8 inches

Sue had been fascinated by haircuts for as long as she could remember.
It had started when she was a little girl, back when her father regularly took her two younger brothers to the neighborhood barbershop.
Sometimes Sue went along simply because she enjoyed watching.
The shop had three old-fashioned hydraulic barber chairs, large mirrors, electric clippers hanging from hooks, and the familiar smell of shaving lotion and hair tonic.
The barbers used traditional striped barber capes, the kind with narrow white and dark stripes that seemed to be found in every neighborhood barbershop.
Sue loved those capes.
She loved watching a barber shake one open, drape it around a customer’s shoulders, and fasten it securely around his neck.
But what fascinated her most was watching the haircuts.
Her brothers usually received short haircuts, particularly during the summer.
Her father liked their hair kept neat and practical.
Sometimes the barber would ask whether he should take it shorter than usual.
Her father almost always agreed.
Sue would sit quietly in the waiting area, watching the barber guide the clippers up the sides of her brothers’ heads.
She loved the buzzing sound.
She loved watching the loose hair tumble onto the striped cape.
And she loved the way the barber would tilt their heads forward to clean up the back of their necks.
As Sue grew older, her father began trusting her to take the boys to the barbershop herself.
That became one of her favorite responsibilities.
She would walk in with her two younger brothers, tell the barber how their father wanted their hair cut, and settle into the waiting area.
Occasionally, one of the boys would ask for something shorter.
Sue always encouraged him.
“Why don’t you get it really short this time?”
Sometimes the barber would laugh.
“Sounds like your sister wants you practically bald.”
Sue would smile.
But privately, she was thinking about something else.
She imagined herself climbing into that enormous barber chair.
She imagined the barber shaking open the striped cape and fastening it around her neck.
Then she imagined looking into the mirror and saying something she’d never had the courage to say aloud.
“Shave it all off.”
She wondered what the barber would do.
Would he laugh?
Would he ask whether she was serious?
Would he simply pick up his clippers, remove the guard, and begin at the center of her forehead?
She imagined leaning her head backward as the clippers made their first pass.
She pictured the dark hair falling away, leaving a closely shaved strip across the top of her head.
Then the barber would work down the sides and finally the back.
She wondered what it would feel like to leave the barbershop with almost no hair at all.
But she never asked.
Instead, she continued wearing the short bob haircuts she’d had since childhood.
As a teenager, she wore chin-length bobs with straight bangs.
In her twenties, she experimented with Louise Brooks bobs, sharply angled cuts, and closely graduated styles that exposed her neckline.
She particularly liked the angled bobs that were cut very short in the back and gradually became longer toward the chin.
Those haircuts made her feel attractive and youthful.
Her husband, Malcolm, liked them too.
In fact, when they first met, Sue had been wearing a sharply angled bob with a closely graduated back.
Malcolm had told her more than once that her haircut was one of the first things he’d noticed about her.
But now, in the spring of 2003, Sue was thirty-eight years old.
And for the first time in many years, she had long hair.
Two years earlier, her longtime hairstylist Danielle had convinced her to grow it.
Sue had reluctantly agreed.
Now her dark brown hair hung well past her shoulders.
She didn’t like it.
And Malcolm didn’t particularly like it either.
For months, she’d been thinking about having it cut short again.
She had finally decided that when she did, she wasn’t going back to Danielle.
Danielle was the one who had encouraged her to grow it.
Sue wanted a barber who wouldn’t try to talk her into keeping the length.
Someone who would simply listen to what she wanted and cut it.
But first, she had some work to do at her late Aunt Betty’s house in Oak Creek.
And that was where she made a rather unexpected discovery.
Aunt Betty’s Forgotten Attachment
Aunt Betty had worked for many years at Delco Electronics before retiring.
She had lived in a modest single-story ranch house in Oak Creek, and like many people of her generation, she had saved practically everything.
After Betty’s death, Sue had agreed to help sort through her belongings.
That afternoon, Sue pulled her 1989 Mustang 5.0 into Betty’s driveway.
She switched off the engine, stepped out in her blue jeans and gray T-shirt, and unlocked the house.
She spent the first couple of hours sorting clothing, paperwork, and household items.
Then she decided to investigate the attic.
She pulled down the folding ladder in the hallway and climbed into the dusty space.
