God's Country

Miranda sat on the edge of the cheap, squishy motel bed. She stripped the red nail polish from her fingers and toes, creating a small mound of red-stained cotton on the brown shag carpet. The stench of nail polish remover overpowered even the stench of old cigarettes that lingered in paint, carpet and drapes. Lily rolled back and forth on the other bed, clutching her teddy bear, watching TV and holding her nose.

For just a minute, she missed Boo Radley with a sharp pang. She wanted to tell him about Doreen, and being mistaken for a hooer. She could hear his deep, appreciative laugh as though he were there in the room with her. Some things she just couldn’t share with Lily. She finished her nails with a last swipe and dumped the soaked cotton in the bathroom, where she could open the window and shut the door.

She looked at herself in the mirror. That shocking red hair. She needed a haircut and professional dye job. She checked her watch. It was only 5:30pm and Lily wasn’t hungry yet. There was time. She put on a more typical Miranda outfit – jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers – and put Lily back in the Escort, which she planned to trade in the morning. She drove past three or four mini-malls until she found one with a Supercuts. There was a 15 minute wait, so she flipped through magazines, looking for a good hairstyle. She had no idea what might look good on her.

“I need to get this color out,” she said, settling into the cold vinyl chair, a plastic bib cinched tight around her throat.

“Hon, there are three things you can do: grow it out, cut it off, or dye over it.” The thin young man had colorful spiked hair and artful holes cut in his acid-washed jeans. He cracked his gum at her. “What do you want?”

“Uh, dye it black, I guess,” she said. “And then cut it off.”

He looked at her skeptically, plastic comb poised. “All this gorgeous hair? Right off? You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess. Hon, what I don’t want is you, tomorrow morning, marching back in here and screaming that I butchered you. You understand me?” Miranda thought the man might be older than he looked. There was a weariness of experience in his voice that made her think the youthful punk act was just…an act.

“I understand. I just want a big change. Something pretty dramatic.”

“If you’re sure, then.” He walked around, looking at her consideringly, pulling her hair back from her face. “How do you feel about like a retro pixie cut?”

“As long as it looks reasonably professional,” she said.

“Professional what, hon? Wrestler?” He had a loud honking laugh.

She smiled slightly. Don’t piss off the man with scissors in his hand. “Nurse, actually.” She saw no harm in telling the truth. Pursuing cops were unlikely to canvass every salon in Phoenix.

“Really? Well, I’m sure you restarted a few hearts with this color!” He honked again, then got to work. He chopped her hair off raggedly at the neck, which startled Miranda.

“Normally, you color before you cut, because the new ends soak up extra color. But there’s no point in coloring this whole crazy mess of hair, hon, and I’ll be cutting off lots more, so don’t you worry. I won’t leave you like this!” He bustled into the back and came back with a wheeled tray. His butterfly hands fluttered over the various implements and powders, mixing something thick and green-looking in a bowl and then painting it onto her hair in broad strokes. Lily sat on the floor of the waiting area, staring at Miranda with a curiously adult interest on her little face.

“You said black, right?” Honk. “Cuz you know that dyed black never looks like natural black. Of course, if you change your mind…too late!!” Honk, honk.

“It’s ok. Unnatural black is fine.”

The man glanced over at the waiting area, where Lily was still fixed on Miranda.

“Is that your little boy?”

“Yes. Um, what’s your name?”

“Sorry, hon, forgot to introduce myself! Where’s my brain? I’m Harrison. And you?”

“Sabrina,” she said, almost naturally.

“Oh, what a great name! I loved Bewitched!” He rolled on , chattering about 70s TV shows and the fashion habits of celebrities, including, of course, a critique of their hairstyles. It didn’t require much from Miranda, who was not permitted even to nod, as it changed the careful angle of her head. She tried to do as she was told, breathing shallowly as the dye fumes penetrated the air around her. Why was beauty such a smelly business?

She sat under a plastic cap for what seemed like forever while Harrison chopped away at someone else’s problems. A slow drip around her hairline drove her crazy and she surreptitiously swiped at it with a tissue. Harrison came by to check on her and swatted her hand as she moved it involuntarily to adjust the cotton wadding that protected her ears and forehead.

“It’s fine, hon, just leave it,” he said. She kept glancing over at Lily, worrying that she was bored, that she was breathing these terrible fumes and damaging her growing brain. That she would walk out the door and run into the street. But she just watched Miranda and the other patrons. She flipped through magazines. After awhile, she curled up on the hard red sofa and went to sleep. No child could be so well-behaved. Miranda then worried that she would grow up to be a serial killer.

“All righty, rinse and condition!” Miranda was taken to a sink where pleasantly warm water was poured over her head and ears, while Harrison’s surprisingly strong fingers pulled and squeezed out the dye. She shut her eyes, thinking of how she used to do this for Rick. Harrison slathered something minty-smelling in her shorn locks and left her again. This was taking longer than she’d thought. It had only taken her about half an hour to put the red in. It was already almost an hour since she’d arrived, and she hadn’t even started getting her hair actually cut yet. Maybe she didn’t really need much of a haircut.

But then she saw herself in a mirror. The black was harsh against her skin, making her look paler, her eyes looking a haunting honey-gold color instead of their usual brown. The ragged ends of her hair made her look like a witch. She sighed and resigned herself to more time in the chair as he turned her back away from the mirror. Which is good, because in fact it took forever. Harrison was a perfectionist. And short hair, as he said, was much more challenging than long hair, because you could really see the cut. From all angles.

