{"id":8226,"date":"2020-04-30T10:13:08","date_gmt":"2020-04-30T16:13:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/?page_id=8226"},"modified":"2020-04-30T10:13:08","modified_gmt":"2020-04-30T16:13:08","slug":"ellen","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/?page_id=8226","title":{"rendered":"Ellen"},"content":{"rendered":"

Chris Stanton<\/strong><\/p>\n

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Ellen\u2019s husband Pete died in February. He owned and operated his own plant nursery, and there were still pots of ivy and succulents all over the house that were a constant reminder of him. Ellen was having trouble keeping them alive, but she didn\u2019t want to throw them away, because she thought that would be disrespectful to his memory. So her grieving process had been traumatic and never ending.<\/p>\n

On top of that, Barb — her stylist of thirty-one years — retired just before Thanksgiving and moved to Boca Raton. So Ellen, who had gotten her hair done every Saturday morning at 9:30 for as long as she could remember, had to find a new place to get spruced up each week. This was a distressing dilemma.<\/p>\n

Denise, Ellen\u2019s grown daughter who lived on the other side of town, wasn\u2019t sympathetic. \u201cWhy do you need a perm so often?\u201d she asked. \u201cYou\u2019re destroying your hair! Just let me do it. I\u2019ll come by and trim your bangs when you really need it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen\u2019s gray hair was awfully thin, but it did have a gentle curl that gave her bright hazel eyes an extra spark, so she knew it would be tough to find someone who did it justice, like Barb had. She also wanted to remind her daughter that Barb had been a trusting confidant and shoulder to cry on during her many years of marriage to Pete, and she had been particularly supportive during his illness. But Denise had always been stubborn and it wasn\u2019t worth trying to explain it to her. She kept her hair in a perpetual Dorothy Hamill bob that required little to no maintenance, and she had a loyal husband to lean on. So Ellen changed the subject and tried to focus on having a nice Thanksgiving with her family, even though Denise burned the stuffing.<\/p>\n

That night, she had trouble getting to sleep, and it wasn\u2019t because she missed Pete lying next to her, snoring gently. It was because she had decided what she was going to do next.<\/p>\n

Dandelion Crossing was opening the next morning, and it was incredibly close to her house; it would take less than ten minutes to walk there. Ellen still remembered when the spot had been a vast field full of clover and wildflowers. A woman at the Bingo had told her that there was a salon inside the mall that would be a completely viable option for her hairdressing needs, so Ellen decided she would go there to scope out the situation. She was a retired nurse and felt it was important to get a full picture before making any decision.<\/p>\n

Ellen considered driving there, but she felt nervous maneuvering her 1974 Chevy Impala around crowds of excited shoppers in the parking lot. So she put on a pair of comfortable shoes and left the house right before Press Your Luck<\/em> started.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She had written down the name of the salon — New Attitude — on a sticky note, and she went right to the first security guard\u2019s desk she saw to ask where it was. It turned out to be across the way from an arcade where throngs of teenagers milled about like ants around an ice cream cone melting on the ground.<\/p>\n

The place was brightly lit and the receptionist had teased hair that lifted off her forehead like she\u2019d just stuck her fingers in an electric socket. She looked like a spokesmodel from Star Search<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi there,\u201d she said. \u201cCome on in. What can we do for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen looked past her with considerable trepidation. She saw four stations where stylists were at work, as well as a row of hair dryers and sinks. Television monitors played a music video from a cheerful androgynous man who was singing about a church of the poison mind. Ellen wasn\u2019t sure what that meant.<\/p>\n

\u201cI need a perm,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cDo you do those here?\u201d<\/p>\n

The receptionist looked at her as if she\u2019d said a word in Russian.<\/p>\n

\u201cA permanent,\u201d Ellen clarified.<\/p>\n

The receptionist grinned. \u201cOur policy here at New Attitude is to give our clients a one-on-one consultation to determine your needs and subsequently recommend a course of action before we move forward.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAm I in court?\u201d Ellen asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, ma\u2019am. But after your appointment, you\u2019ll definitely have a new attitude!\u201d<\/p>\n

