Hannah and The Price of Freedom

Prologue

I fiddled with the hem of my dress, feeling the warm morning sun on my skin as I waited nervously for Alex, my boyfriend, and his mother. After a whole month since we met, it was finally the day he would introduce me to his mother. We had decided upon an informal meeting outside the café in the market square to make it a more relaxed occasion for all of us.

I had chosen my favourite summer dress. It was light and airy, although perhaps a little too flirty for the occasion. But it was the kind of dress that made me feel pretty and feminine. I had topped it off with my worn denim jacket in a manner that suggested I was stylish but not trying too hard. I simply wanted to feel comfortable and be myself.

Allowing my extremely long wavy hair to cascade down the back of my chair, I had already drawn admiring glances from the other customers. As I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the café window, I felt confident and optimistic regarding the forthcoming encounter.

Meeting

When I spotted Alex approaching, I felt warmth bloom in my chest. Although I had tried to kid myself over my feelings, I knew I was smitten with his good looks and by his confident charm. It did no harm that he had enjoyed an entitled upbringing in a wealthy family, he dressed well, and he drove a lovely car.

Unusually, he was looking surprisingly formal, dressed in a blazer and smart trousers, his overly long floppy hair neatly slicked back. It was like someone had taken the relaxed and casual young man I had got to know, then dressed him up for his first day at a new school. The plain buttoned up shirt and firmly knotted tie only added to the illusion. However, I acknowledged that he might be as nervous as I was, and his sober appearance was simply over-compensating for the occasion.

‘Hello, Mrs Price,’ I said in greeting, trying to sound upbeat. ‘Hi Alex.’

‘Good morning, Hannah,’ Alex’s mother replied formally, looking me up and down critically, before sniffing.

‘Hi Hannah,’ my boyfriend responded, sounding unusually bashful, not even pecking me on the cheek.

As they settled down at my table, I could not help but notice the palpable tension in the air. Mrs Price, Alex’s mother, sat stiffly, her crisply permed hair radiated severity, and her long beige skirt and matching blouse made her look far older than I suspected she was. I shifted nervously in my seat across from her. The first few minutes felt like an eternity as we exchanged pleasantries that felt more like a necessary chore than a genuine connection.

The conversation was stilted. I did my best to engage with her, raising subjects that I knew something about that I thought may interest her. I mentioned a popular novel that I was reading, but Mrs Price simply sniffed. That reaction, as I soon learnt, was an unsettling habit of hers. During each increasingly long gap in the conversation, she turned her attention back to Alex, ignoring my attempts entirely.

I noticed her eyes narrowing each time I absentmindedly played with my long wavy hair, a part of my identity that I had cherished for so long. While others marvelled at its length and glossiness, her intimidating stares made me increasingly self-conscious. Twirling a lock around my finger out of boredom, Mrs Price suddenly redirected her attention from Alex towards my activity, causing me to feel guilty. I considered what I might say to alleviate the tension.

‘That is a lovely dress,’ she suddenly commented, her first positive words directed towards me, and I felt a flicker of warmth. I was about to thank her, but she quickly interjected.  ‘But far too short,’ she remarked with a disapproving sniff that sliced right through me.

Too short, I contemplated. It was only just a few inches above my knees! I wanted to remonstrate as I would have done with anyone else. But I bit my tongue to hold back my retort, reminding myself that this meeting was as much about Alex as it was about me.

Maybe it was the patronising way she patted the fabric of her own drab outfit, or perhaps it was the dismissive wave of her hand, but she made me feel like I was a child being scolded.

After what felt like forever, she was getting ready to leave and I felt an overriding sense of relief. Relief that she was leaving, and joy at finally sharing time alone with Alex on a glorious summer’s day. He had been unnaturally quiet throughout the encounter, and I was keen to know if there was anything troubling him.

Mrs Price stood up and I did likewise, keen for us to shake hands – a kiss on the cheek seemed unlikely – and say our farewells. However, her abrupt command of ‘Time for us to go!’ deflated my hopes.

Departure

As I shrugged on my denim jacket, Mrs Price cast yet another disapproving glance my way. ‘We will need to find you a nice smart blazer to go with that dress, rather than that tatty old thing,’ she said as if no one else was in the café. I ignored the amused glances and quiet titters from other patrons, but my long sigh escaped before I could catch it.

Glancing over at Alex for support, I found only a guarded expression. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, as if to tell me to let it go. Despite Mrs Price’s condescending tone upsetting me, I held my tongue, and I gathered my composure as Alex’s mother marched off.

