Fifty

::This story delves into some difficult topics, including illness, death, and abuse.::

 

————— March 2022 ————-

 

I stood in front of the full length mirror with a towel clutched around me fresh from the shower.  I thought about the shower, and how I had taken to grabbing the safety bar tightly as I stepped out.

I let the towel fall away.  I stood there thinking to myself, Judy you’re getting old.

My once flat and toned belly bulged slightly.  My nipples were a good amount lower than they had started out.  My arms had gone from muscled enough to wrangle toddlers all day when I’d worked at the daycare to rather soft.

I’d turned 50 in February.

There was no party, no fuss.  There’d been the usual smattering of text messages and facebook posts.  My 32 year old son, Jimmy, called to say happy birthday when he got off work.  My 19 year old daughter, Rose, called between classes from her dorm room.  There’d even been a single old fashioned made out of paper card in the mailbox from an ex who I’d stayed friends with.  I’d treated myself to takeout from the local chinese restaurant.  

Before 2020, when someone in my friends group turned 50, it meant a gathering, drinks, an outing.  Since 2020 though, things had been different.  I was the third in our group to turn 50 in some level of quarantine.

We weren’t completely isolated, but we also weren’t the kind of support for each other we used to be.  We would chat on the phone occasionally.  We had some meetups, but never got together as a large group.   We would sometimes see eachother one or two at a time at each other’s houses or at cafes once we were vaccinated.  During good weather, we’d gone to sit outdoors in smaller groups.

When it was looking like the pandemic was finally winding down over the summer, there’d been some talk of maybe doing something for my fiftieth, but then omicron hit, and stuff got complicated, so that was the end of that.

So, I had quietly marked having managed to survive an entire half century of existence alone.

I reached over and grabbed my warm terry cloth robe, obscuring the no longer youthful body, things could be worse.  I turned away from the mirror and picked up my detangling comb from the top of my dresser.

I sat on my queen size bed.  The side I slept on was cleared off and had a slight dip in the mattress I should probably replace.  The other side had a stack of books, a kindle, a cord to charge my phone, and a box of tissues.  It used to have a spot perpetually covered in cat hair, but the 16 year old tabby passed away in April 2021, and I wasn’t emotionally ready to replace her.  So after the quilt had been washed, the spot of cat hair hadn’t returned.

I began to comb out my long hair.  It was one of the least changed aspects of my life.  It had been the same length for decades.  That length was as long as it was willing to grow.  The bulk of it was just about waist length, but the straggly ends extended beyond that, tapering off just above my tailbone.  Somehow, the brown hair was still mostly brown with only a few scattered gray here and there.

The comb made fast work through the tangles.  Long and tapered though the ends were, I actually kept them pretty healthy.  For over 3 decades, I had kept a sharp pair of scissors just for dealing with split ends.  Not the exact same pair, they’d been lost or damaged then replaced a few times, but I always had one.  At least once a week I would sit and listen to the television and pull the long hair forward over my shoulder.  Then I would hunt for the split ends and snip them off individually one at a time, never cutting off more than a quarter of an inch or so above the damage.

I pulled the wet hair forward now, as I combed.  If all went as planned, in a few hours I wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.  I wondered for the millionth time if it really was a good plan.

 

———————————-

 

Several months ago, I was discussing yet again my childhood full of abuse and trauma.  It had been decades, it felt dumb to still be thinking about it, but here I was.  For a while, I had thought I was over it, but then breaking up with my wife at the end of 2018 had brought up all kinds of shit.  

For a year I buried it being a busy mom, friend, worker when I had to.  Then hitting the gay bars and getting drunk when I had no obligations to distract me.

Quarantine had left me stuck at home with nothing to distract me from the emotional baggage.  After a particularly vivid flashback I accidentally triggered by finding the nightgown with the cigarette burn in it that had been used as padding for some wine glasses from packing up my parents house, I decided it was time to give therapy another go, and just hoped it went better this time around.

Being broke, my options were limited, leaving me wondering about the quality of the therapy I was getting.  I figured though, that since I really did need someone I could just babble away at about my life, bad therapy was better than no therapy.

It was when my therapist had said I should revisit one of the many traumas from my youth and try reframing it into a situation where I was in control that I really started to question the quality of the therapy I was receiving, it seemed like a possible recipe for disaster.  Considering that I had triggered a flashback just by finding the nightgown, actually deliberately revisiting trauma seemed like a very bad idea.

Once the idea was in my head though, it started to nag at me.  Most of it was stuff I didn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole, but there was one aspect of my life where I had let one bad experience prevent me from doing something that just should be normal.

 

————— April 1988 —————

 

I’d hidden the undercut for a month.  My long hair fell well past my shoulders, easily obscuring my nape that was covered in hair so short it felt like velvet, though by a month out, the velvet sensation had been waning.  Natalie had done it to me during detention.  

Some teachers made us sit silently and look straight ahead doing nothing during detention making it punitive.  Other teachers suggested we use the time constructively to work on homework or study, which wasn’t quite as bad.  Mr Jones though was different, he didn’t give a shit what we did as long as it wasn’t dangerous, illegal, or noisy enough to be heard out in the hallway, it was pretty great.  Heck, it wasn’t unheard of for kids who didn’t have detention to show up to just hang out with friends who did have detention when Mr Jones was in charge.

Mr Jones just kept working on his New York Time crossword puzzle as Natalie convinced me my mom would never notice it.  I had told her my mom would kill me if I got an undercut.  I was nervous for a few reasons, not just the possibility of my mom killing me, but I also really just loved my long chocolate brown hair, which at the time reached to about the bottom of my ribcage.  Of course an undercut was a way to go punk without losing length.  I finally gave in.

Natalie borrowed a pair of scissors from Kimberly who was always knitting during class, and was making a fair amount of progress during detention on the Doctor Who scarf she’d been working on for months.  The only thing Mr Jones said was to make sure that all the hair got cleaned up so the custodian wouldn’t complain.  He even let us have one of the sections of the newspaper he didn’t care about to help make sure we didn’t leave a mess.

I sat precariously on top of the writing surface on one of the desk/chairs, my feet in the seat, the sheets of newspaper spread out on the floor below.  Natalie carefully parted the hair on the back of my head, and had me hold the hair above her parting up out of the way as she combed down the bottom three or so inches above my neck.  The whole time my heart pounded.

All of the kids in detention hall watched as I sat there waiting for Natalie to take me from poser who changes clothes before going home to real punk.  Excitement and terror waged a war inside me.

I felt cold metal against my nape, I heard the crunch, then I heard the bundle of long hair land on the newspaper.  There were half a dozen teenage exclamations of awe.

It took a bit for Natalie to cut all the hair from the nape of my neck off as close to the skin as possible with just scissors and comb.  She pressed the blades flat against my scalp, closing them over and over again, moving them up and down, switching angles, and using the comb to get the hair to stand up to be cut.  Little splinters of hair were getting inside my collar.

Natalie declared it done and my hand slipped down to feel the velvety patch.  I had tried to get a look at it, Natalie holding the mirror that came with her blush and me holding the mirror from my eyeshadow, but it really was too small to get any idea of what it actually looked like.  When detention ended, Natalie and I went to our usual girls’ bathroom where I could see it in the larger mirror, I was both delighted and shocked.

Natalie had done a pretty good job of it considering we didn’t have access to clippers.  It wasn’t quite as perfectly uniformly close as the sides of Kevin’s head when he’d run clippers over them, but it was good enough to pass.

In the bathroom anyway, I began my usual after school routine.  I washed off the heavy eyeliner my mother had no idea I put on every morning here in the girls’ room closest to my locker and changed from the clothing I had scavenged and kept in my locker back into the preppy clothing she provided.  It was when I took the safety pin I wore in one of my ears as an earring out and placed the simple star shaped stud into my earlobe, that I really considered what hiding this way too radical haircut was going to be like.  It couldn’t stay in my locker at school along with the ripped military surplus jacket, thrift store shirts, and miniskirts I made in home-ec, I’d be wearing the haircut home.  It was too late to change my mind though.  I smoothed the long hair over the undercut and said “See you tomorrow” to Natalie.

 

—————————————-

 

I wasn’t at home when my mother discovered the haircut a month later.  I was hanging out with Natalie, Kevin, Gail, and John on one of the benches by the front steps during our lunch period.  I was wearing the clothing from my locker, had my makeup and jewelry on, and my long hair pulled back in a ponytail, the undercut on full display.  Kevin had just gotten the “Bedtime For Democracy” cassette from The Dead Kennedys, and was playing it as loud as we could get away with on his boombox.  We were joking around and having a good time when my mom showed up.  

At first she almost walked past me.  I had a vague hope she would simply not recognize me if I hid my face slightly behind Kevin, but of course she recognized Natalie and paused long enough to spot me.

“Judith,” she said with cold fury.

“Hi mom,” I tried to say it in a way that might diffuse the situation slightly, as I pressed the stop button on Kevin’s boom box.  “What are you doing here?”

“I was picking up something from your guidance counselor.”  She stated, the anger visible just under the cold surface.  “Why aren’t you in class, are you cutting again?”

“No, we’re on lunch Mrs Renolds.”  Natalie intervened, holding up her peanut butter and jelly sandwich as evidence.

Mom looked over our little group.  The expression of distaste as she looked Kevin, Gail, and John up and down twisting her face.  Having heard what she had to say about Natalie’s purple bob, I had little hope of anything even vaguely like approval.  I knew she thought John’s short on the sides longish on top hair was too green.  I knew she thought Gail’s chelsea was too weird and her dress too short, though I wasn’t sure what she thought of the vest that had been a hand-me-down from Gail’s grandfather.  I knew she could barely understand Kevin’s spiked mohawk, Meat is Murder t-shirt, and ripped jeans held up with suspenders.   We all just stood there silently, waiting.

“I will be picking you up promptly at 3 o’clock Judith.”  She finally said with a scowl.

“I have detention till 3:45.”

“Of course you do.”  Mom muttered her anger obviously getting deeper.  “You can make it up tomorrow, I will write you a note.  Be at the usual spot at 3.”

“Yes mom.”  I said, as she turned and left, not bothering to go get whatever it was my guidance counselor had wanted to give her.

Kevin put his arm protectively around me.  The whole group stood there silently watching my mom walk away.

When mom was in her car and pulling away, Natalie finally spoke.  “She’s not actually going to kill you, is she?”

I swallowed, “I think I’m just going to wish she had.”

 

————————————

 

At 3 o’clock, I was at the side of the school.  I’d changed my clothes and washed my face.  So I stood there in the stupid 3 years out of style Izod polo shirt and pastel jeans that were what my mother thought would get me in with the preppy crowd she wished I was part of.  I wasn’t totally sure if it was going to seem like contrition or deception to her, but it seemed the safer bet than staying in the clothing I’d been wearing earlier.  Besides, this made it harder for her to get rid of the clothing that I’d put a lot of effort into acquiring.  I waited nervously.