So she tilted her head back and forward while he pumped her up and down in the chair, chattering all the while. She felt the cold slice of metal as he slid the scissors next to her ear, down the side of her cheek, across her forehead, on the back of her neck. Her head felt strange, light. She could feel the push of the air-conditioning against her scalp and started to worry.

Lily was still fast asleep, which was a blessing, but also meant she’d be up late tonight. Her sleep schedule was all awry anyway, what with sleeping in the car and all. It didn’t matter. They’d be there tomorrow. She could get her back into a routine. Everything would be fine.

“There, hon, didn’t I tell you everything would be fine?” Harrison turned her around with a flourish, handing her a hand-mirror.

Miranda stared at herself. She looked different, all right. Her hair was cut sleekly to her head, long bangs sweeping her forehead, leaning to one side. It was black and stark, but extremely sophisticated. She looked like a city woman, who would wear long winter coats, and scarves, and boots with skinny heels.
It was in some ways a boyish haircut, but somehow, it pointed up Miranda’s delicate feminine features. Her weight loss had made the bones in her face more prominent, her eyes bigger, her round cheeks slightly hollowed.

“Wow,” she said. “That’s fantastic.” She couldn’t imagine looking less like herself.

She tipped Harrison generously, which made him smile, showing off a broken tooth, which actually seemed to make him slightly more attractive.

“Come back in about 6 weeks, hon,” he said. “Haircut like that requires regular maintenance!”

She laughed and promised, picking up the sleeping Lily without waking her. She had promised her a restaurant dinner, though, and took her to one, a nice-looking steak place not far from the motel. She felt a little silly in her fancy haircut, wearing jeans and sneakers, but what the heck. Lily clung sleepily to her hand.

The maitre d’ sat them at an out of the way table behind a large plant, which suited Miranda just fine. She ordered a steak, and some grilled chicken and vegetables for Lily, requesting that it be diced in the kitchen, which they happily agreed to. Toddlers wielding steak knives seemed to make them nervous.

Miranda even sipped a glass of chardonnay, which she knew was the wrong thing to drink with steak, but she liked it. She enjoyed a rare moment of well-being, watching Lily/Louie eat careful little bites from her plate with her fingers. Miranda knew she’d have to teach her proper utensil use at some point, but she was so neat about the way she ate with her hands that it simply hadn’t presented much of a problem. Even the waiters smiled at her as she perched on her booster seat, looking both solemn and hungry, focusing intently on the food.

Miranda stared regretfully at the last sip of wine in her glass. “All gone,” she said to Lily in a mock-mournful tone. “All gone.”

“I’d be happy to buy you another,” said an amused male voice. Miranda turned, flushing. A handsome fortyish man stood by her table, apparently trapped in the aisle by an overloaded waiter. He had dark olive skin and the thick black hair she associated with Rick and his family.

“Are you an Indian?” she blurted, then put out her hands as his face hardened. “No, I mean, I’m sorry. I’m part Navajo and I’m on my way to the reservation. I just thought….”

He looked at her thoughtfully, then extended his hand. “Paul Mendoza,” he said. “I am Navajo.”

“Sa…Miranda…Gonzalez,” she said awkwardly, wishing she had thought out this whole name issue ahead of time. “Please, if you aren’t with someone,” she indicated the empty seat at their table, still flushing.

He sat carefully. “Thank you.” He waved down the waiter and ordered a shrimp appetizer and a glass of wine. “And another for the lady, as well.”

“Oh, no,” said Miranda, covering her glass with her hand. “I have to drive the little one home, I’m fine, really.” She frowned, hoping he wasn’t thinking she was coming on to him.

“And who is this?” he said, waving his hand at Lily, who, surprisingly, waved back.

“That’s Louie,” she said shortly. “So, Paul, what are you doing in Phoenix?” She had been so excited at the opportunity to question an actual Navajo that she had forgotten how awkward talking to a complete stranger can be. And how dangerous. She couldn’t screw up now, because she might very well run into this man again. Any lies she told could turn against her. Any truths, as well. She suddenly wished she had allowed him to buy her another glass of wine.

“I’m in town on business.”

“Do you live on the reservation?”

“Most of the time. And what about you?” he turned the conversation smoothly towards her. “Why are you going there?”

“Oh, my grandmother was Navajo, she grew up there. She died recently, and she always wanted me to visit. This turned out to be a convenient time, so….” True enough.

Paul’s food arrived. He took a sip of wine before responding. “So you’re not planning to stay.”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” she said, smiling. He moved on to other topics. Miranda wanted desperately to ask him all sorts of technical questions about the reservation and Navajo law, but she slowly realized exactly how telling most of her questions would be. Paul seemed nice, but she didn’t know him at all. She couldn’t trust anyone. Maybe she’d stay an extra day in Phoenix and make use of the public library.

He finished his shrimp just as she took her last sip of coffee. He paid the whole check, refusing her offer to pay their share. “No, no. I wasn’t expecting company and you have both been delightful. Thank you so much for asking me to join you.”

“Thank you so much for dinner,” she said. They stood and shook hands.

“I hope to see you again soon,” said Paul, escorting her and Lily towards the door. “What did you say you did again?”

“Oh, I’m a nurse,” she said.

He pulled a card out of his pocket and wrote a number on the back of it. “Here’s my card, and the number on the back is my sister Rosalie’s number. She works at the clinic in ____. Give her a call, if you’re looking for a job. And give me a call when you get settled. I’ll be glad to know you’re doing well.”

“Thank you again,” said Miranda, shifting Lily to the opposite hip to take the card. They parted ways cordially. Miranda suddenly felt hopeful as she belted Lily into the car seat. She had a contact, a job lead. A way in.