Note: This autobiographical account was written by Meryl, who's modeled for me a few times before.

...

The first two weeks came and went, and the three of us got to know each other. Before October came near, Yoko was already becoming the little sister I always wanted. She was always right there to help with the housework before I could even ask, and she asked all about me and myself her. Soon, we were spending some time every day chatting out in the sun or by the window. Talking about her classes, my work, movies, music, and eventually boys in her class.

Around the same time that we started feeling comfortable enough with each other to discuss that last topic, I began brushing her hair. Yoko's silky mane is as black as a night sky without the moon or stars, and when brushed and smoothed down it gleams in the light like polished obsidian. Whoever cut her hair knew exactly what they were doing; every strand is exactly the length it needs to be, with perfect symmetry and balance. The firm, yellow strands of my brush catch them with ease, and they cooperate so readily as I bring them to their purest shine. Sometimes she wants me to put it up in a bun. Sometimes braids, pigtails, ponytails, or loose waves. Sometimes Yoko just lets me do what I will, and we chat and giggle as if I were eighteen again myself. When we go out shopping or moviegoing or even just sightseeing, Yoko is always the picture of cosmopolitan refinement, and her dressed and bound hair is a small - but very important - part of that.