Mexico

Mexico

(translated with google)

 

Susan Harrow is 45 years old and very attractive. In the bathroom, she brushes her shoulder-length blonde hair and looks at herself in the mirror.

She uses the comb to adjust her side part; it always has to be perfectly in place.

She glances impatiently at the clock.

“Barbara really ought to be here by now.”

Barbara is an older hairdresser whom Susan met recently at the supermarket. They hit it off immediately and went straight to a café together.

“I’m always off on Mondays, and every now and then I cut my acquaintances’ hair at home.” Susan had actually intended to make an appointment at a hair salon. She also wants to book an appointment for her daughter, Kristy, at the same time, since they are going on vacation in a few days. Kristy hates going to the hairdresser—or rather, she only tolerates it if her mother is there keeping an eye on things.

The doorbell rings.

“Kristy! Barbara is here. Are you coming?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” comes the grumpy reply from her room.

When Kristy enters the kitchen, she sees Barbara for the first time.

Barbara has jet-black hair cut into a chin-length bob. As Barbara turns to the side, Kristy sees that her hair is cut significantly shorter at the back.

 

Barbara has already finished with her mother.

She is just taking off the cape and shaking out the cut hair.

There really isn’t much, yet Susan’s hair looks freshly cut.

“Your turn,” she says to her mother.

“But only a few millimeters!”

Barbara examines Kristy’s blonde hair, which reaches down to her elbows.

“A centimeter has to come off. Actually, three.”

She combs Kristy’s hair back.

“I just recommended a sporty short hairstyle to your mother.

With hair that thick, she’ll easily look ten years younger.”

“Why don’t *you* have short hair?” Kristy asks snappily.

Barbara stops combing and says seriously:

“I’ve had that before. Even a shaved head!”

“A shaved head?” Kristy asks in horror. Barbara continues working on her hair.

“Yes, I was about your age and madly in love. I made a bet with him—one I knew I was bound to lose.” “And then you had to cut off your hair?”

Barbara nods. “All of it! That’s what he demanded.”

“I’d die. My hair—shaved all off!”

“Did you at least get married after that?”

“Child, life doesn’t always offer a happy ending.”

Susan is sitting in the living room of her house in San Antonio.

As always, she has her blonde hair tied back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, with a precise side part.

Her ponytail isn’t particularly long—about 20 cm—but it is very thick. She is looking at photos on her iPhone that her daughter Kristy sent from her vacation. Kristy is vacationing with her Mexican friend Fernanda, who lives in a small town near Mexico City.

She sees the two young women in swimsuits, lying in the sun by a lake.

She finds one of the photos particularly lovely.

A selfie from Mexico City; both are beaming at the camera.

On the left is Kristy, with blonde hair reaching down to her elbows.

On the right, she sees Fernanda with a mass of black curls cascading over her shoulders. Susan can’t help but smile.

 

An hour later, her iPhone rings. “Susan Harrow,” she says.

“My name is Antonio Gonzales from Hotel Azuro. It’s about your daughter.”

“What about my daughter? Has something happened?” Susan asks in a panic.

“Hi, Mom,” she hears her daughter’s tearful voice.

“You have to come and help us. The police have arrested Fernanda. They say she’s involved in drug dealing. But that’s not true! She works here at the hospital, after all.”

“Kristy! Get on the next plane and come home right away.”

“I can’t. They’ve taken my passport and my money.”

Susan reacts instinctively. “I’m coming! Send me the exact address.”

Before leaving the house, Susan pulls her ponytail tight, as always.

The taxi stops in front of the Hotel Azuro, a somewhat run-down old hotel.

Before getting out, she pulls her ponytail tight.

Kristy runs toward her and throws herself into her mother’s arms, sobbing.

Susan looks at her daughter. “Your hair! What have you done?”

Kristy’s blonde hair has been cut to chin length.

Kristy sobs again. “Come inside.”

They sit down on an old sofa in the lobby.

A young man brings three cups of coffee and sits down with them.

“This is Antonio,” Kristy introduces him. “He’s helped me a lot.”

Susan sends a grateful smile his way.

It started at the swimming lake, where Fernanda and I often go.

This weird guy comes along and says:

“You two really need a haircut. I’ll even do it for free.

Snip, snap—off comes the hair!”

Fernanda chased him off with a few choice swear words.

On the way home, the police pulled us over and searched the car.

Suddenly, one of them pulls a packet of cocaine out of the trunk.

They took us to the station and confiscated our belongings.

We were taken into a room and made to sit on a bench against the wall.

In the middle of the room stood a heavy wooden chair and a table.

After about two hours, three police officers entered, accompanied by an older, heavy-set woman. There was also a younger man with them.

It was the guy from the lake!

 

He grabs my ponytail and hauls me up by it.

“Her first,” the old woman says, grabbing Fernanda’s curls.

“She’s got lice!” she tells the police officers, who just nod with grins on their faces.

