two other women, dressed in the same outfit she wore, their hair pulled into tight, flawless buns just like hers. “Miss Owens,” one of the women begins in a heavy European accent that I cannot place. “I am Helene, your stylist. Please, have a seat.”
She guides me towards the cream-colored stylist chair she stands next to. I do a quick scan of the room for Zoë before sitting down. She isn’t here yet.
“Your hair must be pulled back when you enter the pod room, and also for this evening. How do you wish to wear it?”
“Anything is fine, really. Whatever is easiest.”
The question seems absolutely absurd. Why would I care what my hair looks like when I walk into the pod room? I am about to force myself into a dark and terrifying place that people don’t typically return from and she thinks I care what my hair looks like. She smirks and walks off to grab some items.
The door from Zoë’s shower stall opens and she walks out, wearing an outfit identical to mine and looking like she has been crying. Before I can reach out to her the other woman steps in. “Miss Carver, I am Adelaide, your stylist. Please have a seat.”
Adelaide is definitely French. I don’t know why the variety of accents is so surprising to me. Obviously dreamwalking would have spread worldwide in three hundred plus years. The fact that I assumed it would be contained to just New England is ridiculous. She guides Zoë to the chair just a few feet away from mine. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” She gives me a fake smile. I know she’s not fine and I understand most of what she’s feeling. This colony is nothing like we expected. We weren’t prepared for the high security, the bizarre personalities, or the overall obscurity and ambiguity behind it. We weren’t prepared for what we have learned about ourselves in the past two days, more than most people would ever learn in a lifetime. We’ve had a front row seat to the most intense history lesson on earth. It’s exhausting and overwhelming. Giving up and going home sounds like a really good idea, but I couldn’t live with myself if I did that.
Adelaide grabs a towel and gently wraps it around Zoë’s hair, squeezing water from it. She repeats what Helene asked me regarding a hairstyle. Zoë just shrugs and smiles, clearly fighting back tears. Adelaide rests her hands on Zoë’s shoulders, and bends down to talk softly in her ear. “Do not worry. I will not disappoint you.”
She begins by putting several different products in Zoë’s hair and then carefully separating her tightly wound curls into different sections and flat ironing them silky straight.
Helene returns with a cart full of items for me. She applies a clear gel-like substance to my hair, divides it into sections and begins elaborately braiding my hair. “You are fond of the plait, no?”
I repeat the word plait to myself as if instructing my brain to find the definition. “Oh, a braid. Yes, I wear them all the time.”
She smiles and continues her work.
The words 'for this evening' resound in my head. "You said, 'for this evening' when you asked about my hair. What exactly does that mean? What's happening this evening?"
She looks quizzically at me in the mirror. "You do not know?" she asks.
I shake my head no.
"Maybe I am not meant to share that information."
I sigh and smile back at her, realizing that I am putting her in an awkward position. I decide to sit silently as she works on my hair.
In the mirror I can see that she has divided my hair into three vertical sections across the span of my head. She works on the left side first, creating a tight French fishtail braid. I don’t have a good angle on Zoë’s mirror, but I can see that Adelaide has completed straightening her hair and has moved into styling it. “You know, we have waited a very long time for you to come to us. Many of us prayed for your arrival," Helene says to me.
I don’t know how to respond. I’m not accustomed to being treated like a hero, or as they have all been calling me, a savior. “How did you know about me?”
She chuckles. “You have no idea who you are to the world, I know. But you are a legend. I have heard tales of your existence my entire life. You were a bedtime story my