She turned her head briefly. ‘Come along you two. Stop dawdling,’ she commanded.

So, picking up the pace, and walking side by side but without talking, we followed. I tried to attract my boyfriend’s attention to ascertain where she was leading us, but he averted his eyes and steadfastly focused his gaze on his mother’s disappearing form.

Mrs Price led us down an interesting, colourful street off the market square. My heart raced with excitement as we passed shop windows filled with wonderful fashions and other items of interest. There was so much to see that I would have liked to spend time browsing. I felt any woman would feel the same, so her apparent indifference to the wonders around us was puzzling to me.

Mrs Price suddenly turned down a narrow lane that looked far less inviting. My confusion deepened when she suddenly came to a halt at the very end of the passageway. I looked around and there was nothing to see apart from a tired-looking shopfront tucked away in the corner.

I turned to face Alex, poking him in the shoulder and giving him my best enquiring look. He gestured with a slight nod of his head towards the shop in the corner. Taking a longer look at the dull exterior, I noticed a sign above the large window that signified the establishment belonged to Mr Paul, the Gentlemen’s Barber.

Drawing the only possible conclusion under the circumstances, I shot a bewildered glance at Alex. ‘Your mother still takes you to get your hair cut?’ I hissed in amazement.

He looked at the ground sheepishly, mumbling something incomprehensible as Mrs Price marched straight towards the door without a second thought.

‘Here we are,’ she chirped with an alarming excitement, gesturing us to follow her inside.

Destiny

As I stepped over the threshold, my senses were assaulted by a drab interior and a musky smell of masculine hair products, or it may have been just the stale odour of men and boys. It was truly awful and, ss I took in my surroundings, I made a mental to tell Alex he would be going to a more salubrious establishment in the future.

I remained puzzled as to why Mrs Price had chosen that day to accompany her son to his barber. Alex always wore his hair unfashionably long, although I felt it added a certain something to his charm. Not only did I fail to understand why we were there on that specific day, but also, I could not comprehend why he needed an audience that included me and his mother. I contented myself that it should not take too long for a trim, and then we would be able to spend time without his bitching mother in attendance. A long lunch at the charming pub down by the river would be my preference.

Having got my bearings in the small shop, I made my way to the collection of seats that constituted a waiting area. Naturally, I had expected him to have made his way to the large barber’s chair that dominated the space. So, I was surprised to see him already settled down on a bench along the back wall ahead of me and engrossed in a magazine.

Looking back towards the barber’s chair, I noted Mrs Price engaged in earnest conversation with a tall, intimidating chap who I took to be Mr Paul, the barber. I suspected it was more of a monologue than a conversation, as Alex’s mother was talking, while he occasionally nodded with a bemused expression.

As I was about to turn back to Alex to establish what was going on, the pair by the chair suddenly jerked their heads around to face me. The mother’s unrelenting stare, accompanied by a humourless smile, made me feel strangely uncomfortable.

‘No, Hannah! This way, please,’ Mrs Price announced excitedly. ‘Mr Paul has kindly agreed to deal with that mop of yours right away,’

‘What?’ I protested. ‘No way!’

My heart raced, caught between disbelief and anxiety. Surely, she had to be joking, I thought to myself. However, ignoring my objections, Mrs Price marched over and pulled me by my arm towards the barber’s chair as if I were a rag doll.

Close to, the barber looked even more intimidating, with his extremely short military haircut, and eyes that gleamed with an unsettling enthusiasm. ‘Good morning, young lady,’ he sneered, spinning his large chair around and gesturing for me to sit down.

I had no choice after Mrs Price tugged my arm and caused me to lose my balance, resulting in me falling back onto the seat. Suddenly, I felt utterly cornered. I looked over at Alex, searching for support. He merely sank deeper into his magazine, ignoring my predicament.

‘You can’t do this!’ I complained, although the barber suppressed my protest by flinging a huge, heavy cape over me. ‘I don’t want -’

‘Do not argue with me, young lady!’ Mrs Price swiftly countered, undeterred, dismissing my protests with a threatening wagging of her finger. ‘It has all been planned,’ she added with an air of finality.

‘Planned?’ I questioned, wondering when someone might have asked me for my opinion. ‘But -’

‘Yes, planned, so let that be an end to the matter,’ she stated.

As I contemplated how I was going to extricate myself from the situation without upsetting Alex, a rapid movement startled me. ‘Hey!’ I cried, caught by surprise when the barber levered the chair upwards, taking me high off the ground, leaving me feeling both trapped and vulnerable, blanketed by the cape.

