The Scent of You

by Madison Eisaman

I drug you to the store with me. 

I asked what shampoo I should get.

I looked up at you and said, 

“Which smells the best?”

You pointed to a strawberry-vanilla.

Taking it from the shelf, you whispered, 

“It’s sweet—like you.” 

I blushed as I picked up the luscious pink bottle.

I told you to promise to stay with me for as long as it was full.

I didn’t want to have to be reminded of pain every time I stepped in the shower. 

You put up your pinky, promising. 

You left me two weeks later. 

There was barely three washes taken out of it. 

I was stuck with the sickening strawberry scent in my hair for months. 

I tried using more and more every time to wash you away quicker. 

It never seemed to make a dent. 

Time went on though.

Late nights, crying after smelling the bitter fragrance in my hair

Turned into dance nights with wet, vanilla hair. 

The scent was no longer you. 

It was no longer sadness and anger. 

The scent turned into shortcakes from the grocery store 

And rosy milkshakes on hot summer nights.

Into new memories that will forever be mine to keep.

You are no longer my strawberry-vanilla shampoo.