In a town by the sea, there was a girl with golden hair. Her name was Coree and she attended a one room dance academy under the instruction of Miss P. Miss P spoke with a soft, sweet voice that became sharp when it needed to. Every day a wreath of small fabric flowers adorned her bun of red hair that somehow never faded to grey. The years of ballet training Miss P received in Russia were poured into Coree until she transformed into an elegant, long limbed young woman. Coree could command an audience's attention gently, her movement like a willow tree, her dance like a living prayer. She even entranced instructors from the top ballet school in the land, and upon her acceptance, was destined to become a great in the world of dance.
Her first year away was a raging success, and Coree returned to her town by the sea, welcomed with admiration and praise. Everyone felt honored to know the girl with golden hair who could mesmerize with her dance.
One day Coree walked down the road to get a haircut. She chose a very plain salon with walls that needed a new coat of paint. It was a place where old women got perms and Debra Frankendollar, a beautician with a crooked lip, had worked her whole life.
Coree's willowy limbs rested gracefully on the black and metal chair. None of the white-haired ladies in the room knew of her great fame and talent. In fact, they had only seen mediocre dance in their lives, never anything like the girl in the swivel chair across from theirs.
Debra performed one of the twelve haircuts she would give that day, and Coree smiled into her crooked face.
Today, the women in the salon still talk about how the dingy linoleum floor seemed to come alive with a school of golden fish, glowing below Debra's black and metal chair.