Mr Paul chuckled at my discomfort, as he arranged all my hair so that it cascaded down the back of the chair. ‘How ridiculous, young lady,’ he barked, ‘it almost touches the floor.’

‘Yes, my thoughts exactly, Mr Paul,’ Mrs Price agreed, as if I was not even there.

Mr Paul opened a drawer and retrieved the most monstrous pair of scissors I had ever seen. He clicked them together experimentally in his large hand, grinning like he had just won a major prize.

‘We need to do something about it, madam,’ he insisted, in a tone that invited no argument, causing Alex’s mother’s eyes to light up with gleeful anticipation.

Accomplishment

My legs turned to jelly as Mr Paul crept up behind me. I needed to say something to halt the bizarre madness. But my throat went dry when I felt him bundling all my hair into a crude ponytail. And my neck hurt as he pulled my ponytail taut.

A loud crunching noise caused panic to surge within me. ‘No! Stop!’ I wailed, but it fell on deaf ears as the raucous sound continued.

Hannah, the girl with the long, magical hair that I had proudly looked after for my whole life, and the Rapunzel locks others had admired for so long, was being stripped of her identity.

‘No,’ I wailed, long and loud, but the barber ignored my heartfelt entreaty.

‘There, it’s looking better already,’ Mr Paul sneered, unemotionally tossing my voluminous ponytail into a nearby litter bin where it overflowed down the sides. ‘Ridiculous,’ he repeated, wiping his hands together as if to dismiss any errant strands, ‘but that’s rid of the worst of it.’

Mrs Price smirked. ‘Yes, it is so much better, Mr Paul.’

‘So, madam, do you wish me to continue with what we discussed?’ Mr Paul asked looking towards Alex’s mother, while ignoring me completely.

‘Yes, please, Mr Paul,’ she nodded curtly, ‘that would be lovely.’

‘Excellent!’ the barber smiled with a hint of menace showing in his eyes. ‘It will be my pleasure, madam.’

Mr Paul, adjusting a huge set of red hairclippers, dominated my vision. ‘No way are you using those on me,’ I remonstrated, but Mrs Price, ignoring me completely, held me firmly in the chair like an errant child.

The barber turned and I felt him placing the monstrous hairclippers against my head. ‘You can’t do this,’ I whined. ‘You just can’t -’

‘Oh, really?’ Mrs Price snapped, chuckling away. ‘Well, Mr Paul seems to be doing fine job so far.’

As the motor of the clippers roared and the blade vibrated against my head, I felt I had lost control, and I found my mind switching off from the bizarre proceedings. Short snippets of hair were flying all around me, bouncing on the cape and tumbling to the floor. Every clipping of hair that fell, felt like a piece of me was disappearing with it.

And then it got even worse. I felt the smooth metal of the clipper blade sliding up the back of my head and around my ears. After what felt like an eternity the roaring motor went quiet. And, for the first time since Mr Paul had started, I looked up in the large mirror before me. I did not recognise the person looking back at me. The face had a degree of familiarity but, without the framing by my former voluminous hair, I was like a person robbed of my identity.

‘As we agreed, a smart bowlcut for the young lady. Does her appearance now meet with your requirements, madam,’ the barber enquired, standing back to admire his creation.

Mrs Price approached to inspect his work carefully, a smirk curling her lips. ‘Please shave the back and sides of her head with a razor, Mr Paul,’ she demands. ‘It will look so much smarter, and it will finish her off nicely.’

‘Excellent idea, madam,’ the barber replied, smearing copious quantities of shaving cream along the back and sides of my head. ‘Now, young lady, no sudden movement as this razor is exceedingly sharp.’

I did not respond, but I mentally shrugged. I had felt things could not get any worse, but my imagination was no match for the demonic Mrs Price. Mr Paul diligently scraped away the foam and with it any trace of hair below the short glossy cap perched on my crown.

After five minutes, he wiped the shaved areas clean, revealing that only pristine white skin remained. Lowering the chair, he whisked away the cape with flourish as if he was unveiling a new piece of art.

‘Perfect!’ Mrs Price announced, clapping her hands together with glee.

Mr Paul held up a small mirror that allowed me to see the full extent of the devastation he had wrought on my hair. ‘Satisfied, young lady?’ he enquired, asking my opinion for the first time.

I simply glared at him, causing him to chuckle.

