The Tale of a Transformation: A Six-Year-Old Boy's Unexpected Metamorphosis into a Mexican Salon Owner

In the year 2021, a spirited six-year-old named Benjamin, or "Benji" as his young mother affectionately called him, began his little journey that would lead to a salon. He was born on March 7, 2015, in the friendly sun-baked town of San Diego, California. He was an average height for his age, standing 3 feet 9 inches tall and weighing in around 45 pounds, healthy and sprightly. He had a mop of messy brown hair, just like his father, and his innocent round eyes were an attractive shade of hazel. Speaking of his parents, his young mother was Sarah, a lovely lady of 26, who had her birthday on June 22 which made her a Cancer. Born in the year 1994, she was slender and attractive, standing 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighing 135 pounds. Her hair was a radiant red that she kept long and wavy, matching her vivid green eyes, that had a twinkle every time she looked at her son, Benji. Benji’s father, Lucas, was not in the picture anymore. He was 28 years old and with his birthday on December 1, he was a Sagittarius. This six-foot-tall man had wayward black hair that he usually wore in a shaggy style. He weighed around 185 pounds and his eyes were a perceptive blue color. They married young but split when Sarah was pregnant, leaving Sarah to raise Benji with the help of her family. Sarah’s younger sister, Emily, who was 24-year-old and was born on April 24, 1996 – was an active part of their little family. Standing about 5 feet 5 inches tall and weighing 130 pounds, Emily, an auburn-haired beauty wore her hair in a bun most of the time and had eyes that were a unique shade of grey. Emily's husband, the 25-year-old Isaac, had a birthday on February 15, making him an Aquarius just like Benji. He had jet black hair which he liked to keep short and spiky. With a height of 5 feet 11 inches and a weight of 170 pounds, he was sturdy and athletic. His eyes had a warm brown shade. The matriarch of the family was Sarah and Emily's mother – the grandmother to Benji – Martha, who was 68, born on September 3, 1952. She stood 5 feet 3 inches tall and weighed just over 160 pounds. Her once vibrant black hair had turned grey with time which she wore in a tight, neat bun, an attribute she shared with Emily. Her fierce blue eyes hid stories of her time. Thus, one sunny day Benji found himself watching the neon sign of ‘Los Angeles Hair & Style Studio’. As he pushed the glass door and peeked inside, the first person he saw was a plump but lively Mexican woman named Lucia. She was 60 years old, her birthday trailing a bit after Martha's on November 17, 1960. This woman of ample charm was 5 feet 1 inch tall and weighed over 300 pounds, sporting jet black hair that was tied in a loose bun complimenting her pool-like dark brown eyes. She wore a vibrant tank top, shorts, and had her nails painted a bright red that matched her flamboyant personality. Blue and gold jewelry hung from her ears, neck, and arms, twinkling in the salon lights, echoing her vivid aesthetics. Her ensemble was finished by a golden wedding ring that adorned her ring finger and a pair of flip-flops. The flip-flops were traditional Mexican Huaraches, made with woven leather showcasing an aesthetically pleasing crisscross pattern in a tan color that complimented her brown skin. "Ve a la silla, niño pequeño, regresaré pronto," Lucia instructed Benji in her broken English. Her accent overpowering her broken words - "Go to the chair, little boy, I will return soon". She left to gather the necessary items for the haircut. Benji slipped off his shoes and socks, feeling the cold tiled floor beneath him. His eyes wandered across the salon, landing on a patterned bag belonging to Lucia. It was studded with Mexican embellishments and inside, he could see a variety of beauty and hair products, a compact mirror, and some of her personal items like a beaded rosary and some loose change. But suddenly, a different need pressed upon him, "I gots to go potty!" Benji's lisped words echoed in the empty salon. Innocently, he made his way down a hallway, thinking it might lead him to the restroom. His eyes, filled with curiosity, were exploring the framed pictures on the walls when his foot caught on something on the floor. Looking down, he saw Lucia's flip flops. Surprisingly, his feet slid right into them, but then something strange and unanticipated started happening. His clothes simply evaporated, leaving him stark naked, and his feet started to change. The skin aged, cracked and then smoothened, turning deeper in color. He could even see the nails painted the same red as Lucia's. In his young heart, fear replaced his innocent intentions of exploration. He tried to pull off the flip flops, but even after they slipped off, the transformation didn't stop. He began to cry, sobbing out, "I gonna miss mommy n' Granma so much. I didn do anythin' wrong, jus had to potty. I don't wanna be a icky girl!" His lisping pronunciation adding to his woeful plea. In his little heart, he understood what he was turning into - the Mexican woman named Lucia. Born eight years before his own grandmother, even older than his mom and his aunt. The thought scared him. But his mother’s comforting words echoed in his ears, soothing him. He began to sing a song his mom taught him when he was scared. "Hush, little baby, don't say a word... Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.." However, as his transformation enveloped him further, his voice deepened, his accent became Mexican, and the English lullaby morphed into a traditional Mexican song, "Cielito Lindo". The full transformation happened swiftly, his body morphing within seconds as his clothes shifted to become an exact replica of what Lucia was wearing earlier. “And if that mockingbird won’t sing, Mama’s gonna… Ay, ay, ay, ay, Canta no llores, porque cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones.” The combined song slowly echoed out from him, blending the American lullaby with the Mexican folksong, seemingly connecting his past with his new reality. Once it was over, he looked down at himself – or rather, herself. She was now Lucia entirely, except for her jewelry, wedding ring, and her hair being up. With her new adult acumen, 'she' decided to put her hair up. She collected her long black curls and twisted them elegantly into a bun, securing it with a decorative pin that was on the table. Then 'she' moved to wear the jewelry laid out. First, was the long, blue stone necklace, its heavy cold beads a comfort against her skin. Then she slipped on the wide, gold cuff bracelet on her left wrist, its intricate design catching the salon lights. Next, were her dangling, gold hoop earrings followed by the bulky rings that slid easily on her fingers, their stones matching her necklace. And lastly, the wedding ring adorned her ring finger, fitting perfectly much like the rest of her new existence. Picking up the flip-flops was more natural than she expected. She carried them to the plush salon chair and sat down, placing them on the floor next to her feet. She bent down and slipped her right foot into the right flip-flop, then followed suit with the left one. Each action was methodical, full of a strange, new familiarity. She ran her fingers across the front of her tank top, smoothing out the fabric before standing up again and began walking around the salon. She was in complete sync with her flip-flops, her gait naturally adjusting to the shoes until in a misstep, she lost them again. Unfazed, she rerouted herself back to the chair, picked them up and regaled 'herself' into them before adjusting her hair bun and outfit. As she glanced around the salon, wondering what she was doing, she voiced out, "¿Qué estaba haciendo y a dónde fue el niño?" - "What was I doing and where did the child go?" Confusion took the place of the earlier serenity, and she spoke again, "¿Por qué no hay clientes hoy?" - "Why are there no customers today?" The American accent had disappeared, replaced by full-on halted Spanish-tinged English. She noticed her bag near the door and sauntered over to it. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out her compact mirror, using it to check her teeth and makeup, a feminine routine that was deeply ingrained in her. After tidying up the salon space – folding the towels, cleaning the hair cutting tools, rearranging the hair-care products – she began to sweep the floors, humming a traditional Mexican song under her breath. She glanced down, stomping her feet one by one, chuckling at her own short stature. "Soy una mexicana corta", she articulated, laughter in her eyes. "I am a short Mexican woman", her accent lacing her words with an authenticity of the spoken words. Striding over to a full-size mirror on the wall, she adjusted her outfit, going over her reflection with a fascinated gaze. Then she spotted a spider in the corner and let out a distinct yell, "¡Ay, Dios mío!" flinging nervous glances at it. She quickly slipped off one of her flip-flops and, with a dramatic movement, squashed the spider. "Muera, bicho malo!" she exclaimed triumphantly, enforcing her victory over the bug. Chuckling at the whole episode, she then added, "Glad it's not my husband; he gets hit by these more than anyone! And he has yet to invent a good Huarache for that!" ending the statement with a hearty laugh and a flick of her newly adorned hair.