THE VOICE
By Nakeisha Campbell
CAST
Nakeisha – 8-year-old customer
Ms. Campbell – Nakeisha’s mother
Hairdressers
Maxine (Max)
Jenny
Patty
Customers
Ms. White
Ms. Benson
Ms. Taylor
Latrice
Wanda
SETTING
Brooklyn, New York
TIME
Summer, 2000
SCENE I:
It’s ahot summer day in August.Ms. Campbell sits peacefully in the waiting area of Dermalax System, also known as “The World’s Finest Hair Care System.” The salon bursts with laughter and loud chatter as the radio plays a Pointer Sisters hit, “He’s So Shy.” The air reeks of hair spray, grease and chemical relaxers, which smells like a mixture of spoiled eggs and dead animals. The talking customers sound like tone-deaf members of a choir, trying to out-sing one another. Ms. Campbell’s daughter, Nakeisha, is seated only a few feet away at one of the beauty stations. Her hair dresser, Max, stands behind her, and carefully glides a steaming hot comb along several strands of hair. Even in the noise, one could hear the strands sizzle like raw meat on a skillet.
Nakeisha sits motionless in her chair and eavesdrops on a nearby conversation between two of the loudest customers, Ms. Benson and Ms. White.
Ms. Benson: Oh, she got GOOD hair!
Ms. White: She sure do! I swear, mixed people have the nicest hair…
Ms. Benson: (animatedly) You’re tellin’ me!! Shoot, I’d take some mixed hair over these naps ANY day.
Ms. White: Ain’t that the truth.
Ms. Benson: …Like Pamela’s, I think she has really pretty hair!
Ms. White: (sucks her teeth) Girl that hair ain’t real.I can tell she got some horse-hair up in there somewhere.
Ms. Benson: (laughs) Well how can you tell?
Ms. White: Gurrrl, if you ever want to know how to spot a weave, all you gotta do is watch the way it blows in the wind. Fake hairbarely moves at all.
Ms. Benson: (raises her eyebrow) Say what?!
Jenny:(chimes in) That’s actually true. I mean if you look close, the fake hair blows in a totally different direction.
Ms. White: That’s right. And you know what else? If the hair’s really curly, you can tell it’s fake by the way it falls.
Jenny: (Nods in agreement) So true! If it stays perfectly curly for weeks and doesn’t fall flat, then what does that tell you?
Ms. White: That it’s FAKE!
Ms. Benson: Unbe-weave-able! (The three women burst out in laughter)
I wasn’taware of it at the time.
Wasn’t aware of the fact that these women were subconsciously feedingmy insecurities.I hated everything about my hair. The way it shrunk to less than half its length after being washed. The way it hardened to brick if it wasn’t combed right away. The way it stuck out in awkward, heavy clumps around my head. These curly strands, they were more stubborn than I was.
And the glossy magazine covers of black women with stick-straight hair… And the chattering women who spent hundreds of dollars to conform to society’s idea of what was ‘beautiful.’ These things would eventually mold my own perception of beauty.Like many Black women, I adored straight hair textures and despised any that were remotely like my own. But I was being conditioned to love this ‘good’ hair. I was being taught to hate my hair’s natural state before I even realized it was happening. It irritates me now that I was forced to hear the very things that would soon hinder my self-confidence.
SCENE II:
Over an hour has passed and only a small portion of Nakeisha’s hair has been straightened. Max occasionally laughs and gossips with the customers, pausing briefly after every two minutes. She feels the pressure of Max’s greasy fingertips, which feel less like flesh and more like balls of metal.Nakeisha pouts in annoyance, having a strong desire to break Max’sfingers. However, she is suddenly drawn to yet another conversation. She listens carefully among the chaos.
Patty: Your hair is lookin’ so brittle, Miz Taylor. When last did you do your protein treatment?
Ms. Taylor: Girl, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, my hair is perfectly fine. I don’t need no protein treatment… You’re just tryna get me to spend all of my money.
Patty: No no no, Miz Taylor, it’s just that I’ve noticed your hair is very dry and it’s breaking. It needs more proteinand conditioner—
Ms. Taylor: I don’t want no protein or conditioner! All I came here for is a wash and set.
Patty: Alright, Miz Taylor… If that’s what you want.
Ms. Taylor: And make sure you addthatolive oil spray.
Patty: Yes, Miz Taylor, I know.(Patty carefully combs the wet, lanky strands of Ms. Taylor’s hair. After each glide, small clumps of hair are pulled out with the comb).
Ms. Taylor: And go easy on the scalp oil. Last time you put so much I could’ve fried a chicken.
Patty: (sighs) Okay, Miz Taylor.
I have a newfound respect for hairdressers.
For the ones who toil in crowded, smelly salons with no windows. For the ones who are yelled at for mistaking ‘trims’ for ‘cuts’. For the ones who are forced to hear more than they’d like to from that one customer who talks too much. For the ones who almost snapped because a customer was being too picky and irrational. For the ones who put up with bad attitudes from bitter old customers.
