A short, intimate story. I was so impressed to find out it isn’t fiction. Sarala Estruch’s style is assured and the second person narrative reads as much like a story as a letter to this absent parent. This short piece of creative nonfiction is rich, peppered with visual details and despite its elliptical narrative it tells you so much about the relationship between the little girl and her father.
When she was satisfied, she’d pull back the front strands and tie them in a band while the rest of my hair swung loose. The hairstyle was a favourite of my mother’s — ‘fausse queue de cheval’ she called it, in her native French. False ponytail. I don’t know why she loved it so much. By the end of the day, my waist-length hair would invariably be as wild as an abandoned field.
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