The Lost Bobby Pin

In honor of Black History Month, I was tasked with writing a post that was related to being Black. Initially, I planned on doing a poetry analysis on Maya Angelou's "The Caged Bird" (a poem I really recommend), then I stumbled upon the short film "Hair Love". That video was the visual representation of some of my natural hair mornings when I was 13 years old. It alone inspired me to write a short story that followed a similar storyline about the universal experience of a natural bad hair day. Some parts of the story feature me trying to be comical, showing how your natural hair accessories/products often wind up in the most ironical of places.

I do hope you enjoy the story of The Lost Bobby Pin.

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The fields of lavenders carpeted the palms of my feet as I frolicked through the rolling hills. The air was scented with fumes of fresh Manuka honey, and decorated with the sounds of the busy bees. I spun around in a circle in the middle of the grass-covered valley, until the rush overtook my body and I found myself laying down out of exhaustion, exhaling and inhaling the dandelion lying on the tip of my wide nose. I placed my hands on the grass, caressing it in attempts to make “snow angels”. After each stroke, I noticed the feel of the greenery slowly transform from prickly to something sharp- almost like a bobby pin. The moment of tranquility was disturbed by the faint sound of a repeated “radar” audio. I was tempted to start dancing to it, until the sound became louder and more suffocating with each second.

My eyes opened, and the valley dreamscape fizzled away from my reality. I violently rubbed my eyes in a desperate attempt to get rid of the crust hiding in the corners. Just when my vision had cleared, I was staring at my burgundy bonnet on the floor of my room. For a second, I wondered how did it manage to get on the floor from my head? Then I realized, I slept a full 8 hours of twists and turns with no form of protection for my type 4 hair.

I sprung up from my unmade bed and jumped over the bottles of empty “As I Am” containers, abruptly opening the door to my bathroom. I fearfully turned on the lights, and shrieked out of horror. I looked like the offspring of a porcupine and pennywise the clown: black edition. My hair was matted in the back, following the harsh design of a carpet, as it defied Newton’s universal laws of gravity. My coils were misplaced, and shriveled, in desperate need for some form of curling moisturizer. I scrunched my face as I hesitantly brought up my hands to feel different clumps of my hair- just to make sure the monstrosity I was seeing was in fact real.

UGHHHHHHHH.

The rush of frustration overcame me as I buried my face in my wrinkly hands. How could I possibly forget to style my hair after washing it last night??

I felt so stupid and stressed. My eyes started welling up with tears of disappointment as I scanned the bathroom for some sort of natural hair fix. I knew how much the presentation of my hair mattered to me, so how could I be so dense as to make such a mess up. The tear that was forming in my eye finally dropped to the sink counter, mixing with some of the conditioner residue.

I whipped out my phone from its charging port, and entered the realm of Youtube. “Quick Wash ’N Go Fixes for Type 4 Hair” and of course, to my luck, yellow-boned YouTubers with 3A loose curls flooded my phone screen. Watching them talk about their 20 minute routines, that deeply relied on their Dyson diffusers, only frustrated me more. My phone flung from the tip of my creased fingers onto my scattered bed, and I followed suit as I sunk myself into my pillows.

Just then, the greatest idea popped into my head. I’ll bobby pin it! I sprung from my realm of depression in a mission to find 4 black bobbies to hold my stubborn hair up in a pineapple. Opening my haircare drawer in the bathroom, I was lucky to find 1…2…3… ah shit. Of course, to keep up with the spirit of the bad hair day, I have mysteriously ran out of bobby pins. I traversed through my field of memories to try and pinpoint where I could’ve possibly lost this pin.

Could it be in my clothes drawer? Did I lend it out to my sister? Is it with my school stuff??

After checking all those possibilities, there was not a single bobby pin turn out. I was bobby pin-less and was going to have to go throughout the entire 24 hours resembling Chucky’s long lost fraternal twin. Call us Barney and James from HIMYM- except James hair wasn’t as unkempt.

The loudest groan of exasperation was let out from my diaphragm as I paced around my room struggling to not trip in the faces of millions of products that decorated the floor. Unfortunately, my attempts were futile as I splatted on my carpeted floor. A pain-ridden scream was let out, and although muffled by the floor, I am pretty sure the entire neighborhood could hear my wailing. I brought my head up from my screaming sesh and was met with a sketch of a lavender-filled valley. Just then, my memory hit me like a truck.

Once again, I found myself springing up from my state of depression on another bobby pin endeavor. Opening my bed-side window to my mini-balcony garden, the lost bobby pin that was attached to the leaves of my plants was staring back at me. I was overwhelmed by a spirit of happiness that I was found kissing my plants, leaving a taste of drenched soil on my tastebuds.

Walking back to the bathroom in a state of triumph and relief, I began to carefully bobby pin my matted hair. One…Two…Three….Fo-Fo…ah shit. Once again, the mystery of bobby pins has won. My smile immediately turned upside down when I eyed the mulish bobby pin, which appeared to be crooked. At that point, I had spent the last 50 minutes of my morning grunting, that I ran out of all my expressions of frustration.

I blew raspberries, and instead, picked up my burgundy bonnet and plopped it on my coiled hair- accepting my defeat. I have succumbed to the powers of natural hair, and don’t think I am meant to battle it…EVER AGAIN.

After the realization, I made my way to my room-calendar and pulled out the lavender scented violet erasable marker. I pulled off the cap, and crossed off the 28th of February. Just then, a dandelion flew in from my bed-side window, and landed on the tip of my wide-nose. I blew on it, and wished for better hair days, and no more lost bobby pins.