Mom didn’t say anything as I got into the car.  She just started driving.

I stared out the window longing to be allowed to roll it down, as mom lit a cigarette.  I would be choking on the smoke soon.  Rolling down the window even on a nice day was forbidden though.

Mom started just rattling off a list of the usual punishments.  It had been so long since I had been allowed to do anything much more than sit on my bed reading or feed my rabbit that it didn’t mean much anyway.  It never occurred to her that the main reason I ended up needing to cut class sometimes was because I never had time to do anything or go anywhere outside of school hours, since I was always grounded.  It never occurred to her that I was just as happy getting detention, because it was better than being at home.

When I was younger, I would have been facing a major spanking, but she’d given that up about a year ago.  I’d overheard her complaining to a friend about her frustration over having to give up spanking me because I had gotten big enough to hit back.

I thought about apologizing, but what exactly was I going to apologize for.  It wasn’t like I was sorry that I dressed the way that I wanted to when I was away from her.  I wasn’t even sorry about the undercut, I’d been nervous about letting Natalie do it, but once it was done the only part of it I didn’t like was that I had been scared mom would see it.  

*Sorry you discovered that I have managed to find ways to be the real me you forbade me to be instead of the little preppy princess you want me to be so you can fit in with the right crowd in the PTA,* as an apology would just have pissed her off more.

“You let Natalie do that to your lovely hair, didn’t you?”  Mom accused as she finally snuffed out the cigarette in the ashtray.

“I did it myself.”  I lied.

“I’m sure it was an idea Natalie put into your head.”  Mom said.  “I see forbidding you from going to her house after school hasn’t been enough.  I’ll be talking to your guidance counselor tomorrow about switching you to a different lunch period.  I can’t believe the hooligans she has you spending time around.”

Of course she was blaming Natalie for the entire lunch group.  Kevin had been my friend first, not Natalies.  Gail was Kevin’s cousin.  John was the only one Natalie had brought into the group.   I considered telling her that I was the one who got Natalie to hang out with Kevin and Gail, but what was the point?  She was convinced that her superior genetics couldn’t possibly have produced someone capable of not being her perfect princess.

“They’re MY friends.”  I said, even though I knew she wouldn’t believe it.  The irony that I knew I could get away with the earlier lie, but that she wouldn’t accept the truth made telling it feel pointless.

Mom didn’t respond, she just made a very disapproving noise.  I just decided to ignore her and look out the window I wished was open as my eyes stung from the lingering smoke.  I suddenly realized we weren’t heading towards home.

“Where are we going?”  I asked.

“Florence’s Beauty Parlor,”  mom stated,  “to see what they can do to fix what you did to your hair.”

“It can’t be fixed mom.”  I rolled my eyes.  “They can’t put it back on.”

“We’ll see.”  Mom said in a terrifyingly cold tone.

I sighed.  I had mixed feelings about going to the beauty parlor.  I figured they’d just confirm what I had said to mom that my hair wasn’t fixable and she was just going to have to wait for the undercut to grow out to go back to pretending her daughter would ever fit in with the country club set.  I was nervous about what Brenda, who trimmed my hair usually, would think of it though.  Of course, she’d have seen it in about 2 more weeks anyway, since I’d be due for a trim.  

Brenda was in her mid 20s with classic late 80s medium length light brown permed and teased big hair with frosted tips.  She was the youngest of the ladies at the shop by what seemed to me a pretty big margin.  She was tall and athletic, and had the most infectious smile.  I had feelings around Brenda that I couldn’t understand or explain.  It would be another decade before I would look back on those feelings and realize I’d had a giant crush on her.

I hoped that Brenda would say it was cool when she informed my mother that it was impossible to fix it.  I doubted people were getting undercuts at Florence’s even from the youngest stylist there, it just wasn’t that kind of place, but surely Brenda was young enough to think it was awesome.  If I had known how wrong I was going to be, I would have been reluctant to get out of the car when we pulled into the parking lot.

Walking into the salon, my nose was immediately assaulted with the familiar stench.  Burnt hair, burnt coffee, cigarette smoke, lysol, perm solution, hair color, and Aquanet.   My ears were equally assaulted by the banter of the half dozen people there all trying to be heard over hairdryers.  At that point though, I still had enough good feelings about the female comradery and being included in an adult world there that I was happy enough to put up with the smell and noise.

“Hello Marion.”  Florence, who seemed to be taking a coffee break, greated my mother.  “You said something about an emergency on the phone?”

“Oh Flo,” my mother sighed in the most martyr like tone, “you won’t believe what Judith did to her hair.”  Then turning to me commanded “Show Mrs Thomson.”

I rolled my eyes, but turned and lifted up the long hair that hid the back on my head anyway.  I felt very uncomfortably on display, it wasn’t like I was embarrassed by the slightly grown out undercut, but I had a feeling Florence was not going to appreciate it.

“Oh my,” Florence practically gasped melodramatically.  “Why did you do that to your lovely hair child?  What were you thinking?  You wouldn’t believe the things that kids are doing to their hair these days.  A few days ago I had a mother bring in her daughter who had the most lovely blonde hair, the child had dyed the bottom 3 inches of it purple with grape kool aid.”

“Judy has a friend who dyed all of her hair purple and her parents just let her get away with it.  Of course I’m pretty sure they’d been hippies back in the sixties, so what do you expect?  I try to keep Judy away from them, but there’s only so much I can do.”  Then Mom asked. “Was getting rid of the kool aid an easy fix?”

“Sure,”  Florence assured her.  “I just cut off the purple parts.  The only part of it that was difficult was the fuss the girl made about it.”

“I hope Judith won’t be making any kind of fuss when her hair is fixed.”  Mom said rather pointedly towards my back.  Then turned to Florence and asked, “will Brenda be able to see what can be done soon?”

I just rolled my eyes and went to go sit on the couch while mom gossiped more with Florence.  The magazine selection wasn’t great, I ended up just flipping through a copy of Woman’s Day that had some cute cake decorating ideas.  I was kind of looking forward to Brenda informing my mother that my hair was unfixable and she’d just have to wait for it to grow back.  It wasn’t like dyed purple tips that could be cut off.

“Hi, Mrs Renolds.”  I heard Brenda’s melodic voice say.  “So what happened to Judy?”

“She went and cut her own hair.”  Mom complained to Brenda as though I’d been a little kid playing with scissors.

“Really?!”  Brenda exclaimed with surprise. “I thought she had outgrown that stage.”

I flushed with angry embarrassment that mom had made me sound like a child to Brenda.  I put down the magazine, and stood to join the conversation.

“It’s an undercut.”  I stated.  “It looks fine, and I like it.”

My mother scowled at me and Brenda looked almost ready to laugh with condescending amusement.

“Judy honey, let me see, so that I can talk to your mom about how to fix it.”  Brenda said rather calmly.

“It can’t be fixed.”  I stated as I lifted the long hair up showing off the back of my head.  “You can’t put the hair back on, it just has to grow out.”

Brenda reached over and brushed her gentle fingers up through the soft pelt at the nape of my neck.  The feelings I didn’t know what to do with at that young age ran through me like electricity.

“It’s not as bad as I feared,” Brenda said to my mom.   “When she said undercut, I worried it was cut all the way to the scalp.”

“It was when Natalie first cut it,”  I said defensively, not wanting to be thought of as having a half-assed version.  “It’s just had a month to grow.”

“What do you mean when Natalie cut it?”  Mom asked angrily.  “When I asked you if Natalie did it, you told me you did it.  You lied to my face!”

I stood there frozen.  Shit I’d fucked up.  I wanted to say What does it matter if I lied, you don’t believe me most of the time when I tell the truth, but I was just too damned scared.

“It doesn’t really matter who did it,” Brenda said in a calm tone obviously trying to diffuse the situation.  “The damage is done.  Let’s just focus on the solution.”

DAMAGE?!!!  My complicated feelings about Brenda were suddenly even more confusing as hurt entered the mix.  I thought she was going to be impressed by it, but she’d just called it damage instead.

“What can you do to fix it?”  Mom asked, the fury still obviously under the surface.

“It can’t be fixed, she can’t put the hair back.”  I pointed out again as I let my long hair down.  “Besides, it took you a month to even notice it.”

“She’s half right, I can’t put the hair back obviously.”  Brenda said in a tone that felt condensing.  “The only way to fix it is to cut the top short to match.”

“I don’t want short hair.”  I blurted out.  

“Well you should have thought of that before you let that supposed friend of yours ruin your hair.”  Mom growled at me then changed tone for Brenda.  “She needs to look like a girl.  She’s getting too old to keep calling it a tomboy phase.”

Which had been the exact same phrase she used when she told my guidance counselor I had to take home-ec instead of auto-mechanics.

“We can give her a permanent wave.”  Brenda suggested.  “I promise it won’t be boyish. Ok Judith?”

“No!”  The idea of short hair was bad enough, but at least short hair could be punk, short permed hair though… “I like my hair the way it is.  There’s nothing wrong with it, it doesn’t need to be fixed.  And I don’t want toxic chemicals in my hair.”

“Judith there’s nothing to be scared of, I promise the perm won’t hurt.”  Brenda told me like I was a little kid.

“I’m not scared, I just don’t want it.”  The pain of being treated like a child by Brenda was almost overwhelming.

“Sweetie, what if your mom needs to take you to a nice event?”  Brenda continued.  “Now come along and we can make it look nice again.”

“No!”

“Judith you go with Brenda now and behave yourself or so help me….”  My mother threatened in an icy tone.

“Or so help you what?”  I challenged.  “You’ll ground me?  I’m already grounded for so long I will legally be an adult by the time you can add anymore.  You’ll take away what exactly?  I already can’t use the phone, or watch TV, or go to friends’ houses.  You’ve run out of things to take away mom.”

“I’m sorry Brenda.”  Mom said with a terrifying calm.  “Judith and I are going to step outside for a moment to have a discussion.  We’ll be back in a minute.”

I followed mom outside steadfastly determined to stay defiant at this point.  I had suddenly realized that with the latest round of punishments I’d been given the freedom of having nothing left to lose.  I felt lighter as I walked out the door, my arms crossed over my chest.

I stood on the sidewalk off to the side of the entrance, standing tall.  Suddenly realizing I was actually a half inch or so taller than my mother when I didn’t shrink down around her.  I looked her clearly and defiantly in the eye.

“Judith if you do not go and get into that salon chair and let Brenda fix that hair into something respectable,”  My mother said in a chilling voice.  “When we get home I am taking that damn messy rabbit your father bought you straight to the butcher shop.”