‘Now, Hannah, you must ensure that you keep it like this if you intend to keep seeing my son,’ Alex’s mother insisted, wagging a threatening finger in my face. ‘At least every two weeks you must return to Mr Paul, but ideally every week.’

My face dropped, resulting in Mrs Price raising a smile.

‘Alex, I will see you later,’ his mother shouted across the shop, resulting in him peering sheepishly over the top of his magazine. It was unclear if she had meant to threaten him with her words, but it was clear that she did not expect him to take me to his home later that day.

With that, Mrs Price took a large note from her purse and handed it to the barber. It would have easily covered the cost of a haircut, so represented a large tip as well. Then she marched out of the shop with a smile of triumph on her face.

Aftermath

During the humiliation of my haircut, with my emotions raging, I had all but forgotten the ineffective Alex lurking in the waiting area of the shop. Our budding relationship had led me to that place. Only my attraction towards him and my consideration of his feelings had prevented me bopping his mother on the nose and walking out. However, his lack of concern and his failure to intervene had stretched those feelings to breaking point.

Mr Paul began tidying up the area around his chair, brushing the final remnants of my long hair from the floor into a dustpan, before tipping it in the bin.

I stood up and walked slowly towards Alex. He peeked cautiously over his magazine like a guilty child. ‘You look, er … nice,’ he said, offering an empty compliment without even meeting my intense gaze, as he finally put down his magazine.

‘Nice?’ I snapped, the word igniting flames of indignation inside me. ‘Why did you allow that?’

‘Oh, that … well, you have to make allowances for mother, Hannah,’ he bleated nonchalantly, as though I should have understood. ‘She just dislikes long hair on girls.’

‘Are you serious?’ I gasped, my voice rising. ‘But you said you loved my long hair!’

‘I do! Well, er, I did,’ he said, sounding vaguely regretful, ‘but it always happens like this.’

‘Always?’ I asked, confused by his response, as it was unlikely I could lose much more hair to satisfy his mother.

He shrugged, evoking little regret. ‘Look, I much prefer to have a girlfriend with long hair, and obviously I am entitled to having what I prefer,’ he stated pompously. ‘So, I always choose girlfriends with long hair but as soon as they meet mother then … er, well, this happens …’ he went on, vaguely waving in the direction of my hair.

‘How many?’ I queried disbelievingly.

‘Dunno … a dozen or so,’ he murmured dismissively, tittering in a manner that indicated a girlfriend’s enforced shearing was of no consequence to him.

My mouth opened, but too stunned by his admission, no words came out. I wanted to not believe him, but a glance in the mirror at my unrecognisable reflection reminded me otherwise. Feeling like a goldfish, I closed my mouth again.

I sighed, holding out my hand, and Alex eagerly took it his own. ‘Thanks for accepting the situation, Hannah,’ he grinned with relief, taking my silence for agreement, ‘and that you wish to move on.’

I held his hand with a vice like grip and I dragged him to the chair I had just vacated. Standing him in front of it, I poked his chest, and he fell back into it. He giggled in his characteristic, but irritatingly childish manner, as if we were playing a game.

I laughed more openly. ‘Shave him completely bald, Mr Paul,’ I demanded, ‘and make his head shine like a cue ball.’

The barber raised an eyebrow, then a warm smile suddenly graced his features, immediately transforming him into someone far less intimidating. Confirming my request, he unexpectedly rewarded me with a wink that was unseen by Alex.

My words had stunned my boyfriend, and he appeared unable to speak. ‘No, no, no!’ Alex finally whimpered after he noted my solemn expression, and he realised that I was deadly serious. However, the barber completely ignored his bleating. He had already draped Alex with the haircutting cape, and he was enthusiastically pumping up his chair to a suitable working height.

Alex struggled to extricate himself, flapping around comically. But, in the same way his mother had restrained me earlier, I resolutely pressed down on his shoulders, so he was held firmly in place. ‘Mother would be most upset if you went ahead … as will I,’ he ranted indignantly, continuing to flail ineffectually under the cape.

‘Oh dear,’ I laughed, a manic and unfamiliar inflexion colouring my voice. ‘Will she, indeed?’ I mocked.

‘Yes, yes, she will,’ Alex bleated, accepting my mockery as a genuine concern for his own wellbeing and his mother’s feelings. ‘I would never come here to have my hair styled, or any such place. It is truly awful!’

Mr Paul froze at his condemnation, and he held Alex’s nervous gaze with a look of displeasure, verging on hatred. I could tell that the barber had intended to voice his indignation, and I would not have blamed him, but all that I heard was a primal growl of irritation.

