Feeling Curious (Part 3)

For the rest of our holiday, I could finally settle during the long days around the pool. Prior to my massage I struggled to stay twenty minutes on the lounger. I would be restless and start looking for something else to do, but this time I seemed quite happy to lie there for much longer. A large part of that was because I kept thinking about my conversation with Marija.

I did not spend every minute replaying our chat, but her haircut, the way she had spoken about it and the questions I had asked her kept coming back into my mind.

We didn’t spend the whole holiday around the pool though. On one of our final days, we went into the nearby town in the morning and wandered around for a few hours before stopping for lunch. On another, we took a boat along the coast and spent most of the afternoon out on the water. We also had several evenings where we stayed sitting outside long after dinner, talking over another drink because neither of us was in much of a hurry to go back to the room. It was probably the most relaxed I had felt in months. Even so, whenever there was a quiet moment, I found my thoughts drifting back to Marija and, more specifically, to her hair.

—-

I found that my hair behaved differently by the sea.

The salt brought out waves that I normally had to create myself, and after swimming I could leave it to dry naturally and end up with loose curls through the lengths. I liked it. It looked less controlled than usual, but in a good way, and there was more movement around my face.

It also meant I did not have to stand in the bathroom with a curling wand every evening.

I still noticed how much hair I had, though.

When it was wet, it felt heavy down my back. When the temperature climbed in the afternoon, I kept lifting it away from my neck or twisting it into a loose knot on top of my head.

But it was Central Europe in the middle of summer. Of course I was hot.

I tried not to make anything more of it than that.

We saw Marija around the hotel a couple more times before we left.

Once she smiled at me as she passed us in the lobby in her spa uniform. Another evening, we saw her leaving work in denim shorts and a loose white shirt.

Her buzzcut looked even shorter than I remembered.

She had sunglasses pushed onto the top of her head and waved when she saw us.

I waved back.

Then she carried on towards the entrance while Nick went back to telling me about a restaurant he wanted us to try that evening.

I watched her for another couple of seconds before turning back to him.

——

On our last night, I washed my hair before dinner and left it to dry naturally for a while before finishing it with the dryer. I liked that it fell into more of a natural wave than I usually allowed it to at home, so I only curled a few pieces around the front and left the rest alone.

Nick came in from the balcony while I was getting dressed.

“Your hair looks nice like that.”

“It’s done most of the work itself.”

“Even better.”

I smiled.

“It’ll be back to normal by Monday.”

“That’s a shame. I like it like this.”

By then, I had mostly convinced myself that the whole thing with Marija had just been part of the holiday.

The massage. Her haircut. All the questions I had asked her. Even the fact that I had suddenly started noticing women with short hair.

—-

The first Monday back was exactly as busy as I had expected.

There was a backlog of documents to review, claims to check and emails to go through. By lunchtime, it already felt as though I had never been away.

I had tied my hair up because I was hot and annoyed after spending most of the morning dealing with things that apparently could not have waited another day.

While I was waiting for my laptop to restart, I saw myself in the black screen.

My copper hair was piled loosely on top of my head, with several strands falling around my face.

I looked at it for a few seconds.

Then the screen came back on and I carried on working.

The holiday sun had dried the ends more than I had realised.

The colour still looked good and most of my hair felt healthy, but the last few inches were definitely rougher than before. I could feel the difference whenever I ran my fingers through it after washing it.

Liz was probably going to have to take off more than my usual inch.

Normally, the thought of that would have bothered me.

This time, it didn’t.

——

My appointment with Liz was already booked for the following Saturday.

She had been cutting my hair for nearly nine years and knew my rules almost as well as I did.

One inch meant one inch, layers meant long layers and there were strictly no getting carried away with the thinning scissors.

Liz was mobile stylist, so every six or seven weeks she would arrive at the house with her bags and equipment, which sometimes would include clippers if Nick was having his hair cut as well.

She usually worked our the tiled kitchen, where the light was good and the floor was easy to sweep afterwards.

I did not have any particular plan when Liz arrived. As far as I was concerned, she was there to take off the damaged ends, tidy the shape and leave the rest more or less as it was.

When I sat in the chair, positioned in the open part of our kitchen, she brushed carefully through the full length of my hair, then ran her fingers over the bottom few inches before pulling a face.

“Oh dear.”

I looked at her. “That bad?”

“It’s had a good holiday.”

“So have I.”

“Yes, but I think your hair might have enjoyed itself slightly too much.”

I laughed. “The sea was worth it.”

“It usually is.”

She gathered one of the longer sections between her fingers and examined the ends more closely, rubbing them lightly between her fingertips before letting them fall again.

“The colour is still lovely,” she said. “And most of it is in really good condition. But these last few inches are much drier than usual, so I think we need to take off a bit more than your normal trim.”

I looked at where she had been holding it.

