The Procession
By Sarah Dillard
Adelaide King had the longest hair not only in Martinsville but in all of Henry County, Virginia. It was confirmed by some of the high school boys who had gone to visit their cousins out of town. From what they saw of the other Black girls it was the truth. Down past her waist, Adelaide couldn’t remember a time she had cut her hair in all her fifteen years of living. But today was the day; she had grown tired of being known for something that wasn’t her.
“I need a change.” She spoke fiercely but with a smile that showed pure determination.
“That ain’t change; that’s a ruin and you know it.” Her friends surrounded her on the corner, hands hovering and wishing they could run a finger through her locks.
“You can’t ruin hair. That’s all it is, the stuff on our heads.” Adelaide furrowed her brows at the frowns she was met with. Despite them all being Black and living on their side of town, differences ran through. Hues of brown were all over, from one person so dark they were coal Black like the nearby mines to another caramel toned with green beneath. Hair textures ranged as well but Adelaide had the closest hair to a white woman’s than anyone had ever seen.
“Then ain’t nobody gon dance with you this year. You ready for that?” In town at Christmas, organizations held dances and Adelaide was always in the middle twisting and twirling with one man and then the next, each one different and yet each one treated the same—with kindness and demure respect.
“We’ll see when the leaves start falling from the trees.” Adelaide smiled again. On this summer afternoon she had decided that she was going to cut her hair shorter than it had ever been. A holiday party was months away. Plus, she was certain that people asked for her hand because it was a good one to hold onto—caring yet solid—not because she had running waves instead of kinky curls. Leaving her friends stunned, Adelaide went home to find her three sisters before walking to the barbershop to see Chappie and his scissors.
***
Trees grew fast in the Virginia sun. If it weren’t for the laborers trimming them down at a few cents an hour, one would barely be able to see the two-story homes of their neighbors. On the radio inside Ma’s house, news of another World War was spoken about with desperation through the static while the Black folks of Martinsville listened with a feigned earnestness. All their lives they’d been fighting to survive.
As Adelaide began her journey out her Ma’s front door with her sisters in tow, down the three concrete steps, and down the street she grabbed a green leaf off an oak tree and ripped it apart from its stems. Trailing behind, her youngest sister Ducie tried to do the same but could barely reach the branch. After two tries, she ran to catch up with the others.
Adelaide was the second child and that meant she walked to her own beat. Norma, the oldest, had followed all the rules placed in front of her like they were the only path to grow in; she always said grace before meals, kept her clothes ironed, and never once forgot to make-up the bed before going to school. Ducie was still in fear of Ma, worried over consequences that Adelaide had learned were never there. Roberta, the other middle sister, was coming into her own phase of deciding for herself the best way to live her life. Following behind Adelaide as they went up the hill by Albert Harris school, each sister wondered who was going to have to take the fault as Ma would find someone to blame and it most likely wouldn’t be Adelaide. Some days, the sisters wondered if her preferential treatment had to do with her high-yellow look. But those were dark days that didn’t surface often.
Whether her friends had told their neighbors or if one of her sisters revealed the destination, Adelaide didn’t know. But she was conscious of a group, at first no more than just a few, who were following the four of them on their way to the barbershop that was down the Black side of Fayette Street, or The Block as all the locals called it. The long boulevard ran across Martinsville from the Black side to the white with a clear division at the intersection where Darlene’s groceries for “Whites Only” stood parallel to Uncle Sam’s market for colored people.
The procession caused Adelaide to quicken her pace as she went back down the hill by Miss Pen’s. Looking towards the bottom of the slope, Adelaide could see the stone façade of the buildings reminding her that it was too late to turn back. When she twisted her neck to look at her sisters, she noticed the group following had grown to more than ten. She smiled at them with recognition; not over where she was going but over the years they had spent together no matter who they were. Adelaide had a connection to them all.
There were few trees on The Block where businesses lined either side of the street. Sun came unforgivingly down and everyone kept a kerchief tucked inside a pocket to wipe their sweat. Down the street, there was Dr. Matthews office, a taxi stand, and shops dedicated to the one item they sold. Past the café where people ate fried fish and stayed out past midnight, there was a barbershop sitting low—large front windows putting anyone who was inside on display. Adelaide could see it in the distance and her walk became more focused as if she was being pulled in, dragging those with her behind. In her determination, she could barely hear her sisters until they were nearly shouting.
“What’s Ma gonna say?” Ducie asked impatiently—walking with quick steps to keep up with her longer legged older sisters.
