Two
“I’m going to take a small hike and get some pictures in.” I offered.
“That sounds like fun.” Tyla responded, not fully invested.
They both knew that I like to spend my free time with my camera and some outdoor adventure.
They didn’t know that I’d been struggling with possibly quitting cosmetology.
I’d loved photography just as long as I’d loved cutting and dying hair.
When I was in high school, I would save up my allowance for hair dye and camera film.
Stephanie, my high school best friend, and I would spend an entire weekend experimenting with our hair and then we’d go find somewhere for me to take pictures.
She loved posing for them. She was a magnet to the center of attention. And I was perfectly happy behind the lens. We complimented each other perfectly.
And it went like that for almost five years.
After high school, when many of our friends made their way to college, we made our way to cosmetology school. We got a shitty studio apartment in the heart of Seattle. And we worked our asses off between getting in our hours in classes and serving at a dive bar less than a block from our apartment.
It seemed like that perfect dream. It really felt like we were going to make it.
Until she ditched me.
We were both only a matter of hours away from being able to take our certification exam. We both had the opportunity to get chairs at a prestigious boutique in Capitol Hill. And we were moments away from handing in our two-week’s-notices to the bar.
I was on my way home at about three-thirty in the morning. I couldn’t even tell which smelled worse, the lite beer spilled on my left sleeve or the tequila sloshing in my shoes. If it was safe enough, I would have been walking home with my eyes closed, I was so tired.
I remember making my way in to our tiny apartment and kicking off my shoes, groaning out to find out if Stephanie was still awake. When she didn’t answer, I peeked around the sheet we called a wall to give us each some privacy.
And that was when my stomach dropped out from underneath me. There was nothing. Not a stitch of clothing, no bed, no drawings on the wall, and no photos on the corkboard that was perfectly positioned between our two “rooms” so we could share it.
Nothing.
Not a damn thing.
Well, there was a sticky note stuck to my side of the corkboard.
Liz,
I’m sorry.
I had to go. If you were in my shoes, you would have done the same thing. I gave the landlord a check for next month’s rent. It should cover the full month.
Love,
Steph.
And that was it. My best friend deserted me in one of the loneliest and most expensive cities in the country.
Eventually, I found out that she was offered an opportunity at a salon in New York City. Apparently, it was her at-the-time boyfriend’s mother’s salon.
I haven’t heard from her in longer than we were friends for.
Five years.
And it still hurt like hell.
I hated cosmetology ever since because of it. Sure, I got my certification, got the chair at the salon, and worked there for three years.
I worked there through the flu, a few disastrous “relationships”, and a horrible owner. When I took the risk and left that salon to rent this chair at a much smaller salon, I knew my pay would suffer. But at least my mental health wasn’t in as big of a shitter.
Partly due to Penny. And partly due to The Roasted Bean.
The coffee shop was on my way to the salon and from the first cup, I was hooked.
I found it less than a year before, having been scared to try it out.
It was just a small shop, but the location was perfect.
The atmosphere was welcoming—not something I found often in the area.
And the coffee was well priced and always, always delicious.
The only thing that interrupted my routine was going to see Penny.
Ah, my masochistic but amazing therapist. I’ve had appointments with her every Tuesday morning for over a year. After my appointment, I make my way to get my coffee, head to the salon, work for four to six hours, and then either head home or walk somewhere. My camera is always in my bag these days.
There are precisely three things I look forward to most days:
My coffee. My camera. And the fact that it isn’t pouring rain every damn day. Because it’s summer in Seattle.
Where we go from mud and nothing but gray to sun barreling down on you and everything drying up. It doesn’t make sense. That’s why so many of us always have a light jacket—but never an umbrella.
Speaking of my camera and trudging through, Penny reminds me, yet again, that I shouldn’t let an opportunity slip by because I’m too scared. Especially because it’s a dream I’ve held for years at this point.
“Why haven’t you applied to work at that studio yet?” Penny asks. Her hands are crossed in her lap and her head is ever so slightly tilted.
“What makes you say I haven’t?” I ask rhetorically. We both know I haven’t. Again, I’m not good with change.
“Liz, what is the damage in applying?”
“What if I don’t get it?”
“What if you don’t?” She countered.
“I—” I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to.
By the end of the session, I was determined I would apply to the studio. I had to. I needed a change. Being terrified wasn’t enough to keep me from doing it anymore. Five years of cutting other people’s hair had done its damage to me.
Overall, it had been a decent half decade. I made connections. I’d even made one strong enough to call my closest friend, Brie. We had met when she took the chair that Stephanie would have had, if she hadn’t flown across the damn country on a whim.
We hit it off quickly and there were a few tears shed when I left that salon. She still worked there but hadn’t had the nightmare I had, luckily.
We tried to meet up whenever we could but despite being in the same neighborhood of the same city, we found it becoming increasingly difficult. She was in a serious relationship, and her family was dominating most of her free time.
Which is why I found myself sitting alone on the beach at Alki often.
I spent many of my afternoons looking for new places to photograph—and usually places that were more secluded.
But there was something about Alki that I just couldn’t get enough of.
I was finding myself here more and more lately and at first, I couldn’t figure out why.
But then it dawned on me. Alki was my sanctuary.
I could always rely on it. And it didn’t matter how many people were here or what the weather was.
I could disappear even when out in the open.