Kenneth
The rhythmic snip-snip of scissors usually brought a sense of renewal, but to seventeen-year-old Laura, it sounded like a countdown.
In less than a month, she was moving from her quiet hometown to start her degree at a prestigious university in Manchester. She was thrilled, terrified, and acutely aware that she was younger than most freshmen. To celebrate—or so Laura thought—her mother had booked her an appointment at an upscale salon downtown.
“Just taking some length off, getting you ready for the rainy Manchester weather,” her mother, Helen, had said with a tight, reassuring smile on the drive over. Laura hadn’t argued. Her thick, chestnut hair fell in soft waves all the way to her chest, a security blanket she’d spent years growing. A trim sounded nice.
Now, Laura sat trapped beneath a black nylon cape, staring at her reflection. The stylist, a trendy woman named Brenda, combed through her long locks. Helen stood right behind the chair, her hands firmly planted on Laura’s shoulders.
“So, what are we doing today?” Brenda asked, lifting a thick section of Laura’s hair.
Before Laura could open her mouth to say just two inches, please, her mother spoke up. “We need something drastic. Short. Very short. A pixie cut.”
Laura’s heart violently misbehaved, hammering against her ribs. She whipped her head around to look at her mother. “What? Mom, no! I just wanted a—”
“Laura, look at me,” Helen interrupted, her voice dropping into that calm, immovable tone that brooked no argument. “Manchester is a massive adjustment. You’re only seventeen. You need to focus entirely on your studies, not wasting an hour every morning curling your hair. And frankly,” Helen eyed the long waves with a look of disdain, “it will keep the boys away. You’re there for a degree, not a boyfriend.”
“Mom, please, I can manage my time—”
“Brenda, go ahead,” Helen commanded, her grip tightening on Laura’s shoulders, pinning her in place. “Completely off the neck and ears. Short bangs.”
“Wait—” Laura croaked, but Brenda had already combed a massive section of hair straight out from the back of her head.
The betrayal choked her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. She was trapped under the cape, paralyzed by her mother’s absolute authority.
The First Cut
Brenda didn’t hesitate. She gathered the entire length of her hair into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. Laura watched in the mirror, her eyes wide with mounting horror, as she brought a pair of heavy shears to the base of the ponytail.
Crunch.
The sound was sickeningly loud, right against her skull. Laura’s breath hitched. With one swift motion, Brenda severed the ponytail. Laura watched as five years of her life—a thick, heavy rope of chestnut hair—was tossed carelessly onto the station counter.
Instantly, her head felt light. She reached a hand out instinctively from beneath the cape, but her mother’s hand snapped down on her wrist. “Keep still, Laura.”
Laura’s eyes filled with hot, stinging tears. She looked at her reflection, already unrecognizable. The hair that had shielded her shoulders was gone, leaving a jagged, chin-length bob. But Brenda wasn’t stopping. She was just getting started.
Shorter and Shorter
Brenda thoroughly soaked her remaining hair with a spray bottle. Laura stared at her lap, refusing to look at the mirror, but she couldn’t escape the tactile nightmare unfolding on her head.
She sectioned the back. Snip, snip, snip. Laura felt the cold steel of the blades pressing directly against the skin of her neck. She was cutting right at the root. With every snip, wet clumps of hair rained down onto the nylon cape, sliding to the floor.
“Look up, please, sweetie,” Brenda said gently.
Laura raised her eyes, and a tear finally spilled over, tracking down her burning cheek. The back of her head was entirely exposed. Brenda was now working on the sides. She combed her hair straight out over her ear, and with a swift, merciless motion, sliced upwards.
Her ear popped out. Laura felt a cold breeze hit her skin. She repeated the process on the other side, meticulously trimming around the curves of her ears until they were completely bare. She felt entirely naked. Vulnerable. Desecrated. Her mother stood in the background, nodding in approval.
Next came the top. She pulled sections straight up toward the ceiling, shearing them down to mere inches. The weightlessness was terrifying. Laura felt like a doll being disassembled.
Finally, Brenda combed the front of her hair straight down over her eyes. “Close your eyes for the bangs,” she murmured.
Laura closed them, letting the tears flow freely in the darkness. She felt the vibrations of the scissors cutting straight across her forehead. Snip, snip, snip. Little prickly hairs landed on her eyelashes and cheeks.
The Aftermath
“All done. Just a bit of styling product,” Brenda said, his tone sympathetic but professional. She rubbed a bit of wax between her palms and began tousling the minuscule amount of hair left on Laura’s head. She used a blowdryer for a mere thirty seconds—there was simply nothing left to dry.
“Oh, it’s absolutely perfect,” Helen beamed, clapping her hands. “Look how sensible you look. A proper student.”
Laura forced herself to look into the mirror.
The girl staring back wasn’t her. The cascading, protective shield of hair was completely gone. In its place was a drastically short pixie cut.
The back was clipped incredibly tight, completely exposing the elegant, pale line of her neck.
Her ears were entirely on display, framed by perfectly sculpted, cute pointed sideburns that hugged her cheekbones.
Her forehead was covered by short, wispy bangs that sat a good inch above her eyebrows, making her green eyes look painfully large and startled.
Objectively, the haircut was adorable. It was a chic, badass, pixie-style cut that accentuated her delicate jawline and high cheekbones. It made her look like a London rockstar.
But to Laura, it felt like a punishment. She raised a tremplin hand and touched the back of her head. There was nothing to hold onto. Just a soft, velvety fuzz at the nape of her neck. Her ears felt cold. Her face felt entirely exposed to the world, stripped of all privacy.
“Thank you, Brenda,” Helen said, handing over her credit card. “Come along, Laura. We have to pack.”
Laura stood up, her legs shaking slightly. As she walked out of the salon into the afternoon air, the breeze hit the back of her bare neck, sending a violent shiver down her spine. She was going to Manchester in a month. She would be a top student, just like her mother wanted. But as she caught her reflection in a shop window—short bangs, bare ears, and all—she knew she would never look at her mother the same way again.
