"Bush" by Matilde Augusta
This is the debut of our new online short fiction series, Epiphanies. We are looking to publish devastating short fiction, a thousand words or less in any category or genre, that can be read in one giant gulp. Please find submission guidelines and submit your own Epiphanies here.
Mamma made me shower naked. Before entering the public pool, before entering the sauna, after leaving the sauna. You couldn’t get clean with your bathing suit on. I said dirt didn’t bother me. She said it was unsanitary, not just for me but for everybody.
The shamelessness pained me the most in the sauna. With a few exceptions, their butts were naked against the towels on the wood. Saggy or perky. Wrinkled or tight. Pink or brown. Their smells erased by steam. They carried themselves as if they didn’t know they had no clothes on.
There was a woman opposite. She was young but old to me. Eyes closed. Bright, red lipstick, even after showering, swimming, and showering again. Her hair was blonde and curly. Mamma’s hair was brown and straight. My hair was blonde and straight. Her bush was brown and curly. Mamma’s bush was brown and curly. I had no bush. I stared at the lady’s bush. Her eyes opened and met mine. I looked down.
In the locker room later, I walked up to her. The top of my head reached her waist. She was blow-drying her hair. Still naked.
Your curls are so nice, I said.
Thank you, she said and smiled, revealing a red spot on her tooth from the lipstick. If you braid your hair while it’s wet, before you go to sleep, you’ll wake up with curls even prettier than mine.
Mamma asked what I had said to the lady with the curly hair.
Nothing, I said.
Matilde Augusta (b. 1998) is a Norwegian writer of Sámi origin. She studies English and creative writing at Columbia University.