I felt my heart falter as the blood drained from my face.  I’d been wrong again, I did still have something left to lose.  It had never occured to me that she would go so low as to threaten Harvey even though she’d never liked giving up a corner of the back yard to his hutch.  I knew my feelings and Harvey’s life meant nothing to her, but I thought she would be scared that dad might finally stand up to her.  I thought she realized that Harvey was pretty much the only reason I hadn’t just run away from home.

The arms that had been crossed in defiance shifted to clutching myself, it was a subtle movement, my hands going from fists tucked against my biceps to wrapping my hands around them.   I swallowed.

“Am I understood Judith?”  She asked after she’d given her statement time to sink in.  “No talking back, no fussing, no complaining.  You will be polite to Brenda and say thank you when she is done.”

I stood there feeling small and powerless.  My shoulders bent down, my mother stood taller than me.  I nodded.

“Do you promise?” She demanded.

“Yes.  I promise.”  I conceded.

 

————————————————————————————-

 

I didn’t say anything as we walked back into the beauty parlor, and my mother sent me off with Brenda.  As I followed Brenda to the sinks for her to wash my hair, she assured me it would look pretty.  She obviously had no idea what the whole punk aesthetic was about, or what I wanted.

As I leaned my head back into the sink, and closed my eyes to keep the shampoo and water from going in them, tears escaped down the side of my face.  I told myself at the time that the tears were because I was so scared for Harvey, he was my responsibility and I loved him.  Looking back though, I’m sure some of the tears were about Brenda hurting my feelings by treating me like a little kid who’d ruined my hair instead of an almost adult who’d just gotten a haircut my mom happened to dislike.  Brenda of course assumed I was crying because I was worried about the haircut and perm so just kept promising I’d be pretty and that the perm wouldn’t hurt.

The slow quiet tears continued as I sat in the styling chair and Brenda sliced the long locks off, shorter than I wanted them, but not short enough to be punk.  I watched the hair snipped off at the bland length and listened to the wet chunks plop on the linoleum floor.

Then she rolled what was left of my hair around perm rods and began saturating my hair with the horrible chemicals I was sure polluted the planet and were tested on animals.

 

————————————————————————————

 

The next day at school, I didn’t change or do my make up.  First period was algebra 2/trigonometry, the class I had met Kevin in.  As I sat down in my seat next to his, he just looked confused for a second, not recognizing me till he looked at my face, then when he did his own face blanched.

“What happened?”  He asked.

I just shook my head as tears started rolling down my cheeks.

“Are you ok?”

I just shrugged.  

Kevin looked nervously at Mrs Lee, our math teacher, then back at me.  Mrs Lee was already starting to write stuff on the board even though the bell hadn’t rung yet. Kevin got up and went to talk to her.  Mrs Lee looked over at me with a wrinkled brow, and pursed lips.  They were still talking in hushed voices as the bell rang.  Mrs Lee finally nodded, pulled out two slips of paper, and wrote on them.  I suspected hall passes from the size and color.

“Come on, we’re going to go see Mr Lopez.”  Kevin said softly as he lifted me gently by my elbow.

I went along even though I knew there wasn’t really anything my guidance counselor was actually able to do.  Halfway to the guidance office, Kevin pulled me to the side in one of the stairwells for privacy.

“What did she do to you?”  He asked.

“Nothing really,”  I muttered.  “Just the usual punishments.  And obviously she took me to the beauty parlor to fix my hair.”

“There must have been something more?”  Kevin prodded.  “Your whole demeanor has changed.  Why did you let her do that to your hair?  Why are you wearing that pastel outfit?”

“She made a threat.”  I didn’t explain more as the tears just continued to flow.

“Did she threaten to hurt you?”

“I would have put up with being hit over her doing this to my hair.”  I said, chuckling painfully and looking away from Kevin.  “She used to spank me all the time when I was little.  I kinda just got used to it,”

“What was the threat?”

I just shook my head.  I couldn’t make the words come out.  I wasn’t sure how he’d react.  I was embarrassed to tell him.

“If you tell me, maybe I can help.”  He reasoned.

I looked at him through my wet eyelashes.  He looked so concerned, so worried, so sad.  I shook my head.

“Please tell me, Judy.”  He pleaded.

“She threatened Harvey.  She said she would take him to the butcher shop.”  I rubbed the tears from my eyes as I finally gave in.  “I let them ruin my hair with toxic chemicals to protect my bunny.  And now I feel like a complete poser.”

“Putting the safety of a vulnerable animal over vanity is hardcore.”  Kevin assured me, looking at me with a certain bittersweet admiration.

“He’s not safe though.  She will take him to the butcher if I mess up even a little bit.”

“Can you let him go in the wild?”

“He’s a domestic rabbit that has never been on his own.”  I explained.  “Out in the wild he’d just stand around being confused as to why nobody was showing up with pellets and a carrot for him.  Then some predator would get him.”

“Is there anything I can do?”  Kevin asked gently.

“Would your mom let you have a pet rabbit?”

“Probably.  And you could visit him anytime you could sneak over.”  Kevin said and gave me a hug.  

Nuzzled into Kevin’s arms there in the stairwell, I mistook the love that comes from friendship, gratitude, admiration, comfort, and safety for the love that stems from attraction and romance.  We started kissing, and there was something about the taste of my own tears on his lips that made me feel even more comforted.  It was a few minutes before we pulled away.

“Come on, our hall passes say we have to go see Mr Lopez.”  Kevin reminded me, taking my hand and leading me towards the guidance office.

At the guidance office, Mr Lopez asked the usual questions.  The same questions I’d been asked a half dozen times by teachers, vice principals, and a school nurse.  Though the time with the school nurse had included lots of extra questions about how the accident with the cigarette happened.

“Did she hit you?”

“not this time”

“Does she ever hit you?”

“it’s been a while”

“When she hit you, was it with an open hand or closed fist?”

“open”

“Did it leave welts?”

“i don’t know, i don’t think so, it’s been a while”

“What about animal cruelty?”  Kevin argued, when he could see what I had already known, Mr Lopez might not approve of the way my mother treated me, but it didn’t fall into the legal definition of child abuse and being questioned about it just made me feel ashamed.

“You’re going to have to ask the ASPCA about that Kevin.”  Mr Lopez sounded tired, then deliberately changed topics.  “Oh, Judy, your mom never showed up to get the paperwork for a summer math enrichment program I thought you might enjoy.  It’s on a college campus.  Kevin, your mom picked up an application yesterday.”

“Is there a scholarship option?”  Kevin asked cautiously.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of another student, but I gave the application for that to her also.”  Mr Lopez assured him.  “I’ll get a copy of the application for Judy and write you both hall passes, and you can get back to class.  And Judy, you can stop by anytime if you need to talk more.”

It was over lunch that Natalie, John, and Gail helped Kevin and I come up with a plan to move Harvey to Kevin’s house without my mom finding out till it was a done deal.

 

————————- September 2021 ————————————

 

Klunk

I opened one dry eye and looked over at Natalie trying to reach for the water pitcher weakly.  She’d knocked an almost empty box of tissues on the floor next to the thankfully empty emergency bucket.

“Hey let me get that.”  I said as I struggled to be awake enough to shrug off the afghan I had wrapped myself in when I had dozed off to sleep in the recliner around 3am after having cleaned out the emergency bucket.

“I was trying not to wake you.”  Natalie said apologetically, her usually sweet cheerful voice gravelly and horse.

I looked at the clock on the nightstand next to Natalie’s bed as I started to fill the water glass.  It was 6:45.  

“I have to make sure Izzy gets up and ready for school in 15 minutes anyway.”  I said as I placed the glass in Natalie’s shaking hand.  “Do you want to try keeping down some saltines?  Do you think a little pot would help?”

“Not till after Izzy is off to school.”  Natalie croaked while handing the still fairly full water glass back to me.  “You might have to drive her if she misses the bus.” 

“I’ll go make sure she’s up and going.”  I said, because I really didn’t want to leave Natalie alone yet.

“I’m so sorry this is all falling on you.”  Natalie apologized weakly when I turned to go.

“That’s not your fault,”  I assured her.  “You didn’t choose to get sick in the middle of a pandemic.”

Before 2020, taking care of Natalie through something like this would have been a group effort.  John would have been a supportive husband, I would have just been one of many friends who stopped by to help out with laundry or the kids.  As it was though, Natalie was now a widow and everyone agreed that limiting the number of people she came into contact with while her immune system was weakened by the treatments was a good idea.

“Judy,”  Natalies voice broke as she raised it enough for me to hear as I turned the door knob.  “I think I’ll be up to sitting up straight for an hour later.  Can you ask Izzy for the hair scissors?”

“Sure,” and I walked out into the hall and down towards Izzy’s room.

At the door I knocked, and waited a moment before opening it.  Izzy was sitting on the side of her bed pulling on her socks.  

“Hey, Aunt Judy,”  Izzy greeted me with the honorary title when she looked up.  “How’s mom?”

“She’s doing a bit better this morning.  How’s it going with you, sweetie?”  I asked.

“Fine, I‘m ahead of schedule.”  Izzy announced.  “I have a little extra time, want me to make you a coffee?”

“That’s ok, sweetie.  I’m not really ready for coffee yet.”  I told her with a smile, then asked the question I suspected was going to upset her.  “I need the hair scissors for your mom, where are they?”

Izzy stopped pulling up her second sock and looked at me with a touch of fear.  

Natalie and John’s first daughter, Amy, who had just started a new job on the other side of the country, was an almost perfect blend of the two of them.  Their second daughter, Kat, who was at college a couple of hours away, mostly took after John with just a few hints of Natalie.  Izzy, their youngest, was an almost carbon copy of Natalie as a teen.  The only differences were Izzy had John’s brown eyes instead of Natalie’s blue, and Izzy wore her naturally colored light brown hair in a wolf cut she proudly admitted she’d done herself, instead of in a purple bob.

“What if her hair doesn’t fall out.”  Izzy argued.  “If only a little of it falls out won’t it be better for her to still have long hair to hide the thin spots?”

“Izzy, it’s going to fall out.”  I said as firmly as I could without being unkind.  “It’s just going to be easier for her if it isn’t a long tangled mess when it does.  Can I please just have the scissors?”

“It’s been a couple of days and it hasn’t yet.”  Izzy stated.  “Not everyone loses their hair.”

“It depends on the type of drugs,”  I explained patiently, knowing Izzy just hated the idea of her mom not looking like the mom she’d always known, hated the idea of her mom looking sick.  “It pretty much always falls out completely with the type of drugs they gave your mom. It often takes a couple of weeks to start.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Then she’ll just have to live with a bad haircut.”  I said allowing the possibility to stand instead of arguing the point.  “It won’t be her first.  Where are the scissors?”

“They’re in one of the drawers in the bathroom, I’ll get them for you.”  Izzy got up, her shoulders hung down, her usual enthusiasm missing.