“It don’t matter. It’s my hair.” Adelaide replied sharply while keeping her chin up and eyes ahead.
“This ain’t ‘bout Ma. This all your pretty and you just gon let them cut it off like it’s nothing.” Roberta was still in disbelief. For years she had helped braid her sister’s hair before going to bed and for years she had wished it was hers. It was difficult not to notice the many compliments awarded to Adelaide for something that made her appear more white than Black. Not once had someone told Roberta that she had good hair. To her, this meant that what she had was bad.
“Let her do what she want. We ain’t the ones who gon have to deal with folks talkin’.” Norma never had much of an opinion when it came to what her younger sisters did or didn’t do. It was their life, she reasoned.
“And that’s the damn truth.” Adelaide walked on, ignoring Ducie’s look of shock at her use of a cuss word they weren’t supposed to say.
The coils of her sisters and friends were the typical textures one would see around the Black side of Martinsville. Adelaide stood out. Norma, her eldest sister, had a short bob of curls. Ducie, the youngest, had the same while Roberta’s waves never grew much past her shoulders. Adelaide felt as out of place walking alone on The Block as she did across segregation lines—sometimes just as unsafe. Her look was painfully coveted as much as it was despised.
“Now you cussin too! Already going to the barbershop. Sure you don’t wanna go to Aunt Pens? We bout to walk by…” Roberta chimed in.
“Nobody is getting involved whose gon just tell me ‘no,’ I’ll be walking around the whole Block for the rest of my life if I don’t get Chappie to fix it.”
“Boys don’t touch girls’ hair. I remember when Tyrone pulled on one of the pigtails Ma made for me that morning and by night she was at his mama’s house telling her the truth.” Ducie thought she knew facts and she was right; these were the facts of her life and the world she grew up in. After that polished pigtail came loosened from its poised hold, Ducie was teased by the other kids who said she was a broken see-saw with only one good knot on her head. Hair held a weight that wasn’t just on one’s scalp.
***
Adelaide’s decision had spread from those following dutifully behind, up and down the Block, and through the air like a wind. It flew across the Black side of town and into the homes of everyone who knew who she was. Martinsville was a small town, only six miles wide at the furthest stretch. Sharing stories of what neighbors and family were doing kept everyone close—kept everyone safe. Most importantly, it was something to do.
As Barbra-Jean waved a purple fan in front of her hot face, Tyrone came in through the front door causing the lace curtain to shake.
“Adelaide King’s gon cut her hair,” and with that a look of disbelief.
A few streets down, Shirley was waiting at the corner for her cousin when a group that included her uncle waved her down with excited nerves. For a moment, their faces caught the look of something grave and Shirley wondered what all the fuss was about. But thankfully there were smiles mixed in.
“Ima put a nickel on her ain’t doin it.”
“And I’ll raise ya nickel ten cents she go through.”
“Oh I gots to tell Joanne!” Then Shirley ran off down the tree-lined street, hair primmed and pulled back, forgetting her cousin.
***
By the time Adelaide crossed the road by the taxi stand, people were waiting on their front porches to join in the procession that followed her and the other King sisters. Shirley and her friends—standing amongst her uncle and cousin who lifted their caps to wipe their heads. Barbara-Jean sent a quick prayer to the Lord asking for some sense to reach this girl and young devoted men claimed she’d be just as beautiful. Coins were flipped for bets left and right with the odds about evenly split. Discussions lasted from house to road and the town gathered into a crowd. As everyone walked they talked about what it did or didn’t mean for Adelaide King to be cutting her hair. It was what she was known for.
The sun warmed the breeze and all that was left to cool were drips of sweat. Adelaide, crossing the intersection for the barbershop, pretended she didn’t notice the procession. Norma was the only one able to keep up the pace; Roberta and Ducie trailed behind, worried they’d get lost in the crowd.
Behind the large front windows, Chappie sat in one of the chairs and looked intently at the scissors and blades arranged for cutting hair. He knew Adelaide was on her way; not because she had told him the day before but because of the neighbors already waiting outside. One had popped his head inside the shop but before he could ask Chappie if Adelaide had come by, he was turned on his heels and sent back out to the curb. If he could have it his way, no one would be allowed to stand and watch outside. Late the night before, he had thought about curtains for the windows that went almost all the way from the floor to the ceiling—something his aunt could’ve made. But it was too late.
