Telling her Mom

Christina stood alone on the rear deck of her father’s twenty-five-foot Bayliner Trophy, watching the old wooden Trojan cabin cruiser following behind them on the long towline.
The aging wooden boat rose and fell with the swells. Its weathered hull, old cabin windows, and faded paint made it look almost out of place against the other boats moving across Lake Michigan.
Every so often, Christina glanced toward the horizon, watching the distant boats, before returning her attention to the Trojan.
She had been given a responsibility, and she intended to take it seriously.
If the wooden boat began riding noticeably lower in the water, or if anything unusual happened with the towline, she was supposed to tell her father immediately.
Christina reached up and rubbed the back of her head.
The sensation still surprised her.
Only a few hours earlier, she had been wearing her hair in a ponytail. Now there was practically nothing left. The 000 blade the barber had used had reduced her hair to the faintest rough stubble.
The wind coming across Lake Michigan felt entirely different against her scalp.
She smiled faintly.
Then she reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out her familiar white-and-gold hard pack of Marlboro Light 100s.
The cardboard was slightly crushed at one corner from being carried in her pocket.
She held the pack in her left hand and flipped open the hinged cardboard lid with her thumb. The silver foil inside had already been torn back, exposing a row of white filters belonging to the long white cigarettes packed neatly together.
She caught one of the filters between her thumb and forefinger and worked the cigarette upward until she could pull it free.
She placed the cigarette between her lips, leaving it hanging slightly downward from the right corner of her mouth.
With a practiced movement, she pushed the cardboard lid shut with her thumb and slipped the pack back into her jeans pocket.
Then she reached into her other jeans pocket and pulled out her silver Zippo lighter.
She held the lighter in her right hand and flipped open the metal lid with her thumb.
Click.
With one practiced flick of the striker wheel, the wick caught, producing the steady yellow-orange flame characteristic of a Zippo.
The breeze coming across the rear deck made the flame dance slightly, but it remained lit.
Christina brought the lighter toward the cigarette hanging between her lips.
She leaned forward just enough to bring the tip into the flame and began drawing steadily through the filter.
The tobacco caught almost immediately.
The end glowed bright orange-red as she inhaled, the burning ember spreading evenly across the tip.
She took another short puff to make certain the cigarette was burning properly.
Then she lowered the Zippo and snapped its lid shut with a crisp metallic clack.
She slipped the lighter back into her pocket.
The cigarette remained between her lips for another moment.
A thin ribbon of blue-gray smoke curled upward past her cheek before the lake breeze carried it away.
Christina caught the filter between her index and middle fingers and slowly removed the cigarette from her mouth.
She parted her lips and exhaled.
A pale cloud of smoke rolled out in front of her face, briefly hanging in the air before the breeze scattered it across the stern.
She looked back toward the Trojan.
“Come on, old girl,” she murmured. “Just stay afloat.”
She raised the cigarette to her lips again and took a longer, slower drag.
The ember brightened considerably, turning vivid orange as she inhaled.
She lowered the cigarette and exhaled toward the open water.
For several moments, she stood quietly, listening to the steady rumble of the Bayliner’s engines.
Then she reached up and rubbed her scalp again.
She still couldn’t quite believe what had happened at the barbershop.
There had been no lengthy discussion. No gradual cutting of her hair. No opportunity to watch herself change in the mirror.
One moment she had a ponytail.
A short time later, she had practically no hair at all.
And the woman who had done it had behaved as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Christina was still thinking about it when she heard the cabin door opening behind her.
“Well, there you are.”
She turned.
Her mother stepped onto the rear deck, pulling the door closed behind her.
Sue looked toward the old Trojan.
“How’s our little project doing?”
Christina smiled.
“Still floating.”
“Well, that’s encouraging.”
Sue stepped beside her daughter and studied the old wooden boat.
“Your father keeps asking whether it’s taking on any more water.”
“It doesn’t look like it is.”
“Good. Because he’s worried about that more than anything else.”
Christina nodded.
“I know.”
Sue turned toward her daughter.
She couldn’t help looking at the closely buzzed scalp.
“My goodness, Christina. I still can’t get over your hair.”
Christina laughed.
“Neither can I.”
Sue reached out and gently rubbed the back of her daughter’s head.
“Oh, my goodness.”
“Feels different, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does.”
“That’s what a 000 blade will do.”
Sue shook her head.
“Well, you certainly went through with it.”
“Yeah.”
Christina smiled.
“And I’m glad I did.”
