A Tale of Betrayal

I really like my hair. It’s a deep brown color that goes all the way down to my hips. I enjoy how it sways when I walk and how it makes me feel safe. It feels like a part of who I am and makes me feel feminine and unique.

My stepmother, on the other hand, has never been a fan of my long locks. She often makes snide remarks, questioning the practicality of having such lengthy hair. “Your hair is getting in the way again,” she would say, or “You should really consider cutting it. It’s not proper for a young lady.”

One evening, as we sat down for dinner, my stepmother couldn’t resist bringing up the topic once more. “Your hair is becoming quite unruly, dear. Maybe it’s time for a nice trim,” she commented, her disapproval evident in her tone.

My dad, trying to keep the peace, chimed in, “We could schedule a hair appointment for you this weekend. When are you free, sweetheart?”

Before I could even respond, my stepmother interjected, “I’m free on Saturday. I could take her. It would be a great opportunity for us to bond, don’t you think?”

My heart sank. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of her taking me to the salon, but my dad seemed pleased with the suggestion. “That’s settled then. It’ll be a nice outing for you two,” he said with a smile.

Feeling uneasy, I tried to voice my concerns. “Maybe we could wait for a day when Dad can take me, or I can even go by myself,” I suggested.

My dad, however, thought it was a great idea for me to spend quality time with my stepmother. “It’ll be good for both of you to have some girl time together,” he replied, oblivious to my apprehension.

The morning of the hair appointment, I found myself dreading the impending trip to the salon. As we got ready to leave, I deliberately took my time, hoping to delay the inevitable. My stepmother, however, was growing impatient. “Come on, we don’t want to be late for the appointment,” she urged.

I got into the car reluctantly, and we headed to the salon. As soon as we entered, the scent of hair products and the sound of blow dryers overwhelmed me. The hairdresser greeted us and complimented my hair by saying, “Wow, you have beautiful hair.” Feeling nervous, I only managed a small smile in response. “Let’s get you seated and start your haircut” she said, pointing out a vacant chair for me to sit in. I sat in the chair, and my stepmother sat on the waiting bench behind me with a malicious smile. The hairdresser then pinned my hair, put the cape on, and unpinned my hair, letting it swish against my back.

Then the hairdresser looked at me and asked, ‘What are we doing today?’ I started to respond, ‘Just a tri…’ but my stepmother interrupted me, saying, ‘Her hair is too long and untidy. She needs something shorter and more appropriate for her age.’ I was terrified and froze. ‘Give her a chin-length bob,’ she ordered.

The hairdresser feeling my anxiety and that I didn’t want to cut that much hair asked “Are you sure her hair is so healthy and that would mean cutting at least 20 inches.” she put her hand at the side part of my hair showing where the ends would be and remarking how much she would cut. My stepmother responded briefly “Yes, I’m sure.”.

“I love my long hair, I just want a trim, please,” I quickly interjected. My stepmother looked directly at me and said, “I’m sorry honey, but your hair is a mess and is not adequate for a girl your age. You would look better with something more sophisticated, like a short haircut.” As she said that, I accepted my defeat and looked down at my cape. The hairdresser trying to help intervened, “Maybe we could cut it to something a little less drastic like at the shoulders.” at the shoulders wouldn’t be as bad, I thought. But shortly after, she responded, “I want it to be off the shoulders, and I think a chin-length bob would be better on her.” Defeated, the hairdresser put her hands on my shoulders and said without making any noise, “I’m sorry.”

The hairdresser began brushing my hair while I was still trying to come to terms with my destiny. After she finished brushing, she went to the counter and picked up the scissors. “First, I’ll cut the bulk, and then we’ll clean up your hair for the final part.

I looked very nervous at what she was doing, she started to brush a lock of my hair from the side, so I could see what she was doing, and then positioned the scissors right above my shoulders. I couldn’t believe my beautiful hair, 20 inches or more of it I was going to lose, I couldn’t bear to see this massacre, so I closed my eyes, preparing for the sound of the scissors cutting through my hair. 

However, to my surprise, the hairdresser said, “You know, hair like this would be a pity to throw away.” I opened my eyes with hope, thinking that maybe she was going to style my hair in a new way. But my hope was quickly dashed when she asked, “What do you think about donating it?”

My stepmother responded, “Wouldn’t that be great? Such a good deed you’ll be doing.” However, I didn’t feel great. I was happy that at least my once beautiful and long hair wouldn’t go to waste, but I would have preferred it if it stayed on my head. “You’ll make a little girl so happy with your hair,” said the hairdresser, trying to make me less sad. I forced a marginal smile, but I couldn’t pretend that I was happy to lose all my hair.

