Chaya Tong
A Perfect Match My grandfather says he has a weakness for curly hair. “I wish you had curls like your mother,” he says. My mom has tight black curls that frame her face. “Wish she didn’t straighten it,” he mutters. I agree. She hates it. I can’t remember the last time she wore it natural in public. I ask the hairdresser if she can quickly curl my hair after the cut. “For my grandfather,” I say. As she twirls my hair around the curling iron, she comments that her father loved curls too. “He recently passed.” She stops to wipe her eyes. When I get home, I eagerly run to my grandfather where he sits on the front step. I shake my hair out and he smiles, patting my head without a word. “Look, it’s curly,” I say. “Better,” he nods, “much better.” I feel proud and a little stung before I remember: my grandmother’s hair is straight. I point this out and he shrugs nonchalantly. It takes me a moment to realize that the first time he saw her was at their wedding. He gets up to go inside. I’m left wondering if he would have picked a woman with curls.
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