Sue looked at her for another moment before reaching into her jeans pocket.
She pulled out her own white-and-gold flip-top hard pack of Marlboro Light 100s.
With her thumb, she flipped open the hinged cardboard lid, exposing the torn silver foil and the row of white filters beneath it.
She caught one cigarette between her fingers and pulled it free.
She placed the long white cigarette between her lips, snapped the cardboard lid shut, and returned the pack to her pocket.
Christina reached into her other pocket and retrieved her silver Zippo.
“Here, Mom.”
She flipped open the metal lid with a familiar click and rolled her thumb across the striker wheel.
The wick caught immediately.
Sue leaned toward the steady flame, drawing through the filter until the end of her cigarette began glowing orange.
She took another short puff to establish the ember.
Christina snapped the Zippo closed and slipped it back into her pocket.
Sue straightened and took a longer drag.
The burning tip glowed brightly before gradually fading as she removed the cigarette from her lips with two fingers.
A thin stream of smoke escaped between her lips before she exhaled the remainder toward the open lake.
“Thanks, honey.”
Christina nodded.
Sue looked at her daughter again.
“So, what was it like?”
Christina smiled faintly.
“You know, Mom, it was kind of weird.”
Sue raised an eyebrow.
“Weird how?”
Christina took another drag from her cigarette and looked back toward the Trojan.
“Well, you know how Grandpa and I went there to see about getting the boat?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that woman agreed to let us have the boat if she was allowed to buzz my head.”
Sue stared at her.
“Just like that?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you agreed?”
“Yeah. But that’s the weird part.”
Sue brought her Marlboro to her lips and took another drag.
“Go on.”
Christina turned toward her mother.
“After she said that, she walked right behind the barber chair and grabbed this cape that was hanging on the wall.”
Sue nodded.
“Okay.”
“And there was no discussion. Nothing. She didn’t ask me if I was sure. She didn’t tell me to think about it. She just grabbed the cape like it was already decided.”
Christina laughed quietly.
“It was like, okay, we’re doing this. And we’re doing it right now.”
Sue smiled.
“And what did you do?”
“I just kind of looked at her.”
Christina hesitated.
“And then something just came over me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know how to explain it, Mom. I knew what I’d agreed to. I knew she was going to buzz my hair off. But I didn’t feel like arguing or asking questions.”
She looked down at her cigarette.
“I just walked over and sat down in the chair.”
Sue studied her daughter’s expression.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Christina smiled.
“It was one of those old chrome barber chairs. Big armrests, a footrest, the whole thing. It looked like it had probably been there for years.”
Sue nodded.
“I know the kind.”
“Well, she had the chair turned away from the mirror. So when I sat down, I couldn’t even see myself.”
“She didn’t turn you toward the mirror?”
“No. And she never did.”
Sue found herself thinking about the old barber chair.
She could almost imagine sitting in one herself, facing away from the mirror, unable to watch what was happening.
There was something intriguing about the idea.
She pushed the thought aside.
Christina continued.
“Anyway, she came up behind me with the cape. She shook it out, and it opened up over the chair. Then she brought it around my shoulders and spread it over my body.”
Sue listened.
“Then she took my ponytail and wrapped it up, kind of twisting it around itself. She grabbed a clip and clipped it up on top of my head so it was out of the way.”
“All right.”
“Then she got one of those white paper strips barbers use.”
“A neck strip?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
Christina nodded.
“She wrapped it around my neck, fastened it, and secured the cape over it. She did it so casually, Mom. Like she was getting ready to give somebody an ordinary haircut.”
Sue smiled.
“Well, I suppose to her it probably was ordinary.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Christina shook her head.
“She didn’t act like she was doing anything unusual.”
Sue took another drag from her cigarette.
“What was Grandpa doing through all this?”
Christina laughed.
“That’s another thing!”
“What?”
“He was just standing over in the corner.”
“Just standing there?”
“Yeah. Like this was no big deal. Like this was something that happened every day.”
Sue started laughing.
“Oh, your grandfather.”
“I’m serious, Mom. He wasn’t acting surprised or concerned or anything. He was just standing there watching.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Not much. I think he was more interested in getting the paperwork for the boat taken care of.”
Sue shook her head, smiling.
“That sounds about right.”
Christina looked toward the Trojan.
“Anyway, after she had the cape fastened around my neck, she took the clip out of my hair.”
Sue nodded.
“And?”
“My hair fell back down, and she gathered it together again. She pulled it into a ponytail at the back of my head and secured it.”
