Bobcutlover
It had been almost exactly a year since that fateful afternoon when Jaime, grinning with scissors in hand, gave Allie a haircut she’d never forget. Though Jaime seemed to have forgotten all about it—her long golden hair now flowing down to her waist like spun silk—Allie hadn’t let it go. Not for a second. Her own rich brown hair had grown out to her mid-back again, finally soft and full like it once was, but the memory of that thick bowl cut and blunt bangs still lingered. Every time she looked in the mirror, every time she saw Jaime flaunting her flowing blonde hair, it reminded her of what was taken from her. Tonight, she was going to take it back.
Jaime had dozed off in the living room recliner after their movie night, sitting perfectly upright, a cozy throw blanket bunched around her lap. Her head tilted slightly forward, breath slow and steady. Her shimmering blonde hair was spread like a golden curtain over her shoulders and down her front, completely still. Allie stood behind her, barely breathing, towel in hand. Her fingers trembled—not with nerves, but anticipation. She draped the towel carefully over Jaime’s shoulders, letting it fall to cover her lap. Then, reverently, she picked up a comb and began drawing all of Jaime’s hair forward, one thick section at a time, until it formed a shining blonde wall across her sleeping face. “Just like you did to me,” Allie whispered.
With her heart pounding, Allie gathered a massive handful of Jaime’s silky hair at the nape. It was warm, heavy, and smooth—she savored the feel of it between her fingers. Then, slowly, snip. The scissors whispered through the thick hair, slicing clean and blunt just above the base of the neck. A foot and a half of blonde length dropped into Jaime’s lap with a soft thud. Jaime didn’t even stir. Allie grinned. She gathered the next section and chopped it just as bluntly, angling the scissors dead straight across so the ends sat like a shelf above her shoulders. The weight of the hair hitting the towel grew heavier with each pass, forming a golden pile.
Allie worked steadily, removing section after section, each snip more confident than the last. The sound of the scissors slicing through Jaime’s silky hair was intoxicating—sharp, precise, unforgiving. The new cut curved aggressively from the crown, forming a dense, thick mushroom shape as she went. Every lock that fell revealed more of the harsh, rounded line. She made sure it was brutally even—no soft layers, no wispy ends, just pure blunt geometry. Hair brushed her wrists like satin as she held it tight, then fell away in heavy clumps.
Once the back and sides were completed, Allie stepped back to admire her work. Jaime’s head now looked perfectly round from behind, the mushroom shape exaggerated and severe, just like the one she had received a year ago. The line was razor-straight, curving from temple to temple. Allie picked up the bowl—yes, the same one—and gently placed it on top of Jaime’s head, aligning it until the edge matched the line she’d already cut. With reverence, she made tiny corrections, snipping everything beneath the rim again just to be sure it was flawlessly blunt.
She was just about to start the bangs when Jaime stirred, lifting a hand and groggily brushing the thick curtain of uncut hair off her forehead. Still half-asleep, Jaime blinked at the light of her phone, opened Snapchat, and began scrolling through filters. Her face looked unchanged in the front, and in her sleepy haze, she had no idea the entire back of her hair had been sheared off. “Mmm… still so tired,” she murmured, letting the uncut bangs fall back over her eyes as she slouched lower in the chair, completely unaware of the mountain of hair now resting on her lap and the floor. Then, she drifted back to sleep.
Allie bit her lip to keep from laughing. This was perfect. She gently combed down the last section of Jaime’s front hair. It was thick, soft, and long—hanging halfway down her nose. Allie pinched it tightly and snip—cut it straight across mid-forehead. A thick wedge of blonde dropped to join the rest. She moved inch by inch across Jaime’s brow, each cut bold and final, crafting the same short, heavy bangs that Jaime had once forced on her. The scissors left no softness, just a harsh horizontal line of blunt fringe that hovered above her brows. When Allie finished, she combed the bangs flat and smiled. Perfect.
Jaime began to stir again, this time blinking a little more alert. She yawned, stretched—and then froze. The hair in her lap. The towel around her. The sudden lightness around her head. Her eyes darted to the side and caught sight of the mirror above the fireplace. “What the hell—” she screamed, leaping up, sending blonde hair raining everywhere. She turned in place, mouth open in disbelief as she saw her own reflection. Her waist-length hair was gone. In its place: the same cartoonishly blunt mushroom cut she had given Allie, now perched on her own head. Her new bangs sat like a weight on her forehead, impossibly thick and severe.
Allie stood calmly, hands on her hips, smiling like a cat that had just caught the canary. “I told you I’d get you back,” she said sweetly. Jaime’s jaw clenched. “You little—” She grabbed the scissors from the table and lunged, seizing a massive fistful of Allie’s dark hair. With one furious motion, snip—a brutal chop just beneath Allie’s chin. Thick brown strands cascaded down Allie’s front in chunks. “There,” Jaime snapped. “Now we match again.”
They stood in stunned silence—two girls with nearly identical blunt mushroom cuts, short bangs hovering above their eyes, and piles of their silky hair scattered across the room. Allie blinked, then slowly grinned. “Well,” she said, brushing her new chin-length ends with a shrug. “I guess we’re even now.”