For the ones who, despite it all, plaster smiles on their tense faces to maintain professionalism.
I swear you have the patience of saints.
And I salute you.
SCENE III:
Nakeisha’s hair is about halfway done. Once again, Max’s firm fingers press her head downward so that Max can redo the edges of her hair.Nakeisha’s head is bent so low that her chest begins to hurt, but she gazes at the floor in silence. Though her mouth is locked shut, her ears are wide open..
Latrice: Max! You’ll never believe who I saw in church last Sunday!
Max: Who?
Latrice: Nicole!
Wanda: You’re lyin’!
Max: (gasps) Are you sure you weren’t seeing things that day?
Latrice: Girls I swear, I’m telling y’all the truth. Chick had on a blue mini dress with heels she could barely walk in. And don’t even get me started on the ridiculous neckline on her dress. She might as well just let those things hang out in the open.
Max: Oh, dear Lord, that definitely sounds like her.
Wanda: Sounds like she went to church to find herself a new man…
Latrice: And she had the nerve to show off her jewelry in church! Wavin’ around her left hand from the pew so she can show off her new ring!
Wanda: Hmph, I bet you that bling as fake as her weave.
Latrice: And those skimpy legs looked like drum sticks.
Max: (laughs) I can imagine!
To this day, I have never entered a salon without hearing gossip.
There’s always that one intense discussion of a person that I’ve never heard of. And what I hear is never, ever good.
SCENE IV:
Ms. Campbell remains seated quietly in the waiting area. An old lady passes her by and greets her with a smile. Ms. Campbell smiles in return and then looks quickly back at her daughter. She notices that Nakeisha is squirming uncomfortably in her chair. After a few seconds, she makes eye-contact with her daughter and gives her a warm smile. Nakeisha returns it, relaxing just a little. But suddenly her head is turned away and Max shoves a wooden spoon in her hand.
Max: (to Nakeisha) Hold this over your ear. (Nakeisha quickly grips the spoon before it falls and holds it over her left ear.)
Max: Hey Patty, Fiona was here again last week.
Jenny: Oh yeah? What did she ask for this time?
Max: (Grabs the hot comb from a small burner and waves it in midair as she speaks.) She actually showed me this picture of Beyonce from Hype Hair, and she was like, ‘I wanna look like THAT!’, and I was like, ‘Uh, sweetie, I can’t make you look like that. I’m a hairdresser, not a cosmetic surgeon.’
Jenny: (bursts out laughing)What did she say?!
Max: (Brings the steaming hot comb to Nakeisha’s head) Girrrl, she—
Nakeisha: Owwww!!!! (The choir of voices is silenced by her outcry. All eyes are on her within seconds, curious and judgmental, butMs. Campbell looks at her daughter with concern.)
Max: (Chuckles to break the silence and addresses Nakeisha) Oh, now I know you don’t have the nerve to be tender-headed with all this thick hair!
(In just seconds,Ms. Campbell’s face hardens and her eyes go from warm concern to cold fury. She glares at Max.)
Ms. Campbell: Excuse me? (Her voice pierces the silencelike a searing needle.Someone lets out a low whistle as she pretends to read a copy of Vibe. Nakeisha stares wide-eyed at her mother, then turns around in her seat to see Max’s face.)
Max: Uh… (Everyone in salon looks at Max, who stares back at Ms. Campbell in shock, at a loss for words.)
Ms. Campbell: (She sits upright, glares back at Max and speaks softly, but firmly.) That’s just rude. Don’t assume that my child can handle being burned because her hair is thick; it’s your responsibility to be careful with that hot comb. And if you burn her again, I’m going to the owner. (Her last sentence is spoken through gritted teeth as she tries to hold her composure. She breathes heavily, and her hands now grip her bag tightly.)
Max: (Flinches for a second andthen swallows.) Oh, no that won’t be necessary… I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again.
(The continues for a few seconds until Ms. Taylor speaks.)
Ms. Taylor: You know, Ms. Campbell… If I were you, I’d demand a discount.
(Ms. Campbell takes a deep breath and ignores Ms. Taylor’s comment. Instead, she focuses on Max, who continues to work carefully on Nakeisha’s hair in silence. The customers and other stylists begin to talk amongst themselves again, but tentatively.)
Meanwhile, as Nakeisha sits still in her chair and stares at her angry mother,she can’t help but wonder what the ladies will say about Ms. Campbell and her when they’re gone.
Salons are not just safe havens for gossipers. They are also a form of therapy.
For a few moments, these women can forget their personal struggles, imperfections and insecurites, even if it means trash-talking other people in the process. They do this to feel better about themselves, because having someone to scrutinize or judge gives them that sense of power.
But my mother stood out among these women. She never took part in these conversations and she kept her words to a minimum. But there was so much power in her silence. In fact, it made her voice all the more powerful when she spoke up for me that day. It outweighed the voices of all the women put together, just like her encouragement outweighed the judgmental remarks and insults I’ve heard about natural hair.
The voice of my mother was more than enough.