I followed Izzy from her room and waited for her by the bathroom door as she emerged and handed me a cleaned out spaghetti sauce jar that the pair of scissors as well as a rattail comb, regular comb, a toothy pair of thinning shears, and some hairclips and elastics were stuck into.  She looked miserable as I took the jar from her and placed it on a nearby shelf so I could find it later.

“Thanks sweetie.”  I said as I pulled the petite teenager into a hug.  “Let’s go downstairs and get you some breakfast.”

“I already ate and brushed my teeth.” Izzy assured me as she leaned into the hug.

“Do you need anything before you head to the bus stop?”

“I’m good.”  Izzy said while clutching to me more tightly than she normally would.  “Thanks Aunt Judy.”

“Ok, have a good day at school, and remember we all love you.”  I said as Izzy finally started to pull out of the hug.  “Don’t forget your phone, keys. and mask.”

“I won’t.” Then Izzy turned and headed towards the stairs.

I took the jar and headed back to the master bedroom.

“How’s Izzy?”  Natalie asked as I entered.

“Acting way too much like a grown up.”  I said with a sigh.  “She got herself up and ready.  She even offered me coffee.  I’m torn between being impressed and worried.”

“She’s scared.”  Natalie pointed out, as she tried to sit up a bit and watched me place the jar down on her dresser.

I nodded.  I understood Izzy’s impulse to try to control as much as she could as life seemed to tumble apart for her, the year of distance learning, losing her dad so suddenly, then the change that came from her mom being sick.  I understood why Izzy wanted to make things as easy as possible for her mom, who first endured the loss of the man she’d been with for over 3 decades, then got diagnosed with cancer.  I understood why Izzy was scared.  I was scared too.

 

————————————————————————-

 

I sat on the side of the bed as Natalie smoked the joint I had lit for her, making sure she didn’t accidentally fall asleep and set the sheets on fire.  Then she had some saltines and ginger tea.  When that went well, we tried a little toast with strawberry jam.  

After breakfast, she was feeling well enough that she let me help her into the bathtub.  She even was in good enough spirits to laugh when I joked about promising not to do anything gay.  As she sat in the tub, I undid the french braids I had put her hair in before I took her to the hospital for her first infusion, then I began to wash the blue hair for what I figured would be the last time for several months at least.  I’d been taking care of her hair for her since the surgery made it too painful for her to raise her arms up.

Natalie’s long layered hair with curtain bangs had been blue for a while.  In college she’d gone from the purple hair of our teenage years back to her natural light brown.  When she got bored with that she’d gone darker with very chunky blond streaks.  Then for many years as an adult trying to just look polished and professional, she’d gone blond.  Then in 2016, she decided that the blond made her look like a republican and she was dying it blue and if anyone thought it wasn’t professional enough they could go screw themselves.

After the bath, I tucked the afghan I had slept under around her as she sat on the corner chair and watched me change the sheets on the bed.  By the time I was finished Natalie was shivering, so after I helped her back into the bed, I climbed into the side that used to be John’s and pressed my body against Natalie’s being the big spoon to warm her up.

I hadn’t planned to sleep, but it was around 1 o’clock when Natalie slipping out from under my arm woke me.

“Sorry Judy.”  She said softly.  “I’m just going to pee.”

“Are you feeling steady enough to go by yourself?”  I checked.

“Yeah,” she confirmed.  “I feel a lot less shaky than I was this morning.”

“Don’t lock the door just in case…”  I said then sat up and watched Natalie walk slowly and carefully towards the bathroom.

To my relief Natalie emerged a few minutes later, I’d listened carefully the whole time she was gone fearing I would hear a thud.  She walked carefully back to the recliner chair in the corner, looking a bit chilly in just the t-shirt and pajama pants.

“My feet feel weird.  If I wasn’t terrified of leaving Izzy an orphan,”  Natalie sighed and leaned back, “I wouldn’t put myself through this.”

“Hey,” I said.  “I need you too.”

“You have other friends.” Natalie pointed out with a smirk.

“Not like you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  Natalie chuckled.  “I love you too.”

I got myself out of the bed.  “I’m going to take a shower if you’ll be ok for a half hour.”

“I have water, the TV remote, and the emergency bucket.”  She assured me as she pulled the afghan around her shoulders.  “Take your time, I’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.”  I smiled at her.

 

———————————————————-

 

“It’s almost 2.”  Natalie announced as she stopped netflix from just automatically starting the next episode of the show she’d watched.  “Izzy has a few after school activities, so won’t be home too early.”

“Do you want another joint and to try eating again, before she gets back?”  I asked as I twisted the elastic around the bottom of the braid I had done in my still slightly damp hair.

“It’s time for you to cut my hair.”  Natalie said with resignation.  “I should have done it before the surgery.  I didn’t realize how painful it was going to be just to brush it.  Of course, I was still hoping that I wasn’t going to need chemo at that point.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?  Do you need a few more days?  Do you want to wait till it actually starts to…fall out?”  I asked, then felt dumb that I had, worrying it would make her doubt what was a sensible decission, after I’d explained to Izzy why it made sense.

“It gives Izzy a time to ease into me without hair, if she gets a few days of less hair before it falls out.”  Then Natalie’s lip quivered.  “It gives me time to ease into it.”

“Ok,”  I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.  “I’ll get it set up.”

 

—————————————————————-

 

“Are you warm enough?”  I asked Natalie, who sat on the desk chair I had placed in the middle of her ensuite surrounded by a layer of packing paper she’d saved from an amazon delivery, as I wrapped another towel around her shoulders.

“I’m good.”

“How short do you want me to cut it?”  I asked nervously, I didn’t really want to be the one tasked with this, but it made sense to not expose Natalie to the germs at a salon.

“As short as you can without it making Izzy freak out.”  Natalie stated.

“If we’re going by that, I can only trim the split ends.”

“Hmmmm.  You’re probably right.  She freaked out a bit when I went from blond to blue.  She was convinced kids at her school were going to tease her for having a blue haired mom. Of course this is bothering her for a different reason.” Natalie sighed.  “Just place your fingers right against the scalp, then cut against your fingers.  That should leave just enough to cover the scalp for now.”

“Ok,” I said as I started pulling the long blue hair behind Natalie’s shoulders.

I picked up the scissors and comb from the counter next to the sink where I had placed them.  I combed up a lock of hair from the top of Natalie’s head, trying not to take too much and over extend it.  Then I did as she suggested, I clamped it between my middle and pointer finger right against her scalp. 

I held my breath with the scissors poised over Natalie’s hair too afraid to start.  I let the breath out and took in another trying to convince myself to start cutting.

“It’s ok if it doesn’t look great, I only have to live with it for about a week.”  Natalie reminded me.

“It’s been a long time since I gave anyone a haircut if we don’t count snipping off my own split ends.”  I said.  “And this isn’t exactly the same as trimming Kevin’s mohawk.”

“Just do it.”  Natalie encouraged me.  “You can’t do any worse than that terrible undercut I gave you that time in detention.”

I smiled, let out the breath I was holding and began to snip at a slight angle just above my fingers.  I watched as soft blue hair slowly fell away leaving behind little spikes of light brown and gray since Natalie’s roots had grown out.

Shnip, shnip, shnip, snip. Then the sound the dry hair hitting the packing paper made was so much like the sound of my own hair hitting the newspaper back in detention 34 years earlier.

“I loved that haircut.” I told her with a smile, remembering it and how I’d felt for the brief time I had gotten to keep it.  “That was the last haircut I was happy with.”

“So happy you never let me do it again.” Natalie teased.

I combed another lock into my fingers and started snipping it off without the same hesitation as I had with the first lock.

Snip-snip-snip-snip

“That wasn’t about the haircut you gave me,”  I reminded her.  “That was about being terrified of what my mother would do.  I kind of wanted to let you cut off the stupid perm really short like you offered once Harvey was moved to Kevin’s house, but I honestly was just still scared.  Some kinds of fear are hard to get past.”

Snip-snip-snip-snip.  A long blue lock landed on my toe.

“You know,” Natalie said,  “I was offering you pretty much the exact same haircut you’re giving me right now?”

“And it would have been 10 times better than that stupid perm had been.”  I answered.  “It would have made my mother’s head explode and I would have loved it.”

Snip-snip-snip-snip. The patch of short light brown and gray was large enough to begin to see that it would lay close to Natalie’s head in a soft crop.

“Once you’d moved in with Kevin and his mom,” Natalie asked, “why didn’t you get a haircut then?”

Snip-snip-snip-snip.  I paused cutting as the lock that had been between my fingers fell to Natalie’s shoulder and I sighed.  I looked up from the short spikes that I had left above my fingers into the mirror where I met Natalie’s eyes.

“I almost did.”  I began the story.  “I was at the mall with Kevin’s mom.  We were getting a couple of maternity things from Sears that we hadn’t been able to get at the thrift store.  When we were done, Kevin’s mom noticed me kind of pause and peer into the unisex salon next to the shoe store.  Do you remember that place?”

“Kind of vaguely.” Natalie wrinkled her face slightly as she thought.

“She put her hand on my back…”  I sighed, “God, she was so nice to me even though I had basically screwed up Kevin’s future.  Married and a father before he graduated highschool and I got my GED.  Then we took turns going to community college instead of going to MIT together.”

“I dare say Kevin deserved an equal share of the blame for that.”  Natalie reminded me.  “And it’s not like things turned out that bad.  From what I’ve seen on facebook he’s done better in the vegan restaurant business than he probably would have as a mathematician.  He seems to have taken off a few months to volunteer saving whales in the Antarctic.”

Snip-snip-snip-snip, I resumed cutting off the long blue locks.

“It’s his daughter from his second marriage that really got the business making months in Antarctica type money.  She’s managing things while he’s away.”  I shared.  “She convinced him to expand into offering home delivery meal kits at the right moment.”

Snip-snip-snip-snip

“Hmmmm.”  Then Natalie reminded me, “so you were at the mall with his mom by the salon….”

Snip-snip-snip-snip

“Right, so she put her hand on my back and she asked me ‘Do you want to get a haircut?  Kevin told me how much you hated the last hairstyle your mom took you for.’”  I felt my eyes getting warm as I told Natalie the story.  “She offered to take me in and said to me ‘You deserve to feel good about how you look on your wedding day, even if it is a bit rushed.’ And you know how broke they were, she did not have a ton of money for that kind of thing.”

Snip-snip-snip-snip

“Well we entered the salon,”  I continued, “and we were about to talk to the receptionist and I was just… I couldn’t, I felt like I was going to be sick.”

Snip-snip-snip-snip.  I started working around Natalie’s ear.

“I think most of it was the smell combined with pregnancy hormones,” I explained.  “But a lot of it was just emotional.  I was suddenly thinking about the way mom had threatened Harvey, and how Brenda had treated me like a child, and feeling bad about what it would cost, and everything.  So I whispered in Kevin’s mom’s ear ‘I think I’m going to toss my cookies,’ and she just rushed me off to the nearest restroom.”

