I stood at the mirror and traced my childhood with my finger along the white roots that appeared in my part. I watched myself watch myself as I stroked the border between dye and die, between weeks of neglect, between memories of being teased and memories of being desired. Getting my first white hair as a child, chasing the ever-growing line of age. Now I stood at the mirror and counted. Remembered. Watched myself watch myself. A fingerprint smudge over my eyes. A speck of toothpaste on my cheek. A bottle of color in my hand. Time to cover up.
Miriam BC Tobin is a playwright and theatre artist from Seattle. She also runs a writing organization aimed at community. www.mirbct.com and www.scriblab.org