There were old suitcases, Christmas decorations, photographs, and boxes that hadn’t been opened in decades.
Behind an old suitcase, Sue discovered a small cardboard box.
She brushed away the dust.
The printing caught her attention.
FILTER QUEEN VIBRATOR
Sue stared at it.
“A vibrator?”
She turned the box over.
A faded price marking read $14.95.
Curious, she opened it.
Inside was a brown plastic attachment, a hose fitting, and an instruction sheet.
Apparently, it was a massage attachment designed to operate using a Filter Queen vacuum cleaner.
Sue laughed.
“Well, Aunt Betty. You certainly had some interesting things tucked away.”
Then she remembered something.
Betty still had an old Filter Queen vacuum cleaner in the utility room.
Sue carried the box downstairs.
Sure enough, the vacuum was standing beside an old ironing board.
It was a heavy machine, but it appeared complete.
Sue rolled it into Betty’s bedroom.
She connected the hose, attached the vibrator, and checked the instructions.
Then she plugged in the vacuum.
“Well, let’s see what this thing does.”
She switched it on.
The vacuum roared to life.
“Jesus Christ!”
Sue nearly jumped out of her skin.
The motor was incredibly loud.
The attachment vibrated, but the noise was so overwhelming that she could hardly imagine anyone relaxing while using it.
She immediately switched it off.
The silence was almost startling.
“Good Lord, Betty! How did you ever use this thing?”
Sue laughed and disconnected the attachment.
She put it back in the box.
But the discovery had reminded her of something she’d brought along in her overnight bag.
Her own vibrator.
Sue had purchased it about two years earlier.
Unlike Aunt Betty’s old attachment, hers was battery-operated and considerably quieter.
She carried her bag into the bedroom and placed it on the bed.
The afternoon sunshine was coming through the window.
Sue opened it slightly, lit a Marlboro Light, and stood looking out toward the backyard.
Then she glanced at herself in the bedroom mirror.
Her long brown hair hung well past her shoulders.
She gathered it behind her head.
She could hardly remember the last time she’d felt the air against her neckline.
She missed her bob.
She missed having the back cut short.
And she missed the way Malcolm used to look at her when she’d just come home from the barbershop.
Sue finished her cigarette and closed the curtains.
Then she took her battery-operated vibrator from her overnight bag.
She switched it on.
The quiet humming was almost comical compared with Aunt Betty’s roaring vacuum cleaner.
Sue settled comfortably on the bed.
And as she enjoyed a few private moments, her thoughts drifted back to an argument she’d had with Malcolm nearly two years earlier.
Malcolm and the Kitchen Scissors
Malcolm was a muscular, confident man who made his living selling radio advertising to businesses throughout the Milwaukee area.
He’d always been attracted to Sue’s short hair.
When they first met, she’d been wearing a sharply angled bob, with the back closely graduated and the front reaching her chin.
He loved it.
But after Danielle convinced Sue to grow her hair, Malcolm began losing interest in the new hairstyle.
As the months passed, Sue noticed him becoming increasingly distant.
One evening, she finally confronted him in their kitchen.
“Malcolm, what’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You hardly pay attention to me anymore. You come home from work, eat dinner, and barely say two words to me.”
“I’m tired, Sue.”
“You’re always tired. You don’t even seem interested in being close to me anymore.”
Malcolm sighed.
“Is there somebody else?” Sue asked.
“No!”
“Then what is it?”
He looked at her for a moment.
“Your hair.”
Sue stared at him.
“My hair?”
“Yes. I don’t like it.”
“You’re acting this way because I’m growing my hair?”
Malcolm shook his head.
“Sue, I fell in love with you when you had that short bob. Remember? Really short in the back, angled down toward your chin?”
“Of course I remember.”
“Well, I loved that haircut. I don’t understand why you decided to grow it out.”
“Danielle thought I should try something different.”
“Well, Danielle gave you some lousy advice.”
Sue folded her arms.
“So what do you expect me to do?”
Malcolm glanced toward the kitchen drawers.
“Sometimes I feel like opening that drawer, taking out the kitchen scissors, and cutting the whole damn mess off myself.”
Sue stared at him.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Malcolm stepped toward the counter.
“Don’t tempt me.”
He reached toward the drawer.
For a moment, Sue genuinely thought he might open it.
