“I mean, seriously, what lady of taste could resist a shiny greenhead of hair like mine?”
“I stared at her black hair. It was shiny like the promises in magazines. ”
“People…ladies, I mean…they dye their hair sometimes,” I explained to him. “So one day they have red hair and another day they have brown hair. It doesn’t matter,” I said. “They’re still the same lady.”
“I could not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit, I suppose it is some taste of the original apple that remains still in our mouths.”
“. I can still see Ricky on that roof... the sunlight shining in his round dark eyes, eyes dark as the onyx stones on my mother’s silver bracelet. His shiny black hair was matted and shoulder-length. I wondered who cut his hair. My grandmother cut mine.”
“He tasted like sin made into wine: dark, heady, and impossible to resist.”