Before Ellen could counter, the receptionist called to the back. \u201cTimothy! You have a guest!\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen was seventy-five years old and even though she was used to high-pressure medical situations, she still felt slightly uncomfortable when things moved too fast. Before she knew it, an extremely tall person entered the reception area. His hair was dyed blackish-purple and pointed in several hundred different directions at once, like a porcupine. He wore heavy dark eyeliner and his t-shirt had an image of a screaming zombie on it. It read: THE DEAD LOVE BRAINS.<\/p>\n

\u201cI — \u201d Ellen began.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on back,\u201d Timothy said. And before she knew it, Ellen was following the Gothic scarecrow to his station.<\/p>\n

Truth be told, Barb had always done Ellen\u2019s hair in the front room of her house, giving Ellen an excellent view out the wide bay window of her front yard and the cars driving by in their quiet suburban neighborhood. She wasn\u2019t used to a proliferation of mirrors and bright lights magnifying each wrinkle and liver spot, or the intense smell of hairspray. But that was the situation as the person named Timothy escorted her to her styling chair.<\/p>\n

Ellen sat down and took a deep breath. She had spent her life dealing with patients of all kinds at the hospital, but men and women who dressed like they had just risen from their coffins were a relatively new thing, as Phil Donahue had discussed in a recent episode. New Wave Punks — if she was getting the name right — didn\u2019t frighten her, but she had no idea how to connect with them, or if they even wanted to exist in the same world as the people around them.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name\u2019s Timothy,\u201d he said, leaning against the counter and smiling a tentative smile. He wore tight black jeans and a studded leather belt, along with combat boots that he had probably stolen off a dead person in an alley.<\/p>\n

\u201cEllen,\u201d she replied. His station was in the corner and there were no personal touches anywhere — no coffee mugs or photos of his family taped onto the corner of the mirror. It looked sterile and lonely.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou seem scared,\u201d Timothy said. \u201cI want you to know that I graduated second in my class in cosmetology school, and I worked at Astor Place Hairstylists for just over a year.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen didn\u2019t know what that was. \u201cWhy did you leave?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI ran out of money,\u201d he replied. \u201cNew York is really expensive, even when you\u2019re living in a basement with six roommates.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen shivered at that thought. \u201cAre you originally from here?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am. I\u2019m living with my parents until I can get back on my feet,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m real grateful to be getting another shot.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen felt herself sweating under her bra straps. The television behind her started playing a music video featuring men singing about a union of the snake. \u201cDo you have photos of past clients of yours?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo ma\u2019am,\u201d he replied. \u201cI guess I should start doing that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen told herself then that there were other salons around the city. She didn\u2019t mind driving, if there was plenty of daylight. \u201cMaybe this isn\u2019t a good idea,\u201d she ventured.<\/p>\n

Timothy smiled again. \u201cYour hair is really nice,\u201d he said. \u201cCan I touch it?\u201d<\/p>\n

After a moment of debate, Ellen nodded. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he lifted her hair, then let it settle back. \u201cDaphne mentioned you\u2019d like a permanent,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m fully qualified to do them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy last stylist knew how to give really delicate ones,\u201d Ellen told him. \u201cI don\u2019t want it to come out looking frizzy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAgreed,\u201d Timothy said. \u201cFrizzy is for Nina Blackwood only.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen had no idea who that was. She thought about Pete, how he would patiently sit in his living room chair after work as she tried out new recipes for dinner. How he never complained, even when they both knew she\u2019d screwed up.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d she finally said. \u201cLet\u2019s get to it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Timothy did a horrifying job on her permanent. Ellen looked like a grandma version of Little Orphan Annie.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you think?\u201d he asked proudly, standing behind her chair as they looked at the finished product in the mirror.<\/p>\n

