I was like the other girls once. Our hair was straight and sleek and our bodies also. In fourth grade they mocked me for wearing a bra. My hair suddenly believed a humid day had come. And never left. At 12, I went to a hair salon. All would be made right now. My hair would swing and shine like the ladies’ in commercials. But it did not. It was rounded, full-bodied. “I thought it would be straighter,” I told the hairdresser. “Well, your hair’s naturally bushy,” she replied. For five years I never let it down from its ponytail.