Christina paused.
“Then I heard her open a drawer.”
Sue looked at her.
“A drawer?”
“Yeah. Behind the chair.”
Christina raised her cigarette.
“And I’m assuming she got a pack of cigarettes out.”
Sue smiled.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I heard her moving something around, and then I heard that familiar sound of a lighter.”
Christina reached down and tapped the Zippo in her pocket.
“The same kind of noises I hear when I use mine.”
Sue nodded.
“So you think she had a Zippo?”
“I’m pretty sure she did.”
Christina smiled.
“I heard the metal lid flip open, then the striker wheel, and then the lid snapping shut.”
Sue brought her Marlboro to her lips.
“And she was smoking while she cut your hair?”
“Mom, she was smoking before she even started.”
Christina laughed.
“And you know how you can smell somebody else’s cigarette when you’re not smoking yourself?”
Sue nodded.
“Of course.”
“Well, I smelled it. That fresh cigarette smell when somebody has just lit one. I could smell it coming from behind me.”
Christina took another drag.
“So I knew she was smoking.”
Sue shook her head.
“That’s something you don’t see much in a barbershop anymore.”
“Well, apparently she didn’t care.”
Christina smiled.
“I could hear her take a couple of drags. Then I heard her moving around behind the chair.”
Sue looked at her.
“And that’s when she started?”
“Pretty much.”
Christina hesitated.
“First I heard the clippers.”
She looked toward her mother.
“And Mom, these weren’t like the clippers they use at the hair salon.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were loud.”
“Loud?”
“Yeah. They had this really deep buzzing sound. Almost like a little electric motor. When she switched them on, I could hear them over everything else in the shop.”
Sue imagined the low mechanical hum of an old set of barber clippers.
She remembered hearing similar clippers years earlier, when she had accompanied family members to traditional barbershops.
She had always found the sound distinctive.
And now, hearing Christina describe it, she wondered what it would be like to hear that sound directly behind her own head.
“Sounds like an old set of barber clippers,” Sue said.
“That’s exactly what they were.”
Christina rubbed her scalp.
“And then she came around beside the chair.”
Sue waited.
“She had the clippers in one hand and her cigarette in the other.”
“All right.”
“And the hand that had the cigarette in it? She put that hand against my forehead.”
Sue looked surprised.
“With the cigarette still between her fingers?”
“Yeah.”
Christina continued without demonstrating.
“She put her fingers against my forehead and tilted my head backward.”
Sue nodded slowly.
“And then?”
“And then she ran those clippers right down the middle of my head.”
Sue stared at her.
“Right down the middle?”
“Right down the middle, Mom. From the front all the way back.”
Christina smiled.
“And that was it. There was no turning back after that.”
Sue fell quiet.
She could picture the scene: the old barber chair, the cape, the clippers making their first pass down the center of the head.
She wondered how she herself would react at that moment.
Would she be frightened?
Would she ask the barber to stop?
Or would she simply close her eyes and allow the haircut to continue?
The thought fascinated her more than she expected.
“She didn’t stop to ask me if I liked it or anything,” Christina continued. “She just brought the clippers back to the front and made another pass beside the first one.”
Christina ran her hand over the top of her head.
“Then another pass. And another.”
Sue watched her daughter.
“So she just kept widening the strip?”
“Exactly.”
Christina nodded.
“And she was doing it like it was no big deal.”
Sue raised her cigarette to her lips and took another drag.
She was beginning to realize that she was listening to the story with an unusual degree of interest.
It wasn’t simply curiosity about Christina’s haircut anymore.
She was thinking about the possibility of experiencing the same thing herself.
The barber’s confidence.
The absence of hesitation.
The certainty that once the clippers made that first pass, the haircut would continue until it was finished.
Sue wondered why that idea appealed to her.
Christina continued.
“Every once in a while she’d stop long enough to take another drag from her cigarette. Then she’d go right back to cutting.”
“She was doing all that with a cigarette in her hand?”
“Yeah. She’d hold it between her fingers while she positioned my head, and then she’d take a puff when she had a free moment.”
Christina shook her head.
“Mom, it was almost like somebody who had done the exact same thing a thousand times.”
Sue smiled.
“Well, she probably had.”
“Maybe. But it was different from anything I’d ever experienced.”
Christina took another drag from her Marlboro and exhaled toward the lake.
“Once she finished the top, she started moving my head around.”
“How?”
“Like a military barber.”