The hairdresser started to gather my hair to put it in a ponytail, the last ponytail my hair would be for a while considering how short she was going to cut it. I could feel her putting the rubberband at the end of my neck, she then went to grab the scissors once again. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for what was about to happen. 

Soon after, the expected sound came, and my hair was now beyond repair. There was no turning back. I closed my eyes even tighter, unable to cope with the experience. I even let a tear or two escape my eyes. The cutting never seemed to end. But finally, after what felt like an eternity, it stopped.

I made the mistake of opening my eyes, not ready for what I was going to see. When I looked forward, I saw that my once hip-length hair had been cut short, ending just above my shoulders. I couldn’t believe it was me in the reflection of the mirror. But that wasn’t the worst of it. As I was starting to analyze the damage done, the hairdresser brought something from the back of the chair that was far more shocking. It was my ponytail of long, healthy, and beautiful hair. “This hair is going to make a little girl so happy,” she repeated, showing off my hair, or what was once it, like a prize.

My stepmother commented, “You already look so much better,” as the hairdresser placed the “prize” in front of me at the counter. I couldn’t help but stare at what used to be the source of my pride and confidence, back when it flowed down my back as I walked. My gaze shifted towards my stepmother, who stared back at me with a triumphant expression, putting salt to my already big wound that was this experience.

While I was feeling distressed, the hairdresser continued with the haircut by wetting my hair and cutting it just below my chin. Strands of hair measuring 2 inches were falling down onto the cape. If only this amount of hair were cut, I would be much happier. Unfortunately, there were 20 inches of hair cut in front of me, reminding me that this was not the case.

I continued to watch my reflection watching as my hair started coming closer and closer to a chin-lenght bob. 

The hairdresser finished cutting my hair and styled it with a length that felt unnatural to my eyes while blow-drying it.

After blow drying it, as she started unbuttoning my cape, she tried to console me, saying, “I know it’s quite the change, but it suits you.” My stepmother, who had always hated my long hair, was pleased with the outcome and remarked, “Yes, it suits far better than that mess you called hair.”.

The hairdresser finally removed the cape, shaking it to make the remaining strands of my hair that were stuck to it fall to the floor. “You’re free to go,” said the hairdresser, indicating for me to get up from the chair. After this traumatic experience, I gathered the remaining strength I had to get up.

As I stood up and turned towards the waiting bench, I saw my stepmother happily getting up to go pay for the demise of my once-long hair. “Hey, don’t forget the ponytail,” said the hairdresser, making me turn to her. “You need to take it with you and then send it to a charity that takes donations.” As she said that, my stepmother came from behind me and took it. “Your hair was so long, this ponytail is bigger than your hair is now,” remarked my stepmother as she put the ponytail next to my head. She then gave me the ponytail and went to the register to pay, as I stood there fixated on what was once attached to my head, devastated.

I was awakened from my daze by my stepmother, who said, “Let’s go, honey,” while holding the door for me. As I walked towards the exit, the hairdresser said, “Bye, sweetie. You’ll see that you’re going to start liking it.” However, I knew deep down that it wasn’t true, and she probably knew it too.

When we arrived at the car, my stepmother commented, ‘Short hair suits you much better, and it’s more practical. You’ll see that.’ I didn’t say anything, I just wanted to get home as quickly as possible. The rest of the trip was silent as I tried to come to terms with my new reality, while my stepmother drove happily.

When I got back home, I immediately went to my bedroom, shut the door, and threw my ponytail on the desk. I then jumped onto the bed and cried uncontrollably for about an hour. After that, I went to the mirror on my desk to examine how short my hair had become and to look at my ponytail which reminded me of my previously long hair.

Shortly after my dad arrived home and must have asked my stepmother about it. He then knocked on my bedroom door to console me. “Honey, please let me in,” he said in a calm and comforting voice. I went to the door, let him in, and we sat down on my bed.

“He started assessing the damage,” he said. “It’s short.” 

“Short?!” I exclaimed, “My hair almost reached my ass, and now I can’t even put it in a ponytail!”. “Yes, I know it’s very short. I’m sorry,” he said while hugging me. “Fortunately, it will grow back and be more practical in the meantime.” I couldn’t believe what I was wearing. “Are you serious?! It will grow back?! Yes, it will, but it is going to take at least three years!” I said, looking at him, flabbergasted. “I know, honey. I already talked with your stepmother and told her that it’s not okay. She won’t do it again.” 

I couldn’t accept the nonchalant way he was treating the situation. “Get out! I can’t believe this!!” After some more screaming, he left my room, and I proceeded to resume mourning my hair.

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