Her heart began beating faster.
She imagined her muscular husband taking out the scissors, gathering her long hair in his hand, and impatiently cutting it away.
Not a carefully planned salon haircut.
Not Danielle measuring and sectioning every strand.
Malcolm simply deciding that he’d had enough and cutting her hair back to the short style he preferred.
The thought excited Sue enormously.
But Malcolm stopped.
He took his hand away from the drawer.
“Forget it. It’s your hair.”
Then he walked out of the kitchen.
Sue remained standing beside the counter.
She looked at the drawer.
She knew exactly which scissors were inside.
And she couldn’t stop imagining what might have happened if Malcolm had actually opened it.
From that evening forward, Sue had secretly hoped he would eventually carry out his threat.
That was the real reason she continued growing her hair.
She wanted Malcolm to be the one who finally cut it.
She wanted that dramatic moment she’d imagined so many times.
But two years had passed.
And Malcolm had never done it.
A New Barber in the Third Ward
Back in Aunt Betty’s bedroom, Sue opened her eyes.
She switched off her vibrator and set it aside.
She had waited long enough.
It was time to get her hair cut.
But she wasn’t going back to Danielle.
Danielle had been encouraging the long hairstyle for two years, and Sue didn’t want another discussion about giving it more time.
She wanted someone who would listen to what she asked for and cut it.
Someone who didn’t know her.
Someone who wouldn’t have any reason to question her decision.
Sue had heard about a unisex barbershop in Milwaukee’s Historic Third Ward.
By 2003, the neighborhood had become a fashionable destination filled with art galleries, restaurants, converted lofts, boutiques, and trendy businesses.
The old brick warehouse buildings gave the area a distinctive atmosphere.
It was the sort of neighborhood where a woman could ask for a dramatic haircut without attracting much attention.
Sue liked that.
She called the shop and asked whether anyone was available the following afternoon.
“Desiree has an opening at two o’clock,” the receptionist told her.
“Desiree?”
“Yes. She’s one of our barbers.”
“Does she do women’s short haircuts?”
“Absolutely. She does quite a few of them.”
Sue smiled.
“Then I’ll take it.”
She had never met Desiree.
She knew nothing about her except that she worked at the shop.
And that suited Sue perfectly.
Forty-Five Minutes Early
The following afternoon was sunny and unusually warm for spring.
Sue dressed in blue jeans and her gray T-shirt, brushed her long brown hair, and headed outside.
Her Mustang was parked in the driveway.
She settled behind the wheel and started the engine.
The familiar rumble of the 5.0-liter V8 brought a smile to her face.
She drove north from Oak Creek toward downtown Milwaukee.
As she approached the Historic Third Ward, the scenery changed.
Old brick warehouses had been converted into restaurants, galleries, offices, and loft apartments.
The streets were busy with pedestrians.
Young professionals, artists, and shoppers moved between the businesses.
Sue liked the neighborhood immediately.
It felt different from the suburban salons she’d been visiting for years.
She reached the area at approximately 1:15.
Her appointment wasn’t until two.
Rather than parking directly in front of the shop, she drove into a quieter parking area behind a nearby commercial building.
She switched off the Mustang and lowered the sun visor.
Her long hair rested against her shoulders.
She gathered it behind her head and studied her reflection.
Then she removed a magazine photograph from her purse.
The woman pictured had a sharply angled bob.
The back was short and graduated, while the sides grew progressively longer toward the chin.
Sue studied it.
She could almost imagine Desiree combing her hair down, measuring the new length, and opening the scissors.
She thought about the first long section falling onto the striped barber cape.
Then she thought about the clippers cleaning up the nape.
She smiled.
Her vibrator was still in her overnight bag.
She took it out, switched it on, and allowed herself another private moment while thinking about the haircut she was about to receive.
Her thoughts briefly returned to Malcolm and the kitchen scissors.
But this afternoon, it would be Desiree holding the scissors.
And Sue was ready.
Afterward, Sue switched off the vibrator, put everything away, and checked her reflection.
She started the Mustang and drove around to the front of the shop.
Finding a parking space nearby, she stepped outside and lit a Marlboro Light.
Through the front window, she could see several barber chairs.
The shop had a modern appearance, with large mirrors, polished floors, professional electric clippers, and contemporary styling equipment.