Sue raised an eyebrow.
“A military barber?”
“Yeah. She wasn’t rough enough to hurt me, but she definitely wasn’t gentle about it.”
Christina continued describing the process.
“She’d push my head to one side, run the clippers straight up, move my ear out of the way, and keep going.”
Sue listened closely.
“Then she did the other side the same way. She didn’t ask me to move my head. She just positioned it wherever she needed it.”
Sue found herself thinking about the woman at the barbershop.
There was something about Christina’s description of her calm, businesslike manner that Sue found compelling.
She had spent years making decisions about her hair, sometimes asking for a little more to be taken off, sometimes wishing she’d been more adventurous.
What would it be like to sit down and simply tell a barber to take everything off?
She was so caught up in the thought that she nearly missed Christina’s next sentence.
“Mom?”
Sue blinked.
“What, honey?”
“I said she never turned me toward the mirror.”
“Oh. Right.”
Christina smiled.
“I couldn’t see a thing.”
Sue laughed softly.
“So you had no idea what you looked like?”
“Not really. I knew my hair was coming off because I could feel the clippers going over my head. But I couldn’t see how short it was.”
Christina paused.
“And then she tilted my head forward.”
Sue nodded.
“To do the back?”
“Yeah. But she tilted it way forward. Almost as far as my head would go.”
Sue looked at her.
“And she still had the cigarette?”
“Yeah. But by then she needed both hands.”
Christina smiled.
“So she put the cigarette between her lips.”
Sue laughed.
“Of course she did.”
“And then she started working on the back.”
Christina continued.
“She kept running those clippers up the back of my neck and over the back of my head. She’d tilt my head a little one way, then the other, and keep going.”
Sue listened closely.
She found herself wondering whether the woman would approach her own haircut in exactly the same way.
Would she simply cape her, switch on those loud clippers, and begin?
The possibility was becoming increasingly attractive.
Sue felt a little embarrassed by the thought.
She was supposed to be listening to her daughter describe a rather extraordinary experience.
Instead, she kept imagining herself in the barber chair.
“And then?” she asked.
“Well, remember that ponytail she had tied up?”
“Yes.”
“That was pretty much all that was left.”
Christina smiled faintly.
“Everything around it had been buzzed off.”
Sue looked surprised.
“So she left the ponytail until the very end?”
“Yeah.”
Christina nodded.
“She had it secured together, and once she’d finished buzzing the rest of my head, she gathered it in her hand.”
Sue raised her cigarette to her lips.
“And what did she do?”
“She tilted my head forward again. As far as it would comfortably go.”
Christina paused.
“And then, with that cigarette hanging between her lips, she took the clippers and cut the ponytail off right where it was gathered.”
Sue stared at her.
“The whole thing?”
“The whole thing.”
“In one piece?”
“Pretty much.”
Christina nodded.
“She held it together in her hand, ran the clippers through the remaining hair at the base, and suddenly the ponytail was completely separated from my head.”
She smiled.
“She was standing there holding practically all the hair I’d walked into the shop with.”
Sue shook her head.
“Oh, Christina.”
“And I still hadn’t seen myself.”
Sue looked at her daughter for a moment.
“Were you in complete shock?”
Christina considered the question.
Then she shook her head.
“No.”
“Really?”
“No, Mom. That’s the strange part.”
Christina looked out toward the lake.
“It felt okay.”
Sue studied her.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. It felt normal.”
She smiled faintly.
“I know that sounds strange, but I wasn’t sitting there panicking or thinking I’d made a terrible mistake.”
Sue nodded.
“I was just sitting there letting her do it.”
Sue thought about that answer.
Perhaps that was the part she found most interesting.
Christina had agreed to an extraordinary haircut and then simply allowed it to happen.
There had been no lengthy negotiation, no stopping halfway through, no worrying about whether a particular section was too short.
Just a decision, followed by the haircut itself.
Sue wondered whether she could ever be that decisive.
Christina rubbed her scalp again.
“And once she finished, she switched the clippers off.”
Sue waited.
“Then she took one last drag from her cigarette.”
Christina continued.
“And she just tossed it on the floor.”
Sue looked surprised.
“On the barbershop floor?”
“Yeah.”
Christina laughed.
“She dropped it, stepped on it with her shoe, and gave her foot a little twist to put it out.”
Sue shook her head.
“My goodness.”
“Then she came back behind the chair.”
Christina continued.
“She unfastened the cape and pulled it away, taking the white neck strip off at the same time.”