“How much?”

“Three inches, ideally.”

Normally I would have objected immediately.

Instead, I looked at where her fingers were.

Even with three inches gone, my hair would still be long.

“What if you took more?”

Liz looked at me.

“How much more?”

“I don’t know.”

“That is not something I usually hear from you.”

I smiled.

She let the section fall.

“I could take four inches and reshape the layers.”

I lifted both hands and gathered my hair around my shoulders.

“What about here?”

I held my fingers just above shoulder level.

Liz stared at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. Put your hands back.”

I did.

She looked again at where I was holding it.

“That is quite a lot more than four inches.”

“I know.”

Liz folded her arms.

“What happened to you on this holiday?”

“Why does something have to have happened?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re normally more uptight about how much you want trimed.”

“That was because you said one inch.”

She started laughing.

“Fair point.”

I looked at myself again.

The ends were dry. There was no question about that.

But I knew that was not the only reason I was considering cutting more.

“I think I just fancy it feeling different.”

Liz stopped laughing.

“Different how?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s a bit vague.”

“I’m not asking for anything dramatic.”

“You are currently holding about six inches of your own hair above where it normally ends.”

“Is it that dramatic?”

“For you, Natalie, it is.”

I laughed.

She picked up her comb.

“So what happened?”

I hesitated.

“I met someone at the hotel.”

Liz raised her eyebrows.

“Not like that.”

“Oh.”

She sounded mock-disappointed.

“It was a woman who worked in the spa.”

“All right.”

“She had a buzzcut.”

Liz looked at me.

“A buzzcut?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“That is clearly not nothing.”

I sighed.

“She used to have hair almost to her waist. We got talking about it during a massage.”

“You talked about her buzzcut during a massage?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

Liz smiled.

“Long enough, apparently.”

“I was curious.”

“About buzzing your own hair?”

“No.”

The answer came out quickly.

Liz did not say anything.

I looked down at the hair falling over the cape.

“She just made me realise I’ve never really done anything different with mine.”

Liz nodded.

“That makes more sense.”

“I’ve had basically the same hair since I was twenty.”

“I know. In the nine years I’ve been cutting iy, you’ve never changed it that much.”

“And I do like it.”

“I know.”

“That’s the strange bit.”

“You can like it and still fancy a change.”

I looked at her.

“Is that your professional advice?”

“If you’re asking for it, then yes, that’s exactly what it is.”

She gathered the hair at the back and held it at around shoulder level.

“This would give you a long bob. Slightly longer at the front. You’d still have enough length to curl it, straighten it, pin it back or tie most of it up.”

I studied the shape she was making.

“And if I hate it?”

“You can blame it on the chlorine and too much sun.”

I laughed.

“Just do it.”

Liz paused.

“Before you change your mind?”

“Yes.”

She sectioned my hair carefully.

I watched her comb the first section straight down my back and hold it between her fingers.

“This is your last chance to ask for an inch.”

I looked at the length hanging beneath her hand.

“Just cut it.”

The scissors closed.

The first thick section dropped onto the cape before sliding into my lap.

I stared at it.

Liz cut the next one.

Then another.

And another.

By the time she released the rest of my hair, there was a surprising amount of copper lying across the cape and the floor.

My head already felt lighter.

Not massively different.

Just noticeably different.

Liz dampened what was left and started shaping it into a long bob. She kept the front slightly longer, with the back sitting just above my shoulders, then added some soft layers through the ends so it still had movement.

When she finished cutting, I could see more of my neck and shoulders than I had in years.

I turned my head slightly.

“That feels so different and lighter.”

“That might take it bit of getting used too.” She smiled.

Liz dried it smooth, and without the dry ends, the copper looked richer, and the shorter shape made the whole thing look thicker even though so much of it had just been cut off.

I moved my head from side to side.

Liz smiled.

“It moves differently.”

“That does happen when you remove half a foot of hair.”

“I know.”

I ran my hand underneath the back.

There was still plenty of hair there.

It still felt like me, just much shorter than I was used to.

“It suits you with it like that,” Liz said.

“I really like it.”

“Now you are thinking why didn’t you try this years ok.”

“I am a bit.”

She started putting a soft bend through the front with a round brush.

I watched her for a while, and then out of nowhere I asked “Would I suit it shorter?”

Liz stopped.

“How much shorter?”

“I don’t know.”

She looked at my face properly.

“Honestly. Yes it would.”

I looked at her.

“That was quick.”

“You asked if you’d suit short hair and I’ve given you another of my professional opinions. You would.”

“What kind?”

“I actually think a pixie would work.”

I looked back at myself.

“A pixie?”

“Yes. You’ve got good cheekbones, strong brows and a face that doesn’t need loads of hair around it.”

I tucked one side of the bob behind my ear.

Liz noticed.

“I’m not telling you to get one.”

