“Please just tell me it’s not real. Tell me it’s just the light, or that it’s some kind of illusion. It can’t be.” With every word I say, my voice trembles more. “Tell me my hair is not green!” My voice goes from almost shattering to pieces to panicked screams.
She just looks at me with her sad, sorry eyes.
I get the towel of my head and throw it against the wall. I pull at my hair with both hands, hoping that somehow it’s not my real hair, that it’s a wig. But it’s not. This is actually happening.
“I am really sorry, Lena,” she whispers, “something has gone wrong. The dye must have had some weird side-effect…” She starts rambling about pigments and hair, but I am not listening anymore. The last thing I hear is “this wasn’t supposed to happen.” She searches the room for the bottle and starts reading the inscriptions.
I am frantically trying to figure out ways to get out of this messy situation. With unsteady feet I walk up and down the room, my mind is whirling. I could try to hide it, but hiding a meter long of green hair is nearly impossible. I could call in sick, but I have to get on stage in five minutes. And this is my first ever performance. I’ve been working for this for years. I can’t cancel it now.
I have to face it.
That is the only thing I can do.
With a deep breath, I steady my feet, straighten my shoulders and look up. What is it they say? If you can’t be brave, just pretend you are, because no-one will know the difference?
So that’s what I’m going to do. Be brave.