I wanted red hair because there was a song by the band Rainer Maria, "dye your hair cherry red, move your bed under the window." And maybe it was also because of Angela in "My So-Called Life".
The boy I had a crush on drove me to the drugstore in his old, brown pickup and we picked out a box of fiery red. I sat backward on the toilet while he shook the bottle of paint and applied it to my too short hair. I shivered when the cold liquid ran down my scalp. Looking in the mirror, I marveled at the way I could become a slightly different person in such a short time.
Later, he would become my first real boyfriend and we would go through other hair colors. And tattoos. And bloody accidents. And drug addiction. And death.