when apollo was in foster care, he had a younger “sibling” named elizabeth. she was small; a premature baby, his foster mother would coo, tiny but with a powerful set of lungs and fiery head of red hair. it shone in the sun when she played tag with the others, cascaded down her back and got everywhere when she sat next to apollo, learned english with him and listened to him stutter word after word from the workbook that his elder siblings had worked out of when they were 6, while he learned at 9.
their foster mother was often preoccupied, balancing so many children in a cluttered, busy house that had high ceilings that towered above them, and elizabeth’s mane of red, long hair went untouched most days, as it was rare their mother had a moment to spare for fussing over something like her hair. one day, she had come back looking so miserable with her hair hanging in her face, had come to apollo and said, “polly, braid it.” he had been at a loss, but took her hair in his clumsy, chubby hands and did his best to weave it together into something resembling the intricate designs that his elder sister had done.
( in the end, he’d only tangled it and pinned it in place, but she’d turned and smiled at him so brightly. the next day, while she was at school, he spent hours shirking his homeschooling and watching blurry videos of fingers moving so deftly he could barely keep it. she came home, and he did her hair up in a sloppy french braid, and impossibly, her smile was even bigger than it had been before. )
elizabeth had been adopted out of foster care. but she never went to school without her hair done up a day after that, and now, as athena lies reclined on the WAA couch, apollo settled on the stiff plastic chair behind her, he remembers elizabeth’s bright smile, her shock of red hair twisted and coiffed gently around her face.
‘ ‘thena. tell me if this is weird, but i’m gonna braid your hair. ‘
with a scrape, he scoots his chair up, gathering her hair in one hand and setting about twining the strands together, careful to keep his fingers gentle. he works in silence, doesn’t say anything as athena continues to read, gently nudging her head this way and that when he needs her to, and once he murmurs, “done,” and lets go of her hair, lets it fall onto her back and shoulders. athena closes her law book, touches at it with a gloved hand. then, she turns around, and smiles at him so, so brightly.
