Journals The Tattoo

Why I got my new blue do

Aurora, Nebraska, UNITED STATES — “Hold still, damn it.”

“Quit pulling my hair, then.”

“I’m not pulling it, I’m massaging it.”

“Then quit massaging it so hard.”

“There,” Suzy sighs and leans back on the bathroom sink. A bead of sweat drips down her forehead. “Done.”

“Well, what do you guys think?” I ask, as I look at myself in the mirror, touching my hair with my palm.

“It look good,” says Marcela, the foreign exchange student from Brazil who is staying with Suzy this year.

“It looks so sweet,” says Suzy as she throws her stained gloves into the sink. “I wish I had blue hair.”

“There’s half a bottle left,” I say.

“I’m tempted,” she says, grinning.

“I have to say, it does look pretty kick ass,” says Max, who is sitting over in the corner.

“Well ya, that’s because I did it,” Suzy says, and walks over and gives him a movie-style kiss.

“My God, you two are like animals,” I say.

Max and Suzy have been “dating” for at least two weeks, but have kept it a secret in order not to upset Suzy’s ex-boyfriend, Ryan, one of Max’s best friends.

The whole thing is very daytime soap opera, but then again, so is high school.

“You don’t think I look like a Smurf, do you?” I ask, a bit apprehensive.

“Nah,” Max pulls himself away from Suzy and says. “More like a blueberry.”


“I tink it’s goot,” says Marcela, who speaks in fractured English with a thick Portuguese accent.

“Dude, my parents are gonna be home any minute, we need to get cleaned up,” Suzy says and jumps up.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, still looking in the mirror. My blue hair fascinates me.

“Here, plug the sink and pour this in it,” Suzy says and hands me a bottle of bleach.

I walk over to the sink and pour in the entire bottle.

“Do you think we need any more?” I ask Suzy, as she scrambles to sweep my hair clippings off the floor.

“Uh no, that’s an entire bottle…” she spins around and looks at me. The air already smells like Clorox.

“YOU POURED THE ENTIRE BOTTLE IN!?” she screams, and runs to the sink. “Do you have any idea how much bleach that is!”

“I’m a boy,” I say squeamishly.

It’s my only defense.

“Err,” she grunts and walks over to the sink and empties out the bleach, then starts flushing it with water.

Five minutes later we’re all lying on the floor in Suzy’s den. AC/DC is playing on the radio. “Back in Black,” I think.

“Thanks Suzy,” I say.

“Anytime,” she says and rests her head on Max’s stomach.

So why did I dye my hair blue?

Well, it was a Friday night in Nebraska.

Zach Brokenrope is a Reporter for Youth Journalism International.