#oitnb6

Carol kept her head down and headed to the stall to pee, listening in on the conversations outside. Sometimes it grated on her how shallow some of these girls were, it’s like they didn’t know how to talk about anything but press on nails and Harrison Ford. As she finished her business, she headed out of the stall, the five girls down to three: Rizz and two of Barb’s other lackeys. Carol washed her hands and felt a shoulder slam hard into her, making her almost lose her balance. 

“Watch where you’re going, Denning,” the girl hissed. The other girl giggled, turning to friend whispering, “OhmiGOD, did you see her glasses? Nerd-o-fucking-rama. No wonder nobody talks to her, she’s a total loser,” loud enough for her to hear as they left. Rizzo didn’t react to the shuffle, she had lit her cigarette and traded in her spray can for her signature tube of Revlon Fire & Ice. Carol shook her head and rinsed her hands.

“You know,” Rizzo started, still looking in the mirror, her voice was low, bored, and raspy, “You could always tell them to fuck off,” she expertly carved the bullet over the curves of her top lip, “maybe they’d stop screwing with you.” 

Carol looked around to see if she was talking to somebody else; but there was nobody else. She was talking to her. Holy shit. Rizzo tapped the lipstick to her bottom lip and smacked her lips together, letting out a big exasperated sigh before saying, “Or y’know, do something different with your hair if you don’t want them to call you a dweeb. I mean, whose still wearing a middle part? Did I miss the memo that we were going back to ‘78 or something?” Rizzo put her lipstick into her purse and fluffed her curly permed hair, still not looking at Carol while she spoke -- her eyes fixed on her reflection. She took a drag of her cigarette and put it out on the wall next to the mirror and put the left over half in her cropped leather jacket pocket. She turned to look at Carol and leaned a full hip against the sink next to her and crossed her arms while she surveyed her subject. Carol’s ears got hot, she couldn’t tell if it was because she was mad that Rizzo said her hair was shitty or if it was the way she could really fill out a pair of disco pants. 

“I’m feeling particularly generous today, Denning, so I’m gonna help you out,” she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a teasing comb and her Elnett hairspray. She put her fingers through Carol’s hair and Carol’s heart raced at her touch, she was so gentle. She looked in the mirror while Rizzo worked from behind her, tossing her hair into a deep side part and teasing and spraying the underside to give her normally flat mousey hair some serious volume. Rizzo got in front of her, sprayed her fingers with hairspray and pushed her hair back at the root. When Rizzo stepped back behind her, they both admired her handy work. Carol had never really seen her own face before, not like this. Her hair was high and bouncy but still coiffed -- not too Barb looking. She looked more mature, put together, even sort of...hot, by her own standards.

“Wow Rizz it looks -- like, really -- totally awesome,” she said with a smile in the mirror, letting her hand explore the new height. 

“Christ, Carol, ‘totally awesome’? Gag me with a spoon, you sound like your sister,” Rizzo rolled her eyes while hiking her purse over her shoulder turning to leave the bathroom, “It looks fuckin’ bitchin’.” 

Carol got close to the mirror as Rizzo left and repeated the words softly to herself with a smile, a new confidence building inside of her, “Fuckin’ bitchin’.” 

--

That following Sunday Carol took the afternoon to practice her new hairstyle for school the next day, going through the two cans of hairspray in the bathroom before getting the teasing and height just right. Sure, people had commented on it, everyone in art class thought it looked awesome; the boys in chess club gave her a second glance: but she wanted to hear Rizzo tell her she was fuckin’ bitchin’ again. She played the pretend scenario of her walking into Calculus with her new ‘do over and over -- aching to get a smile or a nod in her direction. Acceptance. She just wanted to be cool. 

After a three hour hair battle in the bathroom the girls got called for dinner, Carol following after Debbie into the kitchen. Mr. Denning was on his fourth Miller High Life of the night, already showing signs of a woozy bad mood. Carol sat across from him, avoiding his gaze, resting her head on her hands with her elbows on the table. 

“CAROL!” Barb yelled from upstairs, suddenly the hard thumps from her sister running down the stairs rang through the hallway. 

“You’re such a little THEIF, Care!” Barb lunged at Carol, catching her at the shoulders to pull her out of the kitchen chair. 

“I didn’t do shit, Barbie!” Carol spat back. Their dad stood up, finding his balance, leaning one hand on the table. 

“Language, Carol,” their mom hissed, passively serving Debbie her dinner. 

“Carol used up the two cans of hairspray I had left and she didn’t even ASK! Carol doesn’t even DO HER HAIR! I have a date tonight and my hair looks so flat!” Barb used her desperate angry voice, letting it break at the end. This was  her favorite way to manipulate her parents to take her side. 

“I didn’t take SHIT, and even if I DID, the hairspray is for EVERYBODY. It was probably all used up for Debbie’s last meet, or did all the aerosol soak up your last fucking BRAIN CELL?” Carol growled, shoving Barb hard in the chest. Barb shoved her back, causing Carol to knock over the chair she was just sitting in. The chair bumped the table, which caused Mr. Denning’s fifth Miller High Life to spill -- Mrs. Denning ushered Debbie out of the kitchen and the two hid out in the living room. 