It was exactly the sort of place Sue had hoped to find.
She finished her cigarette and went inside.
The Girl in the Other Chair
A young receptionist looked up.
“Can I help you?”
“I have a two o’clock appointment with Desiree.”
“You’re a little early.”
“That’s all right. I’ll wait.”
Sue sat in one of the waiting chairs.
The shop was busy.
At one station, a customer was receiving a short haircut.
At another chair, a female barber was preparing to cut the hair of a young woman who appeared to be about twenty-five.
The young woman’s brown hair reached well below her shoulders.
A traditional striped barber cape covered her clothing.
Sue watched as the barber picked up a set of electric clippers.
She removed the guard.
That immediately caught Sue’s attention.
The young woman leaned her head backward.
The barber placed the clippers at the center of her forehead.
Then she pushed them straight backward across the top of her head.
A wide strip of brown hair disappeared.
Long strands tumbled onto the striped cape.
Sue watched silently.
The barber made another pass, then another.
Within moments, the top of the young woman’s head had been closely buzzed.
Next, the barber asked her to tilt her head toward one shoulder.
She ran the clippers upward along the exposed side.
The long hair fell away.
The young woman tilted her head in the opposite direction.
The second side was buzzed just as closely.
Finally, she lowered her chin toward her chest.
The barber began removing the remaining hair from the back, working upward from the neckline.
In only a few minutes, the young woman’s long brown hair had been reduced to an extremely close buzz cut.
Sue could hardly believe the transformation.
The young woman looked into the mirror, smiled, and ran her hand over her newly shorn head.
Sue wondered whether she’d ever had her hair that short before.
She also wondered what it must feel like to have that much hair removed in one sitting.
“Sue?”
A young woman was standing beside one of the barber chairs.
She appeared to be in her mid-twenties.
“I’m Desiree.”
Sue smiled.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Ready for your haircut?”
“Absolutely.”
Desiree’s Chair
Desiree was twenty-six years old.
She was confident, friendly, and clearly comfortable working in the fashionable Third Ward barbershop.
Sue had never met her before.
There was no personal history between them.
No years of Danielle encouraging her to grow her hair.
No awkward conversations about whether she should keep it long.
Desiree simply wanted to know what kind of haircut Sue wanted.
Sue settled into the hydraulic barber chair.
Desiree shook open a traditional striped barber cape and fastened it around her neck.
For a moment, Sue remembered sitting in the waiting area of the neighborhood barbershop when she was a little girl, watching her younger brothers receive their haircuts.
She smiled.
“So, what are we doing today?” Desiree asked.
Sue reached into her purse and removed the magazine photograph.
“I want this.”
Desiree studied it.
“A sharply angled bob?”
“Exactly.”
“Short in the back, longer toward the chin?”
“Yes.”
Desiree lifted Sue’s long hair away from her shoulders.
“That’s going to be quite a change.”
“I know.”
“How long have you been growing it?”
“Two years.”
Desiree raised her eyebrows.
“And now you want it short again?”
Sue laughed.
“I’ve had short hair practically my whole life. My old hairstylist talked me into growing it, and I hate it.”
Desiree smiled.
“Well, then, let’s get you back to something you like.”
Sue immediately felt comfortable.
There was no argument.
No attempt to persuade her to keep the length.
Desiree was going to give her exactly what she’d requested.
Sue glanced at the photograph again.
“I want the back really short. I like having my neckline exposed.”
Desiree nodded.
“We can definitely do that.”
She lifted the hair at Sue’s nape.
“We’ll probably be taking about eight inches off.”
“That’s fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Desiree smiled.
“All right. Let’s do it.”
Eight Inches on the Floor
Desiree dampened Sue’s hair and divided it into sections.
She clipped the upper layers out of the way.
“Head down a little.”
Sue lowered her chin toward her chest.
Desiree combed the first section straight down.
She positioned her fingers at the new length.
Then she opened the scissors.
Snip.
A thick section of dark brown hair fell onto the striped cape.
Sue glanced downward.
“That’s quite a bit.”
Desiree smiled.
“Eight inches, just like we discussed.”
She continued across the back.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
Long sections fell onto Sue’s shoulders and slid down the cape.
Some landed on the floor beneath the chair.