\u201cI — \u201d Ellen began. She reached up and tried to tuck some of the Medusa-like curls behind her ears. Timothy waited with expectant eyes that were heavy with dark liner.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess it\u2019ll take some getting used to,\u201d she ventured.<\/p>\n

There was a flash of disappointment on his face. \u201cSure,\u201d Timothy replied. \u201cIt\u2019s a change. But I really think you\u2019re going to turn some heads.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen wanted to say that she would, but for the wrong reasons. But she decided that would be too cruel. \u201cHow much do I owe you?\u201d she asked, trying to keep her voice even.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t like it, do you?\u201d he asked. \u201cYou can be honest.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen took a look at him standing there behind him, the dejection causing his shoulders to slump, his dark clothes magnifying his pale skin. Even the zombie on his t-shirt suddenly looked disappointed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI love it,\u201d she told him.<\/p>\n

Ellen got home in time to have a late lunch and watch a bit of As the World Turns<\/em>. She had stopped watching the show regularly years ago, so she didn\u2019t recognize much of the cast.<\/p>\n

The rest of the afternoon she did her vacuuming and dusting, but she kept going into the bathroom to check her hair, hoping that her opinion of it would change. It didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

But on her fourth visit, she noticed the potted cactus on the windowsill. That particular part of the house only received sun for a brief time early in the morning, so the plant just wasn\u2019t doing well. She remembered a similar one that Pete had kept in his office at the nursery that bloomed beautifully in shades of purple and pink.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There seemed to be even more shoppers at the mall the following day. Ellen resisted the urge to wear a hat during her walk over. She tried to walk proudly and without regard for how people looked at her as they went past.<\/p>\n

Daphne looked up from her desk as Ellen approached. \u201cWell hello,\u201d she said. \u201cIt looks like somebody\u2019s got a new attitude.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen was momentarily distracted by the receptionist\u2019s enormous geometric earrings, but she held fast. She held her plastic bag carefully. \u201cIs Timothy in?\u201d she asked. \u201cI\u2019ve got a gift for him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daphne raised one eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. \u201cOh?\u201d she asked. \u201cLet me check for you, sweetie.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ellen resisted an urge to trip her as she swooshed past in a swirl of pastels. Instead, she waited until she heard Timothy calling her name.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d he said as she walked over to him. His client was sitting under a hair dryer nearby. \u201cIs everything okay?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is for you,\u201d she told him, and handed him the bag. \u201cBe careful. It\u2019s sharp.\u201d<\/p>\n

Timothy carefully pulled the cactus plant out of the bag. \u201cRighteous!\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve never owned a plant before!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve had trouble getting it to bloom,\u201d Ellen told him. \u201cThere\u2019s so much light in here that I think it might do well. And you need a little personal touch on your station. I\u2019m a grandma, so it\u2019s okay for me to say things like that,\u201d she added.<\/p>\n

Timothy smiled his genuine, crooked smile. \u201cYes ma\u2019am,\u201d he told her. \u201cI\u2019m going to take excellent care of it. And maybe you\u2019ll give me another chance.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was never a question in my mind,\u201d Ellen replied. She smiled back, because she realized it was the truth.<\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n

CHRIS STANTON<\/strong> is a creative writer and artist in Los Angeles. His first novel Kings of the Earth<\/em> was recently published and has been nominated for the 2020 TopShelf Book Award. He also created the graphic novel Nick Pope<\/em> with the late Christopher Darling, and his short stories have appeared in numerous literary magazines, most recently Orson’s Review<\/em>. You can check out more of his work at christopher-stanton.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Chris Stanton     Ellen\u2019s husband Pete died in February. He owned and operated his own plant nursery, and there were still pots of ivy and succulents all over the house that were a constant reminder of him. Ellen was … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":8220,"menu_order":6,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-8226","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P15duy-28G","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8226","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8226"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8226\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8237,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8226\/revisions\/8237"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8220"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8226"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}