Snip-snip-snip-snip

“And you never tried to get a haircut again?”  Natalie asked with her eyes closed as her shortish blue curtain bangs landed in her lap.

Snip-snip-snip-snip

“I’ve tried a couple of times over the years, but the minute I open the door of a salon the smell hits me and I can’t.”

Snip-snip-snip-snip

“You could have asked me to go with you.  I thought you just liked the super long hair.”  Natalie said as she sat while her own hair that I knew she really liked was cropped.  “I swear I heard you say that when it finally got past your waist.”

Snip-snip-snip-snip

“It has had moments.  When Jimmy was born, just letting it grow made me feel all natural and motherly.  Like the embodiment of mother earth or some such crap.”  I chuckled at myself.  “And of course when I worked at the daycare, the little girls all thought it made me look like a princess, and who doesn’t love the approval of toddlers and preschoolers.”

I gently nudged Natalie’s head down to access her nape. Snip-snip-snip-snip

“Listen, not right now, because I really don’t think Izzy can handle Aunt Judy cutting her hair too right now, but later when things are less scary.”  Natalie suggested.  “If you want, I have this friend…”

Snip-snip-snip-snip

Natalie always had a friend.  No matter what the situation, Natalie knew someone who did something related to it.  She just was the perfect combination of outgoing, friendly, interested in what people did, and good at remembering names and faces and details.  She was kind of the ultimate people person, and was never afraid to use it.

“You might remember her, Grace.  We met her on the bus down to the Women’s March.”  Natalie filled in the details.  “She was at my 2017,’18, and ‘19 holiday parties.”

“Uh,”  I tried to think. Snip-snip-snip-snip.  “Maybe, there were a lot of people at those parties.”

“She has a barbershop.”  Natalie got to the point.  “No perm solutions and hairsprays.  But it’s not like a shop run by a bunch of men.  She calls it a family salon, to make it feel more gender neutral, but really everyone knows when they walk in that it operates like a barbershop and it doesn’t smell like a salon.”

“Hmmmm” I didn’t actually quite know what to say though.  Snip-snip-snip-snip.  I wasn’t sure how I felt.

“Anyway.  If you ever want, I’ll give you her information.”  Natalie just left it there.

Snip-snip-snip-snip.  The last long strands of blue hair fell to the towel.  I brushed them down towards the floor.  I used the tips of the scissor to nip the little wispy hairs on the back of Natalie’s neck as close to the skin as I could.

“What do you think?”  I asked Natalie as I finished and stood behind her.

She turned her head looking at the mirror behind the sink, examining the very short hair that clung to her head.  The blue she’d chosen as her hair color was gone leaving behind a light brown that was duller than it had been in our youth and had gray scattered through it, heavily at her temples.  I’d cut it very simply.  Mostly one length just long enough to cover her scalp, but textured enough to camouflage any unevenness as deliberate.  

It wasn’t some great fashion statement, but the crop wouldn’t be a tangled mess and leave giant clumps of fallen out hair on her pillow.  I think I’d cut it well enough that if Natalie needed to go out in public before it all fell out, it didn’t just look hacked off.

“That’s not at all what I had in mind.” Natalie joked. “You were supposed to make it look so terrible that I was looking forward to it falling out.  This is actually pretty cute.”

“Well, you should have been more specific.”  I joked back as I took towels off Natalie and shook the loose hair to the paper covered tiles.

Natalie stood up, turned and looked down at the huge pile of her hair that was behind the office chair.  She sucked in her lips, and I could tell she was fighting back tears.  I went around the chair and gathered her into my arms.  She immediately burst into tears, releasing something she’d probably been holding in for days.

“I don’t want to be sick.” She cried against my shoulder.

“I know.”  I stroked her back and held her.  “It’s going to be ok.”

“I’m scared, Judy.”

“I know.  It’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok.”  I promised over and over even though I wasn’t sure it was true.  “It’s going to be ok.”

 

—————————— March 2022 —————————-

 

I opened the door under the sign that said “Main Street Family Hairstyling.”  There was a spinning barber pole just to the side of the door.  A bell jingled above me.   From what I could make out through the mask, it just smelled clean.

The shop was empty, sort of as I’d hoped it would be.  I looked around for Grace or anyone else, but I seemed to be alone.  I’d actually asked when was the quietest time to come in on the phone, so I had been hoping for no customers, but did expect a barber or two.  It wasn’t that surprising though, since I was a good 10 minutes early for my appointment.

It was a three seat shop.  It definitely looked more like a barbershop than a salon.  One of the three barber chairs had a booster seat positioned between the armrests.  The numerous scuff marks on the leather seat where little feet would kick, made me suspect the booster was pretty much always there.

“Hi there,” a vaguely familiar looking tall woman with short on the sides longer on the top salt and pepper hair cheerfully greeted me as she came from the back of the shop, rubbing her hands on a paper towel.  “Judy?”

“Yes.”  I confirmed nervously.

“Have we met?”  Grace asked with a furrowed brow.

“Bus to the Women’s March, then at Natalie and John Rubis’ holiday parties.”  I said.

“Ah.  Fun couple, ”  Grace nodded and smiled.  “So, I guess that’s how you found me.  Most people just look on google.  Wonder if there’s any chance that things will be normal enough by December for them to have a party this year.”

“Uh…”  I wasn’t sure how to tell her that wasn’t going to be happening and why.  She seemed to catch my expression though, her smile slipped.

“So you made an appointment for a haircut?”  She saved me from having to respond to her previous comment.

“Yeah.” I said nervously from my dry throat as Grace peered around me obviously trying to get a look at the long dark hair I’d worn loose and flowing out from under the knit cap I’d felt the need for because it was an unusually cold March.

“Why don’t you hang up your jacket and hat,”  Grace suggested.  “And we can get started.”

“Ok.”  I said trying to act like I wasn’t on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  

Something about the way Grace watched me as I hung up the wool coat on one of the hooks by the door told me I wasn’t hiding it very well though.  I slid the cap off and shoved it into the pocket of the coat, finally fully revealing the hair I was planning to allow her to cut.

While I had been hanging my coat, Grace had gone to stand next to one of the barber chairs and waited expectantly at it.  I took a deep breath and walked determinedly towards it.  I hesitated slightly when I arrived.

“Listen, I can see you’re nervous, but I trim long hair all the time, and I swear I’m not scissor happy.” Grace assured me in a soothing tone.  “We can even it out and take it up to about waist length if you want, or I can just clean up the ends a bit and only take off an inch.  Whatever it is you want, no more than you’re comfortable with.”

I shifted my weight nervously to my other foot, and bit my lip trying to get up the nerve to tell her that I had really meant haircut not trim when I made the appointment.

“Did the stylist cut off too much last time you got it trimmed?”  Grace asked gently.

I sighed so deeply, it felt like I was deflating.  

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”  I said apologetically.

“Let’s go sit in the waiting chairs where there’s a little less pressure, and you can tell me the story.” Grace offered with ridiculously large amounts of patience.

I suddenly had a suspicion that the emphasis on family hairstyles in the name of the shop was about being good with scared little kids, which I was admittedly acting like.  I nodded agreement and started walking over to the small cluster of wooden chairs, I suddenly noticed had a basket of toys next to them.

 

——————————- August 2018 ————————————

 

“Judy, can you just grow the fuck up?”  Martha complained.  “It’s so difficult to have grown up conversations with you.”

That was one of the things about my wife, she always knew the right buttons to hit.  I was a 46 years old mother to two, but still didn’t feel like a functioning adult in way too many ways.  I’d missed a few too many normal parts of growing up, and it felt like it left gaps.  Martha knew it way too keenly.

“YOU had an affair,” I yelled back,  “and you have the gall to tell ME to grow up.”

“If you didn’t have a million different hang ups, I wouldn’t have needed to seek satisfaction elsewhere.”

“You do NOT get to blame me for your infidelity.”  I argued back with righteous indignation, but that statement planted yet another seed of I’m the problem in my forest of self doubt.

“Oh like you haven’t been having emotional affairs with Kevin and Natalie for our entire relationship, even before we got married.”  Martha argued back.

“Having friends isn’t even vaguely equivalent to sleeping around.”  I knew I was right, but there was yet another seed of doubt.

“You’re telling me you have never slept with Natalie.”  Martha accused.

“You have got to be kidding me.  The straight woman who married her high school sweetheart.”  I pointed out.  “We’ve been friends since we were little kids.  Having sex with Natalie would be weird.”

“You’re telling me she’s never had a bi-curious moment?”  Martha insinuated.  “I know you’ve slept over at her house.  She has way more lesbian friends than is normal for a straight woman.”

“Ok, sure I’ve technically fallen asleep next to Natalie, but if she’s ever had a bi-curious moment, it wasn’t with me.  She’s perfectly happy with John.  I think part of the reason Natalie has so many lesbian friends is because she’s just comfortable in her straightness, and knows from having been my friend that most lesbians aren’t all out to get her or anything.”  I hoped that was the end of that.

“Last week you spent over an hour on the phone with your exhusband.  You obviously had sex with him.”  Martha pointed out.  “That seems like you two are still pretty attached.”

“Seriously?!”  I threw my hands up in frustration.  “We have a kid together, Kevin was worried that Jimmy would feel like he was playing favorites by making his daughter Emma a manager at the restaurant.  He needed to talk about it.  You know with Jimmy’s mom.”

“It could have been a 5 minute conversation where you just reassured him that Jimmy loves his job and has no interest in the restaurant.  Then told him to just talk to Jimmy.  But you made that a 15 minute conversation then talked politics for an hour.”

“And you know this because I had that conversation openly within earshot of you, because I HAD NOTHING TO HIDE.” I pointed out, realizing I had been steered away from the real issue. “You were having sex behind my back with SOMEONE ELSE!”

“I had to do it behind your back.”  Martha complained.  “You’re not mature enough to handle having an open relationship.”

“That’s complete and utter bullshit.”  I knew I was right, but more seeds.  “You never once in the nearly 20 years we’ve been together brought up the subject.  I’m pretty damn sure that’s because if I’d said ‘yes’ you would have had to deal with the fact that open relationships go both ways.”

From the expression on her face, I could tell I had finally for once hit the nail on the head.  She’d been bored and wanting some fun, but also wanted to keep the comfort and security of having me to come home to and have all to herself.

“You can’t even handle getting a haircut there is no way you could have handled spicing things up in the bedroom a little.”  She threw in my face.