She drags Fernanda onto the chair by her hair. Fernanda screamed and fought back. They strapped her arms and legs to the chair with leather straps.

The backrest is tilted backward so that her long curls hang freely in the air.

“Mario, you can start,” the old woman says to her son.

Grinning, he leans over Fernanda and shows her a large, old pair of hair clippers. I can still see the bare cutting blade flashing in the light.

He places them against Fernanda’s forehead and switches them on.

Fernanda just screams and turns her head away. The old woman grabs her hair and holds her head still. The clippers glide backward over her head, and suddenly I see a wide strip of her white scalp.

The first long curls fall to the floor behind her.

The next thick clump of hair falls. Then more and more.

It quickly grows into a large pile of thick curls.

Then it’s my turn, and I have to sit on the chair. The old woman grabs my ponytail and pulls it upward. A large pair of scissors.

The tug on my hair tightens, and I hear the scissors cutting into it.

Laughing, he holds my severed ponytail in front of my face.

The old woman pushes my head forward, and that Mario places the clippers against the back of my neck.

 

The door opened, and another police officer shouted:

“Stop! She’s American!”

I was allowed to leave then, but they kept Fernanda there.

After that, Antonio cut my hair evenly all around.

Naturally, a lot of questions are flying back and forth now.

Antonio says: “Old Maria de la Torres is very influential here.

She is, so to speak, the ‘godmother’ of this neighborhood.”

 

They decide to go to the police station first and check on Fernanda.

They have to wait quite a while before Fernanda is brought in.

Her pale scalp gleams under the fluorescent lights.

“After you left, they shaved my head,” she says, sobbing.

She also tells them what needs to be done for Kristy to get her passport back. Susan and Kristy exchange horrified glances. Then Susan gives a brief nod.

 

The taxi stops in front of an old-fashioned hair salon.

Susan automatically pulls her ponytail tight.

After a moment’s hesitation, they step inside.

It seems they are already expected.

“So, what do you want in exchange for Kristy getting her passport back?”

Susan asks, cutting the conversation short.

“We’re a hair salon—what do you think people come here for?”

The old woman grins.

“How about a chic short haircut for the young lady?”

Mario suggests. “It’s not exactly cheap, though. Let’s say $2,500.”

“And Fernanda’s release?” Kristy asks immediately.

“That’ll be $2,500 for the pretty mom, too.” Susan turns pale.

She clutches the hair at the nape of her neck. “No, not my hair!”

“Then that’ll be $3,000 a head,” says Mario. “Payment in advance.”

“Just think of what could happen to a young girl like that in a prison cell—especially at night.”

Now Susan nods too and keys a transfer into her iPhone.

 

The two of them are sitting side by side in the old barber chairs, both draped in large black capes. Mario undoes Susan’s ponytail and brushes her thick blonde hair vigorously. He ties it back up and pulls it tight.

Kristy’s hair is sprayed with water and combed back.

The old woman turns both chairs so that they can face each other.

With one hand, Mario pulls Susan’s thick ponytail slightly upward and positions his clippers just above the hair tie. The blade sinks into Susan’s thick blonde hair. It slices effortlessly through the hair right down to the scalp—twice horizontally, and twice vertically alongside. He pulls the ponytail up firmly, forcing Susan’s chin against her chest. Starting at the nape of her neck, he runs the clippers beneath the ponytail, passing over the area again and again until he is holding the entire mass of hair in his hand.

The loose hair, still chin-length, hangs down over Susan’s face.

He moves to Kristy and combs her wet hair. He parts it down the middle and sections off a generous portion at the front, combing it over her face. He positions the scissors high up on her forehead and cuts a short fringe straight across. At temple level, he cuts the hair straight back to behind her ears.

Using a small trimmer, he shaves the damp hair in front of and over her ears down to the skin.

It’s Susan’s turn again. Mario attaches a guard to the clippers and pushes Susan’s head far forward once more. He positions the clippers at her side part.

Kristy has to watch as her mother’s thick, soft hair falls onto the cape. Only 2-centimeter-long stubble remains.

As the two of them leave the salon, sobbing and hand in hand, Susan is sporting a very short, spiky cut. The hair on top stands upright, trimmed to a length of 2 cm, while the sides and back are shaved down to 3 mm.

Kristy has a short bowl cut trimmed high above the ears, with everything underneath shaved bald.

 

At the police station, Kristy is handed her passport while the officers grin nastily. Each of them runs a hand repeatedly over the shaved back of her head and over Susan’s buzz cut as well.

Then Fernanda is brought in, and they drive to the hotel.

 

Later that evening, after a few tequilas and many tears, Kristy says:

“Mom, you look ten years younger.”

Susan studies her daughter.

“And you look truly grown-up and confident.”

“And what about me?” asks Fernanda.

Antonio strokes her shaved head. “You look absolutely hot.”