At the very least, I would have expected to my boyfriend to say something along the lines of “sorry, no offence”, but Alex continued with his entitled whining. ‘Mother only brings my girlfriends here for her convenience. Some time ago, she introduced me to her fashionable stylist in the city. As he cuts my hair in the manner mother prefers, I would never dream of going anywhere else for a trim. Certainly, nowhere like this,’ he rudely tittered.

Alex’s gaze alternated between Mr Paul and me, with a sickly grin plastered across his face. He clearly believed his sense of his own entitlement – or perhaps his mother – would come to his rescue, as they undoubtedly would have done in the past.

‘I have completed my preparations, young lady. Would you like me to proceed in the manner you requested?’ Mr Paul asked me politely, ignoring Alex completely.

Alex, unused to people ignoring, felt the need to remind us of his presence. Sounding very indignant, he began to speak. ‘Er, excuse me -’

‘Yes, please, Mr Paul,’ I butted in. ‘Shave him completely bald, please,’ I reiterated, rewarding the barber with a beaming smile.

The barber winked at me again, then returned my smile. ‘It will be my pleasure, young lady.’

Revenge

Grabbing his monstrous red hairclippers, Mr Paul fired them up into raucous life and drove the blade through the floppy hair on the top of Alex’s head.

‘Nooooo!’ Alex wailed, but Mr Paul did not hesitate as he sheared off all his remaining locks in less than sixty seconds, leaving just a velvet-like covering on his head.

I could not resist. ‘All set to join the army are you, Alex?’ I taunted, briskly rubbing his dark fuzz.

He did not respond, other than with a gentle whimpering, his eyes cast downwards as if he might be crying. He did not even react when Mr Paul slapped generous quantities of shaving cream on his head before vigorously massaging it in. With practiced skill, the barber then took his razor and diligently scraped away the white covering from Alex’s head, leaving just dazzling white skin.

Mr Paul poured a thick musky oil over his crown and then buffed it briskly with a polishing cloth until his smooth rounded dome shone like a cue ball.

‘Perfect,’ I laughed, mimicking Mrs Price’s assessment from earlier, clapping my hands together to emphasise my approval.

Lowering the chair, Mr Paul whisked away the cape with a flourish, and Alex jumped to his feet. His expression flipped rapidly between nervousness and murderous intent. ‘You … you …’ he yelled nonsensically, glaring at the barber. Then he switched his red-eyed gaze to me.  ‘I … you … I …’ he stuttered. ‘Oh …’ he moaned, his anguished desperation as obvious as his inability to decide what he should do next.

His floundering performance was comical, and I found it unbelievable that I had been smitten by this sad creature just a fleeting time earlier. I smirked, without saying a word.

He looked so miserable and child-like, I expected him to stamp his foot like a spoilt brat. Unbelievably, I was not disappointed as he did just that, and I burst out laughing.

‘Now, Alex, you must ensure that you keep it like this,’ I mocked, wagging my finger in his direction, barely able to contain my mirth, ‘if you wish -’

‘Oh, stop it!’ he moaned, as he granted Mr Paul one final withering look before aiming the same at me. Childishly quivering in frustration, he stormed out of the barbershop and, I presumed, to seek his mother for comfort.

Epilogue

‘Thank you, Mr Paul,’ I said, tendering the fee for Alex’s shaving.

He waved it way. ‘Given what those two put you through, I couldn’t possibly take any payment,’ he said. ‘Besides, it was fun to help you get your revenge.’

‘Wow, thanks, Mr Paul,’ I said gratefully.

‘And I’m sorry, you know … about your hair,’ he added unexpectedly, looking crestfallen. ‘It’s just she always tips well …’

I had caught sight of my reflection repeatedly since he had cut off my hair. Following my initial shock, despite my locks being incredibly short, I appreciated that he had cut the style with great skill and in such a way to enhance my features. With each successive glance, I began to like my bowlcut more and more.

I may have abandoned my old identity, but I was keen to reassert myself by embracing my bold new identity. I may have lost my long hair, but in the process, I had discovered a stronger and more powerful bowl cut version of myself.

‘It’s perfect, Mr Paul,’ I gushed. ‘I look forward to returning to you for a trim in one week’s time, and every week thereafter.’

Mr Paul looked startled by the sudden turn of events. However, after a brief pause, his puzzled expression morphed into a broad smile, and then he winked. ‘It will be my pleasure, young lady.’

+108