There was a lot to like about Adelaide besides her long hair. Chappie counted all that he could think about: her kindness, determination, and style. None of those came from her hair, he reasoned, and by now he couldn’t count how many heads he had cut or trimmed. He picked up the scissors from the table and spun the metal handle around his finger for a few rounds. Then, he held them tightly in his hand as he watched the bodies move slightly with conversation outside the window. Paint was chipping along the small sill; Chappie started to feel self-conscious. What if Adelaide thought it was messy and worn?
Some of the crowd outside were regulars stationed on small chairs; Chappie recognized them, had said ‘hi’ to them, but couldn’t bring himself to wait out there with them. And he was glad he hadn’t; as people joined, most were only there to see Adelaide cut her hair.
***
Walking through, voices called out:
“Ain’t this somethin’!”
“Oh she gon do it!”
and
“I’d be damned…”
But Adelaide continued on, straight to the empty chair that seemed to be ready and waiting for her. Norma was still by her side. Roberta and Ducie followed close behind, and stood on the tips of their toes to look at themselves in the mirror facing their sister. Their skin tones ranged from a tan brown like paper bags to a darker hue closer to the walnut table they had back at home. Framed by the glass, a portrait was created of the four sisters who—despite their differences—shared much that was the same.
Adelaide wanted to love herself without others perceiving that she thought she was better. She wanted to love herself without implying she loved the oppression that made people respond to her this way. She wanted to love herself, every part, through all their phases and iterations. It wasn’t about how she looked (although she thought she was beautiful no matter what); it was about how she felt and nothing or no one else.
The people outside the window—her neighbors and friends—shielded their eyes as the sun turned high in a cloudless sky. Those in the back put their hands on the shoulders of whoever was in front, craning their necks in order to get a good look. For years to follow, people would tell their account of the day Adelaide King cut her hair. A part of the event had to be seen or else their stories would lack climax.
Inside the barbershop, poised with his scissors close to his chest, Chappie hesitated—knowing Adelaide and her sisters, their Ma, and the rest of their family in Martinsville. Having been to the King’s home, laid brick by brick by their stone-mason father, cutting Adelaide’s hair was something that could come with communal repercussions. And he had a lot to tell this young woman who only had one thing on her mind.
“Cut it from here; I don’t need all this damn hair gettin’ in my way.” Again, Adelaide ignored Ducie’s look of horror at her cussing and tossed the length of her waves behind the chair. Despite the number of men pouring into the shop, they all left breath for the three King sisters to see what their dearest was about to do to herself. It was a pressure Norma felt in her back, making her stiff, yet she knew her younger sister had already decided. When Adelaide made up her mind, it was time.
“Ain’t nothin’ gon change your mind, huh? You just gon cut it all off.” Roberta didn’t understand. She yearned for the praise Adelaide received by relatives, friends, or even strangers. But even more she yearned for this freedom.
“It don’t make no difference no mo’, Bert. Let it go. Let her do it.” Norma put a reassuring hand on her little sister’s shoulder and tried to muster a smile.
“That’s right; it don’t make no difference ‘cause it’s just hair. My hair and it’ll grow back.” ‘As long as I want it,’ Adelaide thought to herself but didn’t want to start another argument.
“But what if it don’t and you look like a boy?” Ducie asked with wide eyes.
“No one here looks like a boy and y’all got shorter hair than I will.” Adelaide then turned to Chappie and nodded her head. “Just do it to here.” She held the ends of her waves with one hand while the other mimed the scissors. She was never going to wear it longer than where she marked again.
As the comb went through, men all throughout the barbershop were pleading with Adelaide not to go through with it.
“No, no, y’all don’t know what yous messing with!” One man said.
“Chappie, I’ll give yous a cut right where…” but he wasn’t able to finish the threat as his voice was drowned out by the others protesting against Adelaide’s decision.
Knowing she was beautiful because she knew what beauty was about—her kindness, heart, and intelligence—she faced forward in the chair after giving Chappie a quick wink. Her hair had trapped her in what people thought and society believed; this was a way to follow her own path and perhaps show a way for others.
With the first snip of Adelaide’s hair, a gasp left the crowd throughout the barbershop like they were breathing for the first time.
THE END
Author Bio: S.E. Dillard is an emerging writer living in New York City. She studied literary arts at Brown University and was a fellow at the Writers’ Institute. Her academic work has been published in The Columbia Social Work Review and at the Hawaii International Conference on System Sciences. Recently, she received her Master’s in social work with a focus in social justice and technology. Passionate about equity and diversity, she led a team coordinating a program for formerly incarcerated youth and collaborated with researchers on an app for expressing grief in the Black community. Empathic and organized, both of these roles expanded her abilities to actively listen and project manage.