping the dye bowl she’d been holding in her other hand. Nancy, her regular, laughs as she watches Paisley lose her mind. Pais continues to shriek and call my name until I’m standing beside her at her station.
“Yeah, they do that, Paisley. Pesky things,” I laugh, and she shoots me a look that says I’m not funny.
“Al, it’s Tommy. It’s Tommy! This is it,” she whispers, peering down at the blaring iPhone.
“Answer it, Pais. You’re killing me,” I say, as a wave of nerves rushes through my body. This is it. Happenstance could be auditioning for our biggest gig ever, and my damn bestie still hasn’t answered the phone.
“Paisley Jane. Answer the damn phone already!” Deidra says, swooping in and taking the dye bowl from her hand.
“Right,” she says, looking down at the phone again.
“Now, Pais.”
“Okay, okay.” She gives me a sheepish grin as she slides her finger across the glass to answer, “Hello, this is Paisley Walker.” She pauses, and I’m not sure if it’s for effect, or if it’s because Tommy is getting right to the point. “Hi, Tommy. Hey, how are you?” she greets, as she shifts from one foot to the other, her green eyes wide and attentive as she listens to the voice on the other end, the voice I’m not entirely sure I want to tell us we have an audition, if I’m being honest.
The salon is quiet as we all stand around in complete silence, hanging on every word and mumble coming out of Paisley’s pink-stained lips, waiting with bated breath for the verdict.
Twisting my fingers, I decide I can’t take it anymore. Hearing another long string of “I sees” and “hmms” and “uh-huhs” is doing my head in. Opting to risk missing the news, I head back to the front to wave Nichole in for her cut. The last thing I want to do is piss off a potential regular by keeping her waiting.
“Alina!!!!!” Paisley shouts, nearly dropping her phone. “Get back here right now, missy! We’re in. We have the audition, we have the audition,” she squeals, and the whole place erupts in a round of cheers and excited chitchat. “It’s on Saturday!” She runs towards me and pulls me into a huge hug.
“Like, in four days, Saturday?” I ask in disbelief.
“Uh-huh.”
“Holy crap” I say.
“Right. We’re ready, Al. We’ve been ready for this for so, so long.” She grips me harder.
“Saturday…” I mull it over again.
“We’re gonna slay, Alina. I know it.”
“Yeah.” I pause, trying to sort which emotion I’m feeling most—panic or elation. I decide it’s elation. This is it. Our big break, the one we’ve been working so damn hard for. “Hell, yeah, we really are ready. We’re going to tour with Sicken Union, Pais,” I tell her honestly, believing it in that moment. The next thing I know we’re jumping up and down, laughing and freaking the hell out, before we separate so she can call Siobhán and Roxie to deliver the incredible news, while I walk Nichole to the sink and apologize for the delay.
After getting to work, being sure to give my client an extra thorough scalp message, I smile, half-listening to Paisley’s excitement as she fills the others in.
We got the audition!
What if we make it through and actually get the touring gig?
We got the audition!
Am I going to be strong enough to handle this?
We got the audition!
Yeah, right. You’ll never be enough…