Page 12 of Tainted Love

“Is that your natural hair color?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. A sense of apprehension washes over me as I wonder if I’m crossing a boundary with such a personal question.

She responds easily, “Nah,” and sits on her bed, making it creak slightly under her weight. “I have dark brown hair, darker than yours, but not black.” Her voice is smooth and confident.

A thought pops into my head, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I think I would like to color my hair.” My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I realize how forward and impulsive I must sound.

“How old are you again?” she asks, her expression curious yet gentle.

“Almost twelve,” I reply, standing taller to exude confidence despite feeling small and inexperienced.

“You may be a bit young for that,” she advises. “You remind me of my sister,” she adds warmly.

Intrigued, I ask, “In what way?”

Her smile widens, dimples appearing on her cheeks. “You’re cute and curious.”

“I’d much rather be mysterious,” I reply, causing her to release a giggle that dances through the air like wind chimes. Lydia’s eyes sparkle with curiosity as she asks, “What do you think your parents would say about you coloring your hair?”

I shrug nonchalantly. “As long as it’s not permanent, I don’t think they’d mind.”

A mischievous grin spreads across her face as she leans in closer. “Tell you what,” she says. “If they say yes, I’ll take you to get some hair color, and we can do it before I leave.”

My heart races at the thought of changing my appearance with someone who is so inherently cool. “When do you turn eighteen?” I ask.

“End of summer,” she replies, mindlessly tracing the cover of one of her albums with her black-painted fingernail. “As long as I have a full-time job and can provide for them, I can try to get custody of my little brother and sister.”

“Are you mad at them?” I blurt out without thinking. “Your parents, I mean.”

She pauses, pursing her lips as if contemplating my question. “I used to be,” she admits. “But not anymore.”

“What changed?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I did,” she says firmly. “I was angry and resentful toward my parents when I was younger. I was heading down the same destructive path as them without realizing it. But then, one day, something sparked within me, and I realized I had a choice. I could continue down their path or make something more of myself. And I chose the latter.”

Feeling emboldened by Lydia’s openness and honesty, I blurt out something that surprises me. “I’m adopted,” I confess.

Her eyebrows raise in surprise, but there is no judgment in her expression. “Are you mad at your birth mom?” she asks softly.

I shake my head, feeling a swell of gratitude for the woman who made the difficult choice to give me a chance at a better life. “No,” I reply. “I’m actually really grateful. Who knows where I'd be if she hadn’t given me up.”

Lydia nods in understanding, her voice gentle as she says, “That’s true. But it’s also okay to feel sad sometimes. All adoption, no matter how wonderful, starts with loss.”

I nod in agreement, a small smile forming on my lips.

“You’re a cool kid, Sascha,” Lydia says with genuine admiration, and I can’t help but beam under her praise.

Summer vacation slipped through our fingers like sand, leaving memories of lazy days and warm nights. I spent a lot of time with Lydia, talking to her about life, plans, family, art, music, boys, and everything else under the sun.

As the first day of middle school looms closer, anticipation and nerves churn in my stomach. Not only am I about to embark on a new adventure in middle school, but Lydia will be moving on, too. In four short days, she’ll turn eighteen and pack up her bags to start a new life on her terms.

My parents have repeatedly asked her if she wants to stay with us for a while longer, but she’s eager to get out on her own, even if that means couch surfing until she can get her own place. To be honest, I’d probably feel the same way if I grew up the way she did, with no freedom or independence, all of my choices taken away by my parents’ mistakes.

Excitement bubbles in my chest as I wait for her to come home from work. Today is the day I’ve been eagerly anticipating all summer. I finally got up the nerve to ask my parents about coloring my hair last month. After much consideration, they gave me their approval. Their only condition was that I wait until the end of summer to make sure it’s something I still want to do.

There have been changes in me over the past few months, some of them reflected in my room, where I spend most of my time. Posters of my new favorite bands, such as Bauhaus, Siouxsie & the Banshees, and Echo & the Bunnymen, adorn the walls. My musical tastes have shifted to darker, moodier tones—something my dad has jokingly noted.

My clothing choices are a bit darker as well. Lydia’s edgy style has rubbed off on me.

I’m not trying to change who I am, exactly. It’s more of an exploration, a journey to discover who I want to be since the person I used to be no longer interests me.