I suddenly remembered a few months earlier.  Martha had sent me a picture of the haircut, not radically short just a few inches less than what I had, some layers, the most prominent feature of it was really heavy just below the eyebrow bangs.  She’d sent it with *You’d look so hot with this babe.*  

It had surprised me at the time, Martha had always just enjoyed playing with my hair and never suggested I change it before.  I’d gone to the salon Martha went to, but the smell had the same effect as the last time I’d tried to gather up the courage to go to one.  I’d confided the whole experience to Martha, I thought maybe she had enough of an investment in it to maybe go along with me and help me through the panic.  She just told me to forget about it, that it was a fleeting thought and she was happy I hadn’t gone through with the haircut because she really did love my hair really long.

I suddenly realized something though with the reminder.  I realized how long the whole affair had been going on, it hadn’t just been a single night of drunken poor judgement.

“That haircut I didn’t get, that haircut you suggested,” my voice quivered, “that was the haircut she had.”

Martha’s expression told me I’d once again hit the nail on the head, and she was going to start trying to back peddle.  She was going to try to find a way to distract me from the suddenly obvious fact that she’d tried to make me look more like the woman she had obviously  at least been thinking about months ago, the woman she’d had an affair with.

I forgave her.  We went to counseling.  We dragged it out another few months.  Martha finally admitted, I’m pretty sure to herself as much as to me, that she really just wanted a divorce.

 

————————-—-—  March 2022  —————————————-

 

Beep, beep, beep.

Grace looked at her beeping phone and shut it off.  We’d been sitting in her waiting chairs and talking for ages.  

It had started with my telling her the story of Harvey and my mother, I even included admitting to the crush I’d had on Brenda and the broken heart from how she’d treated me.  I’d told her about going to therapy.  We’d then branched out into other topics.  She’d told me a bit about herself and how she’d become a barber.  We’d talked politics and fears about what was happening over in Europe.  I told her about Jimmy and Rose, and the elderly tabby who’d passed away.  We just talked.

“I’m sorry.”  I apologized.  “I’ve taken up way too much of your time.  We should reschedule so you can get to whatever that is.”

“Don’t worry about that, it’s nothing important.”  Grace smiled.

“You cared enough to set an alarm,” I pointed out.

“It was just for a youtube livestream.”  She dismissed it.  “I can watch it later.”

“But you won’t be able to participate in the chat later.”  I reminded her.  “Was it a hair thing?”

“No, no,” She assured.  “Nothing work related.  Just a personal hobby.”

“What’s the hobby?”  I asked, and Grace began to blush.

“It’s silly.”  Grace turned even redder.

“It’s ok to like silly things.”  I smiled at her adorable discomfort.

“Tatting.”  Grace admitted turning beet red.

“Tatting?”

“Just an old fashioned way to make lace.”  She pulled a small incomplete bit of loopy lace from her pocket attached to a couple of small metal gadgets by lengths of blue thread.  “It’s going to be the something blue for my niece’s wedding.”

I smiled, it sounded and looked so girly.  There’s just something about when a fairly butch woman does something really girly that I just find rediculously attractive.

“Oh, that’s lovely.”  I said.  “I’d love to see you doing that sometime.”

“Well, not right now.”  Grace said as she began to return to her natural color and tucked the lace and gadgets back into her pocket.  “Right now it’s time for you to get a haircut.”

She patted my knee, got up and took a single step in the direction of the barber chair.  I sucked in a deep breath, and I suspect my eyes went wide.

“Come on,” Grace encouraged.  “You’re ready.  It will be fine.”

I nodded, and got up.  I was still nervous, but some of the ease from just sitting and talking with Grace carried over and I felt like I could get into the chair without panicking.  We walked to it slowly, Grace didn’t push.  I sat down only slightly hesitantly, gathering my hair over my shoulder the way I did out of habit to keep it from getting uncomfortably stuck between my back and the backrest.

“So, are we just doing a minimal trim, or are we really evening it out?”  Grace asked as she held the backrest of the chair and smiled down at me through the mirror.  “Your hair is thick enough still, we could redo the undercut.  Especially if we take it up to around waist length, which will make the ends look much fuller and healthier, but if that’s not what you want.”

Grace waited patiently as my heart pounded and I gathered the courage to answer.  Breathe, release, breathe release.

“Actually,”  I got out without my voice breaking,  “I came to get it all cut off.”

“Oh?” One of Grace’s eyebrows went up, while the other went down.  “Like shoulder length, or a bob?”

“Hang on.”  I said as I pulled my phone from my pocket.

I opened it to the pictures.  I scrolled back rather quickly to September, it wasn’t like there’d been that many things to take pictures of over the winter.  I found the pictures, as far as I knew the only pictures of Natalie taken during the 8 days between when I’d cut off the long blue hair and when the short brown hair had fallen out.  We were sitting together on the couch, and Natalie had convinced me to take a few.  At first I’d been reluctant, but she convinced me a time might come when I wanted to remember being with her like that.  I found the one that best showed Natalie’s cropped hair and held it up to show Grace.

“Is that Natalie Rubis?”  Grace asked, her brow wrinkled and her tone was cautious.

I realized Natalie didn’t just have the very short hair in the picture, she looked worn down and sick.  I had watched the weight loss, dark eye circles, and paleness develop, for someone who hadn’t seen her since 2019, it must have been much more striking.  

“Sorry it’s not a great picture, the lighting was just a couple of lamps.”  I said pretending that the question wasn’t about how much Natalie had changed.  “I want it about the length of Natalie’s hair in that picture.”

Grace took the phone and zoomed in on the picture.  Her brow rather furrowed with concern.   She looked between my reflection and the picture on the screen.  I think not just trying to picture me with my hair cropped so drastically, but also to gauge how I was feeling.

“When did Natalie cut her hair?”  Grace asked.

“September.”  I tried to keep my tone neutral and voice steady, but it cracked very slightly.  “You can swipe to the next couple of pictures.  It’s just more of us on the couch, but you can see it from slightly different angles.”

Grace nodded and swiped, looking up at my reflection after each picture.

“So around an inch?”

“Yeah.” I confirmed with a nervous swallow.

“Do you want to talk about?”

“Not right now.  After.”  I said, trying to not get too emotional.  “Oh, I have hair ties if you need them, and a gallon ziplock bag.”

“Ok.”  Grace nodded and handed my phone back to me.  “So we’re saving the hair?”

“Does it seem worth it even though there’s some gray?”  I lifted the hair and looked at the grays, then looked up at Grace.  “Should I get the hair ties?”

“Definitely worth saving, it’s a small amount of gray.  I have some rubber bands that I find work well.”  Grace stated, then added with a tight but reassuring smile and pat on the shoulder.  “Let’s get started.”

Grace came around the side of the chair, and started opening drawers.  From the top drawer she placed a big claw clip on the counter.  Then briefly she looked over her shoulder at me, then turned back and opened the large bottom drawer and pulled out a box of kleenex that she positioned at the edge of the counter near me.  She obviously thought there was a good chance I’d be crying, but didn’t see that as a reason to talk me out of this.  Then from the middle drawer, she pulled out a bag of tiny rubber bands.  She poured out a small pile of them.

Done getting things out of drawers, she tucked a comb and shears from the counter into her breast pocket.  Then she picked up the claw clip and took a cape from the stack of folded ones at the end of the counter, letting it fall open to drape over her arm.

Everything ready, she came back to stand behind the barber chair, and gave me another tight smile.

“You’re ok” she said with an amount of determination that made it feel a bit more like a statement to remind me than a question.

I nodded my silent agreement.  She was right.  I was nervous for a million different reasons, but I was ok.  

Grace pulled my long hair over my shoulder, and gently twisted it.  She secured the mass well enough to the top of my head with the claw clip.  She shook the last folds out of the fabric cape and swung it over my lap, then pulled it up and snapped it closed against the back of my neck.  

My heart started pounding.  Don’t panic, you’re safe.  Nobody will hit you if they think it’s too extreme when you get home.  Harvey passed away peacefully of old age decades ago. Nothing really bad can happen. Worst case is that you don’t like the way it looks, nothing worse. I reminded myself.  I felt a little dizzy though.

“You’re ok.”  Grace said again and gently put her hands on my shoulders.  “I know the cape is reminding you of a time when you had your choices taken away, and you felt powerless, but today you are incontrol.  Today this is your choice.”

I realized that was part of why she had made no effort to try to talk me out of a haircut she obviously thought I might be crying over soon.  It was my choice.

“I want to do this.”  I affirmed.

“Anything you want to add about the exact style?”  Grace asked as she began to comb it out.  “Any details different from the way Natalie’s was?”

I took a few steadying breaths as I remembered the way Brenda had just promised over and over that I would look pretty instead of asking me what I wanted.  Brenda had promised me it would be pretty knowing the perm wasn’t what I wanted.

“I want it to feel more hardcore than pretty.”  I said and felt myself smile.

“Ok, I wouldn’t have guessed that one.”  Grace smiled at me.  “But I’m hearing you and we can go for that.”

It didn’t take long before my hair was once again smooth and tangle free.   Grace parted the hair across the back of my head, and then twisted most of my hair once again and clipped it to the top of my head, leaving down the hair of my nape.  She took the scissors out of her breast pocket, and divided the hair on the back of my head into left and right.

“You’re ready,” Grace said in a way that felt halfway between a statement and a question.

She held half the section of hair tightly.  I felt cold metal brush against my neck as she slipped the blade behind my hair.

Shhhhhhnick

Grace held up the small bundle of long brown hair.  Longer than when Natalie had cut the hair from the same spot in highschool, since back then I used to get it trimmed regularly.  I reached up and felt the short hair.  It felt longer than we had discussed still, but that didn’t surprise me, since it was just the first cut to gather the little bundles we were saving.

Grace went over to the counter, picked up one of the rubber bands and swiftly bound the long strands together.  She put the bundle off to the side in front of the chair that had the booster seat.  When Grace came back, with comb and scissors at the ready, she just ignored my hand exploring the short tufts on the left side of my head.  She gathered the hair on the right into a bundle and held it tight.  She began to cut.

Shhhhhhnick

The second bundle hung from Grace’s hand.  She took the second bundle over to the counter to tie up like she had the first, leaving me free to explore the shorn area that now covered my whole nape.  I felt tears forming in my eyes, even though I really wasn’t sure which emotion they came from.  

When Grace came back, she released the claw clip, letting the long hair spill down over my shoulders.  The silky weight of it hitting the back of my hand.

“Undercut or keep going?”  Grace asked gently.

I finally stopped feeling the short hair, reached forward and grabbed a tissue.  I blotted my eyes.

“Keep going.”  I said with determination.

The next section of hair Grace parted from the rest was right in the front.  From my center part to my left temple, and from the hairline straight back to above my ear.  Too much to turn into bangs.  She’d obviously started with the nape to give me a back out option, but there wasn’t going to be another.  Once she cut, I would be committed to letting her finish.

She ran the comb through the thick lock a couple of times, making it completely smooth.  Then she held it tight, straight up away from my head.  There was about 3 inches between where she held the hair tightly bundled and my scalp.  She opened the scissors, the silver blades on either side of the lock.  The blades closed.