Sue nodded.
“She shook the cape out, hung it back up on the wall where she’d gotten it, and tossed the neck strip into the garbage.”
“And then?”
“Then she just walked away.”
Sue raised an eyebrow.
“Walked away?”
“Yeah. She walked right back behind the counter to start getting the paperwork ready with Grandpa.”
Christina laughed.
“And there I was, still sitting in that big chrome barber chair.”
Sue smiled.
“She didn’t even turn you toward the mirror?”
“Nope.”
“She didn’t show you your haircut?”
“No.”
Christina shook her head.
“It was almost like the haircut was finished, and now she had other business to take care of.”
Sue took another drag from her cigarette.
“So what did you do?”
“I just sat there for a minute.”
Christina smiled.
“I could feel the air on my scalp. I could feel how short everything was. But I still hadn’t actually seen it.”
She paused.
“Then, while she was behind the counter getting the paperwork ready, she looked over at me.”
Sue waited.
“And she said, ‘If you want the razor, I can get the razor out once I finish taking care of this with your grandpa.'”
Sue stared at her daughter.
“The razor?”
“Yeah.”
“As in shave your head completely smooth?”
“That’s what she meant.”
Sue looked at Christina’s extremely short stubble.
“And what did you say?”
Christina smiled.
“I told her I thought the clippers had taken enough off for one day.”
Sue laughed.
“I should say so!”
Christina laughed with her.
“But she didn’t act like it was a strange offer. She just nodded and went back to the paperwork.”
Sue shook her head.
“That is quite a haircut story.”
“Yeah.”
Christina took one final drag from her Marlboro.
“And the funny thing is, Mom, I really don’t regret it.”
Sue looked at her.
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
Christina ran her hand over the top of her head.
“Actually, I kind of like it.”
Sue smiled.
“Well, honey, that’s what matters.”
Christina nodded.
By now, both cigarettes had burned down nearly to their filters.
Sue took a final drag from her Marlboro, removed it from her lips, and exhaled a cloud of blue-gray smoke toward the open water.
She extended her hand beyond the stern railing and flicked the cigarette butt out over Lake Michigan.
Christina followed a moment later.
She took one last puff, exhaled, and sent her own cigarette butt spinning over the side of the Bayliner.
The two women were finished smoking.
For a few moments, both stood quietly, watching the old wooden Trojan following behind them.
Sue was still thinking about the story.
The barber chair.
The cape.
The old-fashioned clippers.
The woman who had approached the entire haircut with such confidence.
Sue had never seriously considered having her own hair buzzed down to practically nothing.
At least, not until now.
She wondered whether she was being a bad mother for allowing her thoughts to wander so far from what Christina had been telling her.
Her daughter had just undergone a drastic transformation, and Sue should have been concentrating on how Christina felt about it.
Instead, part of her was wondering what it would feel like to sit in that same chair.
She felt a brief flash of embarrassment.
Then she reminded herself that being curious about a haircut didn’t make her a bad mother.
Still, she decided it was probably best to keep those thoughts to herself.
Christina looked toward the Trojan again.
“There’s something else about that woman, Mom.”
Sue turned.
“Oh?”
“She was wearing this necklace.”
Sue nodded.
“What kind of necklace?”
“One with a star on it.”
Sue looked thoughtful.
“Like a pentacle?”
Christina nodded.
“Yeah. That’s what it was.”
Sue looked at her daughter.
“Okay. What about it?”
“Well, I’ve been reading about Wicca and different kinds of witchcraft.”
Sue looked at her daughter with renewed interest.
“Really?”
“Yeah. And some people who practice Wicca believe that hair can be used in different kinds of rituals.”
Sue glanced at Christina’s closely buzzed head.
“Hair?”
“Yeah. Like protection rituals and things like that.”
Sue smiled faintly.
“And what does that have to do with your haircut?”
Christina looked back at the old wooden Trojan.
“Well, Mom, what if that woman wanted my hair because she was going to use it to perform some kind of protection spell for the boat?”
Sue stared at her daughter for a moment.
Then she started laughing.
“Oh, Christina.”
“I’m serious, Mom.”
Sue shook her head, still smiling.
“Well, honey, if that woman really wants to protect that boat, I’d feel a whole lot better if she showed up with some fresh caulking and a good bilge pump.”
Christina burst out laughing.
“Mom!”
“I’m serious!”
The two women laughed together as the old wooden Trojan continued following behind them across Lake Michigan.

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