Sue Bin Lee
He Dyed His Hair
 
His hair was a lump of gold—a fool’s gold—in a sea of oil, trying not to sink. He dyed it.
It was framing his face like a close-up portrait of some foreign princess. He cut it.
His lunchbox was full of action figures and covered in idols from comics. He left it.
His sweater was pinned with superheroes and screamed of GAP. He forgot it.
His jeans were piled on the floor; his belt was spiked; his shirt was torn. He changed his outfit.
His backpack was rubber-stamped in “KIPLING” and dangled in metal-made bugs. He swapped it.
They were staring at him with eyes to eat with while he curled in towards his desk. They stopped.
They took his trinkets and dropped his toys and tasted his lunch. They stopped.
They wrote in permanent on his desk, they carved in “girl” and “pretty boy”.They stopped.
I felt the beads on my neck as I wrote his foreign words on my board. He didn’t correct me.
He’s learning. He’ll fit in. He’ll be just fine. I asked the class to hand in their homework. He didn’t.
“Unacceptable. How will you be punished? Two smacks, or cleaning duty after classes?” He tensed.
“Cleaning duty…” They giggled at his awkward tongue, rolling like a cowboy in mud. He blushed.
“Just take the stick and get it over with!” They jabbed their tiny voices at his gut. He hid his face.
God. This kid is such a pain.