Hair Dye

The bathroom door is locked.
I twist the dial all the way 
to the right and step 
into the scalding shower,
still wearing my shirt.
It sticks on my skin,
instantly see-through.
But I'm concentrating 
on the shampoo,
forcing the lather
through tangles of straw.
Cold and dripping
in front of the mirror,
I stare through the girl
with all the wrong curves,
metal on her teeth,
scars on her face,
and dark circles 
under wide, searching eyes.
My fingers twist 
through long brown hair, 
split at the ends and 
beginning to frizz.
I reach for the box.
The woman in the picture 
is smiling and beautiful.
Her make-up is flawless,
and her face is framed 
by loose red curls
cascading freely 
over perfect shoulders.
I turn sharply to the mirror,
anticipating the contrast.
But my refection is 
enveloped in steam.
I slip on the gloves.
The cheap, flimsy plastic 
clings on my arms and
tears on my fingernails.
There are three bottles:
color, moisturizer, conditioner. 
I pop the first open
and recoil at the smell.
Mixing the dye, 
is swear it hurts 
to breathe.
I shake the bottle, 
hold it over my head, 
and squeeze.
The blood red ooze 
slowly forms a puddle.
I rake it through with
my fingers, and my
scalp burns.
Ten to fifteen minutes,
the box says.
Nothing to do but wait.
I wipe the mirror, 
and fix my eyes on 
the mess of hair
and slime 
piled on top of my head. 
I drum my fingers on
the counter top.
Waiting.
Under the shower again,
I throw the wet shirt 
onto the floor, and the
dye runs down my
naked body,
over every curve.
I rub through my hair
with my fingertips
till the water runs clean.
I'm so excited,
but afraid to look.
What if it's too dark?
What if it didn't work at all?
What if it's awful?
I wipe the mirror
in one violent motion
and open my eyes.
It's definitely red,
but not very dark.
My hands fly to the strands
in front of my face.
As I blow-dry and comb, 
the color looks stronger.
Waves of fire fall to my shoulders.
I can't believe I really did it.
My hair, my decision,
nobody else's.
I can't stop laughing.
My mother is going to kill me.