Shhhhhhnick

The short hair flopped down onto my head.  My heart pounded as I looked in the mirror at the messy uneven mass that stuck out in a bunch of directions.  I blotted my eyes again, and tugged one of the locks down. When I held it against my forehead, it reached just a bit past my eyebrow.

Grace glanced over her shoulder at me a couple of times as she wrapped the tiny rubber band around the freshly cut ends of the hair that had been attached to me just moments earlier. 

“How you doing?”  Grace asked as she ruffled the short hair on the top of my head.

“I’m honestly not sure why I’m crying.”  I admitted.  “I don’t really feel sad.”

“Catharsis?”  Grace suggested as she began combing the hair on the left side of my head into her hand.  “The release of pain and fear you’ve kept in for 3 decades.”

“Probably.”  I confirmed as I watched the scissors approach the smooth bundle Grace held tightly.

Shhhhhhnick.

Short tufts of hair barely covered my left ear.  They stuck out unevenly.

Shhhhhhnick.  Shhhhhhnick.

The right side of my head matched my left.  

Grace gathered the last long hair on the back of my head into a final bundle.

Shhhhhhnick

“There you go.”  Grace smiled at me as she took the last lock to tie up.  “Hard parts over and everyone survived it.”

I took both hands out from under the cape, and ran them through my hair.  It felt so different.  So easy, so simple.  There was no tangling, no snagging.  My fingers just ran all the way through the short length freely, reaching the ends almost immediately.  I just kept combing my fingers through it as Grace tied up the long bundles, then sealed them into a bag.

“Ok.”  Grace came back to the chair as soon as she finished the task of packing up the hair.  “Since you asked for more hardcore than pretty, I was thinking you might like it faded on the sides, instead of one length all over like Natalie’s.  I can bring the hairline in the back to a nice sharp point instead of a soft rounded shape like when I’m aiming for feminine.  How does that sound?”

“That sounds good.”  I smiled and lowered my hands as Grace took over ruffling my hair.

“Want it a bit spiky on top?”

“Ok.”

“Alrighty.”  Grace gave my hair a final shake out and went over to the counter.  “We have a plan.”

She reached under the counter, and I suddenly noticed that along with the hair dryer, there were a couple of sets of clippers hanging from hooks next to the drawers.  I took a ragged breath as I watched Grace take one off the hook and begin to do some kind of an adjustment to it.  I remember the way the clippers would take the sides of Kevin’s mohawk down to stubble.  Then I reminded myself that starting in December, he would put a guard on them so it left him a quarter inch for insulation till the weather warmed up.

Grace stood beside me and turned the chair so I was facing towards the next chair instead of looking straight at the mirror. Then she flicked on the switch, the loud pop I hadn’t heard in so many years making my heart skip a beat.  She used the comb to create a line back from my temple, then held the hair above the parting up with the comb, not bothering to secure it with a clip.

I felt the vibrating machine start at my temple, then gradually move slowly into my hairline.  As it did, clumps of short dark hair began to fall.  They hit my shoulder first, then tumbled from there to my chest and lap.  As she ran the clippers back behind my ear, hair began to fall behind me instead of infront of me.  I looked to the side where the mirror was, trying to get a look at what was left on my scalp out of the corner of my eye.  It still seemed to cover my scalp, but just barely.  

I closed my eyes and just let go of trying to figure out what was going on.  It didn’t matter, there was nothing left for me to control at this point, it could just happen.  No matter what at this point certain things were inevitable.  It was going to be radical enough that my mother would be turning over in her grave.  It wasn’t going to be as radical as when Natalie’s hair had fallen completely out.  It was hair, it would grow back.

I just relaxed into the sound and sensation.  The humming buzz.  The plastic teeth of the guard scraping across my scalp.  The dry clumps of hair landing on my shoulders and back.  The way Grace adjusted the comb as she worked, occasionally using it to apply enough pressure that I knew she wanted me to tilt my head.  

There were pauses, as Grace swung the chair, and switched which side she was working on.  Every now and then she turned the clippers off and went to the counter to adjust something.  As it went along, the clumps that had been falling ended, and instead I started to feel splinters of hair sprinkle onto my face and neck where they stuck.

Then something changed, I felt bare metal blades against my neck on the side just behind my ear.  I opened my eyes.  I wasn’t facing the mirror straight on, but I was at a slight enough angle that I had a good view.  Though the hair on top of my head was still the length Grace had cut the long bundles off at, the side was completely transformed.  Next to the parting, it just barely covered my scalp, but then as it went down, it quickly transitioned to velvet that you could see scalp through then to mere stubble at the edges.  

I watched Grace making the stubble as short as the clippers would take it around my ears.  She looked at the mirror and must have noticed that my eyes were open, she smiled at me.  I returned the smile.

Grace turned off the clippers, with a certain finality that made me suspect we were moving on to another step of the haircut, and not just adjusting the clippers again.  When she approached the counter, she bent slightly and hung the clippers back on their hook, confirming my theory.  She then picked up a spray bottle full of what I hoped was just water, and not some smelly styling product.

When Grace started misting the hair on the top and back of my head, the mist had little smell, just clean water.  She was concentrating the mist on the hair above the buzzed sides, but little drips of water ran down through the short prickles anyway, leaving chilly paths of wet between the top of my head and the collar of the cape.  

Grace put down the sprayer, and came back with scissors and comb in hand.  She combed up my bangs, into her fingers, and began to snip them off into little spikes like I had with Natalie’s hair, like I used to with Kevin’s.  Chunks of wet hair landed in my lap with a plop.

Grace worked her way back across the crown of my head, then down the back.   When she began at the front, Her fingers didn’t quite touch my scalp, but by the time she made it all the way to my nape, her fingers were pressed firmly to it, snipping the hair as short as possible with that method.  As she went, the hair shifted from falling in my lap to landing on my shoulders, then falling behind me to the floor.  The new little wet spikes stood up, a bit like grain in a field.  

She then switched the direction she was working in.  She went from the bottom upward this time cutting scissors over comb instead of against her fingers.  Tapering the back, blending it to the sides.  It was a technique I understood in theory, but didn’t have the skills to execute well.  I’d tried it once on Kevin when he started growing out the mohawk for job interviews, it wasn’t really a huge success.  The finished results had been just barely passable, and it had taken me forever.  Grace practiced it confidently on my head though, the comb moving steadily up my head as the scissors snipped swiftly.

Though Grace was still snipping, it was just the tiniest little adjustments, the basic cut was obviously done.   As she combed up the sides and snipped the scissors behind the comb, it seemed more like she was slicing air than hair.  Only a fine dusting fell to my shoulders.

Grace cleared the loose clippings from my neck with a soft brush.  Then she came back with a trimmer, and started going around the edge of the cut.

“Do you just want me to leave it at a salon finish?”  Grace asked as she put the trimmer back on the charging stand.  “Or do you want a barbershop finish for a real fade?”

“What’s the difference?” I started asking confused, then realized I didn’t really need to know, I just wanted all in.  “Nevermind, it can be a surprise.  I want you to take it all the way.”

“I like the attitude.”  Grace smiled so her eyes crinkled.

Grace walked over to the counter and squirted some kind of cream into one hand.  She then began to rub it into the barest stubble that surrounded my ear, and down to my neck.  When both sides of my head were similarly covered, she took a towel from a neatly folded pile of them, and began to wipe her hand.  As she finished wiping her hand, she tossed the towel over her shoulder and opened a drawer.  She took a couple of things out, and then assembled something with her back to me.

When she turned around, she was holding a cut throat razor.  At that point I figured the assembling she’d been doing was putting a new blade in.  My heart started beating a little faster.

Grace held my head very firmly.  Her strong fingers pulled my skin upward, keeping it taught.  She ever so carefully scraped off the cream and stubble along the side edge of my head.  I listened to the faint wet almost crackling sound as the sharp blade glided along severing the hairs right at the base, leaving nothing but skin.  After each swipe, she wiped the blade on the towel.  

I watched in the mirror as she shaped the hairline behind my ear even though I couldn’t actually see anything, just feel the sensation as the warm cream disappeared and cool air hit the damp bare spot.  I could sort of sense the shape it was taking as she scraped down my neck in the back.  She was leaving a point just where my spine started unshaved.  

When she cleaned off the area with a warm damp towel, the freshly shaved skin was hypersensitive.  Just very slightly raw and newly exposed.  The hypersensitivity continued as Grace dried me off and did a few finishing touches.  Then the final sensation was the soft brush dusting my neck off right before she unfastened the cape and carefully peeled it off me.

“What do you think?”  Grace asked as she held up the hand mirror so I could get a good look at the back and sides.

“It’s amazing and a bit overwhelming,” I said as I ran my fingers up and down from the part with short hair to the shaved area, feeling all the lengths and their varying textures.

Aside from the tactile sensation which was amazing, the whole look was overwhelming me too.  It was so radically different from anything I had ever imagined on myself.  It definitely wasn’t bad.  It had a certain similarity to a mohawk, though it wasn’t a classic one with a narrow strip that was one length and then everything next to it just shaved.  The hair was clearly longer in the center of my head than on the sides, but the shift was ever so gradual.  The back tapered down to a tiny point right in the center, that accentuated the length of my neck.  It was flattering and attractive, without being pretty.

As my fingers and eyes explored my new haircut, Grace explained about how if I wanted something more than just the casual tussled up way she’d dried it, I could use product to either smooth it down or form the top into spikes that would stand up.  I wasn’t sure if this was a look that I would find really fit me going forward and I was going to want to maintain it for years, or if this was going to just be a moment in my life.  I was loving it in the moment though.  Grace’s hand rested casually on my shoulder as she finished up her styling advice and looked down at me.

“Thank you.”  I said and put my hand over Grace’s and smiled back up at her.

 

———————————————————————————

*I did it*

*I got the stuff*

*I’m here*

*Let yourself in*

*I’m upstairs*

*I’ve got something to show you up here*

“Hey, what do you have to show me?”   I asked as I walked through the open door into Natalie’s bedroom.

Natalie smiled at me, she was wearing a tight sweater I hadn’t seen her in for nearly a year.  She filled it out nicely, looking just a bit more slender than she had last time I saw her in it.  The fuzzy fabric stretched nicely over curves I hadn’t seen on her also in a year.

“My new boobs arrived,” Natalie shared enthusiastically, as she preened in front of the full length mirror.  “All my favorite old clothes fit again.”

She’d obviously tried on at least half of her closet from the size of the pile of clothes stacked on the bed.  She was looking much healthier these days.  The circles under her eyes had faded and her skin had a rosey tone again.  