Desiree worked methodically, establishing a short guideline at the nape.
Then she began the graduation.
She lifted each successive section and cut it slightly longer than the hair beneath it.
The result was a beautifully shaped, stacked back that followed the curve of Sue’s head.
As the layers became shorter, Sue began to feel the familiar sensation of air against her neck.
She had missed it.
Desiree stepped back.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Sue smiled.
“I can already feel the difference.”
Desiree moved to the sides.
She combed the hair forward and cut a sharp diagonal line toward Sue’s chin.
The longer front sections framed her face, while the back remained dramatically shorter.
After drying the hair, Desiree refined the graduation and checked the outline.
She picked up a comb and a set of professional electric clippers.
“Head down again.”
Sue lowered her chin.
The clippers began buzzing.
Desiree carefully cleaned up the neckline, removing the stray hairs beneath the graduated bob.
Sue felt the cool metal of the clipper blade against her neck.
It was a familiar sensation, one she hadn’t experienced in two years.
Finally, Desiree switched off the clippers.
“There.”
She stepped back.
“Take a look.”
Sue studied her reflection.
Her long hair was gone.
In its place was a sleek, sharply angled bob.
The front reached her chin, while the back was short, closely graduated, and neatly shaped against her head.
Her neck was completely exposed.
She turned her head to one side.
The angle was beautiful.
“That’s exactly what I wanted.”
Desiree smiled.
“Good. I think it suits you.”
Sue laughed.
“I feel about ten years younger.”
Desiree handed her a mirror so she could see the back.
Sue examined the graduation.
“I love how short you made the nape.”
“That’s what gives it the shape. You’ll want to come back regularly if you want to keep it looking like this.”
Sue smiled.
“Every four weeks?”
“That would be perfect.”
Desiree removed the striped cape.
Long strands of Sue’s former hair slid onto the floor.
Sue stood and brushed a few loose clippings from her gray T-shirt.
She thanked Desiree and paid for the haircut.
Before leaving, she scheduled another appointment.
Four weeks.
She had found her new barber.
The Woman Malcolm Remembered
Sue stepped outside onto the sidewalk.
The warm spring air touched the back of her freshly trimmed neck.
She smiled.
The Historic Third Ward was bustling with activity.
People were walking between restaurants, galleries, and shops.
The afternoon sunshine reflected off the windows of parked cars.
Sue walked toward her Mustang.
She unlocked the door, slid behind the wheel, and lowered the sun visor.
In the mirror, she examined her new haircut.
She turned her head slightly.
The sharp angle was exactly what she had wanted.
She reached behind her head and ran her fingers over the closely graduated nape.
For the first time in two years, her hair felt right again.
She looked like herself.
Not the woman Danielle had convinced to grow her hair.
Not somebody trying to look older or more conventional.
Just Sue.
The same girl who had loved going to the barbershop with her younger brothers.
The same teenager who had imagined climbing into the barber chair and asking for a complete head shave.
The same young woman who had experimented with short bobs and closely graduated necklines throughout her twenties.
And the same thirty-eight-year-old woman who still looked forward to every haircut, wondering what unusual transformation she might witness in the chair beside her.
Sue opened her purse, took out a Marlboro Light, and lit it.
She lowered the driver’s window and took a leisurely drag.
Desiree had no idea how much Sue had anticipated the haircut.
As far as Desiree knew, she was simply a new customer who had grown tired of having long hair and decided to return to a familiar bob.
Sue was perfectly content to let her believe that.
But there was one more person whose reaction she was curious about.
Malcolm.
She remembered him standing in their kitchen two years earlier, complaining about her long hair and threatening to cut it himself.
She wondered what he would say when he saw her.
Would he smile?
Would he tell her she looked like the woman he’d fallen in love with?
Or would he simply act as though nothing had changed?
Sue didn’t know.
But she was looking forward to finding out.
She started the Mustang.
The 5.0-liter V8 settled into its familiar rumble.
As she drove away through Milwaukee’s Historic Third Ward toward Oak Creek, Sue glanced once more at her reflection.
Eight inches of hair were gone.
Her short bob was back.
And she already knew exactly when she would return.
Four weeks.
She wasn’t going to miss another appointment.
After all, thirty-eight wasn’t old.
And Sue had absolutely no intention of looking or feeling old before her time.

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