“Who’re you even trying to look good for Carol? It’s not like anyone fucking likes you!” Barb grabbed Carol by the hair, “And your hair looks like shit.” 

“Not as bad as your fucking horse face looks,” she said, punching her in the stomach to get her sister to release her. 

“ENOUGH,” Mr. Denning slurred out sternly. Both girls let go of each other, Barb hunched over pretending to be much more hurt than she actually was. Their father advanced on them -- mostly on Carol -- and replaced Barb’s hand with his own into her hair. With a strong arm, he tossed her by the hair hard into the wall away from Barb. It knocked the wind out of her. 

“Daddy, I just wanted to look good for Josh tonight,” Barb pushed out a fake tear, looking at her dad with her ‘Bambi’ eyes. 

“Look what you did, Carol,” her dad yelled, “You ruined your sister’s whole night just to make your hair look like a damn rat’s nest. You think boys are gonna like that attitude? No one’s ever gonna wanna deal with that.” 

“But dad I--” Carol started. 

“I’m not done, Carol,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he approacher her. He shoved her hard into the wall again, “If don’t you want a shiner like you got last month, you’ll go to Revco with your allowance and get your sister more hairspray.” 

“I didn’t. Take. Her stupid. HAIRSPRAY,” Carol yelled, but was met with a hard smack to the face, her glasses hitting the floor from the force. 

“Yeah, see if those boys wanna look at ya now with that beating all over your face. Your hair looks like shit Carol and you got a real personality to match it,” her dad bellowed, shoving her out of the kitchen into the hallway. Carol felt tears sting her eyes as her dad threw her glasses at her, “And you can go without dinner tonight, I don’t even wanna look at you.” 

Carol felt the first tear slip down her cheek and she hurried up to the bathroom, Barb hot on her heels. Carol went to shut to door in her face, but Barb caught it right before it closed.

“See Care, I’m always gonna win. Who were you even trying to do your hair for? Robin’s bitch squad? They’re never gonna think you’re cool, Carol. No one wants you, not at school, not even Dad,” her voice was calm and collected, her crocodile tears completely dried up, “Pfft. Especially not with that grody fucking hair.” 

Carol stared blankly at the hallway after she walked away, hearing things settle downstairs. Her mom apologizing to Debbie, Barb coming down and getting coddled. Carol’s jaw clenched, trying hard to keep herself from crying. She closed the door to the bathroom and locked it, put her glasses back on and looked at her reflection. Her cheek was a bright red, a handprint outlined across her face. Her eyes tinged pink, her nose swollen with snot, her lip slightly split. Her hair, now frizzed and splayed everywhere, looked like shit. 

“Did you see her glasses? Nerd-o-fucking-rama.”

“I mean, whose still wearing a middle part?” 

“No wonder nobody talks to her, she’s a total loser.”

“It’s not like anyone fucking likes you.” 

“Your hair looks like shit and you got a real personality to match it.” 

“No one wants you, not at school, not even Dad.” 

Carol replayed her day in her head and grabbed the brush sitting on the side of the sink. She stared in the mirror in anger, choking through tears as she raked the brush hard through her hair. Her body racking with sobs as each pass snagged and pulled at her head, her scalp on fire. “You look like shit, you look so fucking stupid, you always look so fucking stupid,” she yelled to herself.

The brush got caught in a knot in her hair, stuck deep within the frizz. Her hand slipped and the brush hung there off of her head. “You look like such a fucking idiot.” She yanked hard on the brush, taking some hair with it and with an angry yell smashed it against the mirror over and over again, tears pouring out of her, shaking as she did it. The mirror splintered, and the shards fell into the sink -- she looked down into them and blood dripped from her hand onto the pieces. She heard her dad yell something from downstairs and in defeat she sat on the edge of the bathtub and cried. 

--

FEBRUARY 1987 

“Christ, Carol. That was a fucking buzzkill memoir,” SJ said, looking at her through the mirror in the makeshift salon. One twin was shaping Carol’s hair, the other filing Sarah’s nails down. She wasn’t expecting a life story when she asked why Carol always wore her hair the same way.

“I wore a middle part until the first hearing. The attorney thought the hairstyle Rizz gave me made me look more put together and trendy, like -- how could this cute girl be a psycho killer,” Carol explained, “Plus, I know it still pisses off Barb.” 

Carol left out a lot of the details, like the crying and the feelings and Rizzo’s fat ass. Sarah didn’t have to know that, she didn’t even tell that whole story to Fr-- well, fuck Freida. 

“What did Robin say the next day?” Sarah asked, “When you came into class looking like a nerd?” 

Carol slowly turned her head and cocked it to the side, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard what I said, Denning,” she smiled mischievously while admiring her nails. 

Carol resettled into her chair, “Rizzo didn’t say anything, she got suspended and ended up dropping the class. Didn’t see her around much after that.” 

“That sucks, seems like things might’ve ended a little different for you y’know,” SJ said, putting her attention back at the mirror, looking at Carol. Denning thought about the following months up until her and Barb killed Debbie, the incredible loneliness, the ache to feel like she mattered. She had that here in prison: being feared, being important, being powerful -- valued.