Of course her hair, which had just started to grow back, came in different.  We’d both seen enough people go through this to know it tended to be different when it came back.  The straight light brown and gray had been replaced with fluffy pure white tight curls.  She had just been relieved that it came back full enough that the half inch she’d grown so far covered her scalp.  When Cynthia’s came back it was so sparse that she just kept it very short and continued to wear a wig.

“That’s wonderful.”  I gushed happily, glad to see Natalie looking happy.  “They look really natural.  How do they feel?”

“Not bad,”  Natalie stated in an offhand way.  “a bit heavy, but I think that’s just because I got so used to feeling light in the front.  They’ll probably be a bit sticky and sweaty when it gets hot, but I figure it’ll be about the same as the underboob sweat I used to get with the real ones.”

“It’s so good to see you looking more like yourself again.”  I said, then held up the bag I was carrying and added. “Talking about looking like yourself again.  I got you your usual color, rockabilly blue.”

“Perfect!”  Natalie enthused.  “What about for you?”

“I got a 30 volume lightening kit and atomic turquoise.”  I said nervously, I still had my knit cap on keeping my rather bare head warm.  “And you were right, the package says ‘not tested on animals.’”

“Are you going to show me the cut ever, or do you hate it that much?”  Natalie teased me, as she took the bag.

“I like it.  It’s really radical, but I like it.”  I said as I reached up and started pulling the cap off.  “It’s also really chilly, though.”

“Whoa,”  Natalie exclaimed as I lowered the hat and fluffed the top of the hair, then reached up and ran her fingers over the side of my head.  “Is it shaved on the sides?”

“Yeah,”  I chuckled a bit giddily.  “Grace cleaned up the edges with a razor.”

“It looks great.”  Natalie assured me.  “And hopefully it will look just as great when it’s turquoise.  Did you remember to bring an old t-shirt you don’t mind getting stained, or do you need to borrow one?”

I sighed, I knew I forgot something in the excitement.

 

———————————————————————————

 

Bleaching my hair had not been fun, but thankfully with my hair so short, it was quick.  Once that was done, Natalie and I sat in the kitchen wearing ever so fashionable matching stained t-shirts and shower caps and eating ice cream while the dye just had time to work.

“So, I noticed on facebook that Kevin seems to have a new girlfriend.”  Natalie mentioned.

“He met her sailing around Antarctica tracking whalers.  I’m hoping he’ll take it slow and not rush into making her the fifth Mrs Kevin Jansen.”  I sighed.  “At least this one seems to have been a vegan for more than 5 minutes before she met him unlike number 4.”

“Does the vegan thing really matter, you were never vegan.”  Natalie noted.

“Kevin was still just a regular vegetarian when we got together, so it was different.”  I reminded her.  “And even after he went full vegan but I just stayed regular vegetarian, it wasn’t like with number 4.  I was willing to not bring eggs and dairy to the house, and I was in it for the long run.  Number 4 did the annoying vocal veganner than thou thing for all of 3 months, then read on the internet about a week after the wedding that soy and gluten are evil, went paleo, and suddenly was insisting on having meat at home.  Kevin respects years of vegetarianism much more than 3 months of veganism.”

“Do you have any idea how long the new one’s been vegan?”  Natalie asked.

“I haven’t met her or anything.” I shared.  “But even if she’s been vegan just as long as Kevin, taking his time to get to know her is still a good idea.  Diet fads is not the only issue that could come up.  It’s easier to feel close on vacation than in day to day living, they need time doing mundane stuff to see if they are compatible.”

“True,”  Natalie agreed easily, then steered the conversation to a slightly different subject.  “Talking about finding out if one might be compatible with someone, what did you think of Grace?”

“Natalie!?” I complained.  “I thought you sent me to her because she was a good barber.”

“Of course I did.”  Natalie defended herself.  “Her being single and your type was just a bonus.”

I glared at Natalie while she smiled back innocently and swallowed a spoonful of ice cream.

“She’s been a pescatarian for over a decade.”  Natalie added as she scooped another spoonful of ice cream.

I just continued to glare as I watched Natalie eat her spoonful of ice cream.

“So, do you have a date?”  Natalie asked way too confidently.

“Tomorrow night.” I admitted as I felt myself blush.

 

————————————————————————-

 

Normally, I arranged to meet women in a public place for first dates, but since I had already been to Grace’s place of business, letting her have my home address just felt like putting us back on an equal footing.  So, she picked me up from my little bungalow.

I was nervous as I climbed into the passenger seat of her car.  Nervous beyond normal first date nerves.  The still unseasonably cold weather, there was unmelted snow on the ground, had made it so I still had the knit cap pulled down tight over my very bare head.  My hand twitched as I struggled to decide if I should say something and take off the cap now, or just let it be a surprise once we were inside where it was warm.  The car was pretty warm though, and I figured I should get it over with.

“Please don’t get mad,”  I opened with, realizing it was a weird thing to say just half a second after the words came out.  “I kind of did something to the haircut you gave me.”

“Did you try reshaving the sides and mess up?”  Grace asked with amusement not anger.  “Whatever you did, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Well, technically, I let Natalie do it.”  I confessed some more.

“Did you let her shave your head so that she wouldn’t be bald alone?”  Grace asked in a tone that suggested she would be perfectly ok with it.

“Actually Natalie’s hair is finally really coming back, so she decided she had enough to dye it back to her usual blue.”  I shared as I reached up and started pulling back the cap.  “So she dyed mine too, just a different color.”

I sat there facing Grace fluffing up the inch of turquoise hair that lay on the top of my head.  My other hand clutched tightly to the soft woolen cap in my lap.  My lips pursed as I waited for her reaction.

“Oh, that’s adorable.”  The corners of Grace’s eyes crinkled with her smile as she reached out to stroke it.

When we got to the restaurant, I did put the cap back on, because it was still fucking cold out, but I didn’t pull it down quite as tightly, letting a bit of the turquoise bangs show in the front and the bottom of the point in the back.

 

————————————————————————

 

The evening had gone well.  We started with the planned dinner and movie, but were having a good enough time that we added on a trip to a pool hall, which we played at till they threw us out at closing time.  Then we went to a dive bar till they also threw us out at closing time.  

We sat in Grace’s parked car kissing outside my house.  I could have stayed doing it for hours, except for one problem… the car was losing heat fast and I was beginning to shiver.

“Do you want to come inside?”  I asked as I pulled back from the kiss.

“Yes.”  Grace simply said and pulled the  keys from the ignition, and popped them in her pocket.

I fumbled for my own keys with my awkwardly gloved hands, as we approached the front door of my little house.  Between being cold and wanting Grace’s lips back pressed to mine rather desperately, the time it took to get the key into the lock felt like torture.  

Once inside, we went straight back to kissing, still with all our outer wear on.  Slowly, clumsily, we began to peel bits off.  First my gloves, because my fingers so desperately wanted to feel Grace’s soft skin.  I began to unzip Grace’s jacket as her hands went up under the woolen cap and stroked the denuded side of my head,.   

We shed outer clothes, as we continued to kiss and stroke each other, till we were down to just our regular clothing.  We’d both taken off some garments of our own and some garments of each other’s.  It was a struggle to stop at the outer garments.

I steered Grace to the couch.  I kissed her passionately, desperately.  My hands exploring the muscles of her back and shoulders, then resting comfortably on the back of her head.  The sharp ends of her short salt and pepper hair pressing into my palm. 

I wanted to begin taking off her blouse, opening up her blue jeans, to feel her hands inside mine.  I tried to resist as my hands felt her warmth and softness through the fabric.

Only sluts have sex on the first date.  Do you want to act like some creepy old man.  Third date, you have to wait for the third date!!!  The demons in my head wouldn’t shut up, but something stronger also wouldn’t be silenced.

“Do you want to come to my bedroom?”  I asked.

“Hmmmm” Grace let out, obviously too far gone for words, and started getting up from the couch.

I led the way walking carefully as I kept kissing her, her hands on my hips.  We clunked into a few things along the way. 

Finally in my bedroom I carelessly pushed the quilt and everything on it off my bed.  I distractedly listened to the box of tissues, pile of books, and kindle thudded to the floor, sparing only a momentary thought to worry that the kindle might have broken as I pushed Grace down to the mattress.

In the bedroom, the last inhibitions faded away, and we began to work on our clothes.  I impatiently unbuttoned Grace’s blouse as she unfastened my belt.  I accidentally popped one of her buttons, noting in my mind the direction I thought it rolled in so I could offer to fix it at some point when I was less preoccupied.  

I had to let her sit up to slide the blouse down her strong arms.  I reached behind her, and unfastened the tight sports bra I presumed she wore to minimize the soft mounds of her breasts.  Once the bra was tossed to the floor, my hands began to explore her whole torso.  Her nipples responding to either the cold or my touch, becoming hard and wrinkled, she moaned as I gently pinched them.  

Grace had in the meantime taken off my blue jeans, her hands were working my panties down, I stepped out of them when they reached the floor.  Her fingers began to caress between my folds.  I was getting dizzy with desire.

“Let me onto the bed.”  I whispered to her while trying to catch my breath.

We paused ever so briefly as we got our naked selves comfortable.  I lay back on the pillow, Grace was on her knees above me, one hand supporting her weight, while the other reached down to pleasure me.  Her soft breast hung before me, my hands massaged them and teased her nipples as her fingers opened my folds.  

Her finger found my swollen clit and began to press it rhythmically.  As she did, I moved my hands down to her ass.  It was perfect, a decent sized muscle covered in the just right amount of fat to give it the most delicious firmness.  I began to knead that perfect ass in time to the rhythm she worked my clit.

When I orgasmed, my fingers dug into her soft butt cheeks making her moan and arch at the same time.  

Grace didn’t feel I was done though, she moved her fingers inside me, stroking while keeping pressure on my clit with her thumb.  The second orgasm left my head spinning.

Grace lay beside me, being amazingly patient as I caught my breath.  She gently stroked my shorn head with her clean hand as she looked at me with hazel eyes.  She panted slightly herself.

As soon as I could, I leaned up and began to explore her body with my mouth.  Kissing her soft belly.  Sticking my tongue inside her navel.  The hair that covered her mons was neatly trimmed quite short, the little hair prickling my hands as I opened her up.  I buried my face in her, my hands stroked her soft thighs.

I started with licking, tasting her warm cum.  When I could feel from the way her thighs squeezed my shoulders and her back arched desperately that she was almost at the bursting point, I began to suck.  She came hard, her hands clutching the sheets.  

I had a little mini orgasm too, as I listened to her squeal with pleasure.

I pressed on, continuing to lash her sensitive clit and inserting a couple of fingers into the opening beneath.  I made her cum again and again as she dripped and writhed.

I lay on top of her, between her breasts, my eyes closed.  She held me, one arm wrapped protectively around me, the other hand stroking gently the velvety hair on the side of my head.  My head rose and fell with her breaths, they gradually slowed, and I drifted off to sleep, feeling safe and content.