“I know.”

“You’ve only just let me cut this much off. Enjoy this cut first.”

——

Nick appeared from the hallway when he heard us finishing.

He stopped when he saw me.

“Oh Nat.”

I turned towards him.

“Was that a good oh?”

“A very suprised, buy very good kind of oh.”

He then came closer.

“You’ve actually gone a lot shorter.”

“It’s still long.”

“Yes but it’s not long by your standards.”

“I had very long hair standards until half an hour ago.”

He touched the ends lightly.

“I really like it.”

“Liz says I have cheekbones.”

“I could have told you that.”

“You never have.”

“I assumed you knew.”

Liz rolled her eyes.

“Is this how you two talk when I’m not here.”

I laughed.

——

For the next couple of weeks, I had more fun with my hair than I had in years.

“It was still versatile, just without all the extra length I had been used to.”

I wore it straight and smooth with both sides tucked behind my ears.

Another day, I used the curling wand to put loose bends through it and ended up with soft waves around my shoulders.

One morning I curled it more tightly and let the curls separate on their own.

Another time, I changed my parting completely and clipped one side back with a gold barrette.

At the weekend, I let it dry naturally and discovered that some of the wave I had liked on holiday was actually mine. With less weight pulling it down, my hair curled more easily than it had before.

Nick liked it that way.

“You should leave it like that more often.”

“It looks a bit wild.”

“That’s why I like it.”

I smiled and kissed him.

The other thing I liked was how quickly it dried.

Something that used to take the best part of an hour could now be done in less than half the time.

Because I was trying different things with it, doing my hair also stopped feeling quite so much like a job.

I could still tie most of it back.

I could still curl it.

“It still worked perfectly well for the office.”

And I did not miss the extra length.

—-

For a couple of weeks, I thought that was probably the end of it.

But that wasn’t the case, as I found myself paying attention to shorter hairstyles again

One morning on the Underground heading to work, a woman sitting a few seats away from me had a close pixie, neatly shaped around her ears.

When she stood up to get off, I found myself looking at the back of it.

Another day, while I was out getting lunch from the office, I noticed a younger woman in a coffee shop with a short crop and a longer fringe swept to one side.

I had probably seen hundreds of similar haircuts before.

I just hadn’t paid much attention to them.

Now I did.

——

At home, I sometimes tucked my bob firmly behind both ears while I was doing my hair and looked at myself for a few seconds.

Then I would let it fall again.

I liked the bob. I liked the way it moved, and having more of my neck visible. I liked being able to wear it straight one day and curly the next.

Perhaps that was why I started thinking about going shorter at all.

The first haircut had not frightened me in the way I had expected. I had thought I might regret losing all that length.

I hadn’t.

One evening, after washing it, I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my fingers through the damp hair at the back.

It felt thick and soft, with the ends just touching my shoulders.

And then for some reason, I my mind cast back to Marija again. More specifically, I remembered how her buzzcut had felt when I touched it.

I had expected such short hair to feel rougher than it did. Instead, there had been a soft, dense resistance beneath my palm, almost like velvet when I moved my hand against the direction of the growth. I could still remember the slight change in texture at the crown, and how clearly I had felt the shape of her head beneath so little hair.

The thought would linger longer than I expected. For whatever reason, I just couldn’t shake this memory from my mind.

Eventually, I picked up the dryer and did my own hair.

—-

I had started saving photographs of shorter hairstyles on my phone. At first, most of them were cautious choices: longer pixies with soft fringes, more length through the crown, and enough hair around the sides that they still felt safe. I could imagine myself trying something like that without feeling as though I had gone too far.

After a while, though, the photographs began getting shorter. The hair was closer around the ears, neater at the nape, and there was less fringe covering the forehead. I did not notice the change at first. One evening, looking through the folder, I realised how different the later photographs were from the first ones.

There was one in particular that I kept returning to. It showed a very short copper crop, clipped close around the ears and nape, with only a small amount of textured length left through the top. The fringe was barely there: a short, broken edge across the front, leaving most of the woman’s forehead and face exposed.

It was much shorter than anything I could imagine actually asking Liz to do, but I liked its shape. I saved it, then eventually put it into a separate folder of its own.

For the first time in years, doing something different with my hair felt enjoyable rather than something I had to worry about getting wrong. I wore it in loose waves when Nick and I went out for dinner, straightened it for work, or pinned one side back when I wanted it away from my face. Sometimes I changed the parting or curled the ends slightly; other days, I left it almost completely natural.

I was not in any hurry to have it cut again, and I still did not know whether I would ever go as short as the photographs I had been saving. But every so often, when I tucked my bob behind my ears or felt it at the back of my neck, I wondered what I would look like with much less hair.

I was happy with it.

I just no longer felt certain it was where I wanted to stop.

 

To Be Continued…