It started with a haircut. Every spring she got the urge to chop off her long, dark hair, the main reason being boredom of course. This year was different however. This year chopping off those locks she had come to love was actually painful, but necessary.
The final decision was made on a Thursday in May. She had once turned the thought over in her mind earlier when the weather had become noticeably more pleasant. She had come home from school, run into her room to throw on a pair of shorts and hastened out the door to meet her best friend for their daily tandem bike ride. It wasn’t a monumental day; nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, and as she felt the cool, breeze on her face and listened intently to her friend tell the stories of her day she had no idea that she would soon be making a decision that would change her outlook on life.
After circling the four mile loop that circled their houses the friends parked the bike and decided to take a water break. Her phone which had been vibrating constantly went off once again, so she dug it out of her worn pocket to see who was disturbing her lovely bike ride. As she opened the message, a feeling of dread overcame her entire body, starting with her head and reaching her toes in a matter of seconds. Her friend motioned her to read it out loud, and as she read the bitter, hateful words that tore her being to shreds, large, wet tears fell down her face onto her lap. It was undoubtedly the worst message she had ever received. After she finished reading, her friend- like any good friend would- told her to get rid of it. The words from the message bounced around her mind; the biting phrases like small needles causing minor puncture wounds to her self-confidence.
Without hesitation she spoke firmly “I’m going to cut off my hair.”“You’ll regret it, you know.” Her friend replied.
She knew she would regret it eventually. But by that time it will have grown some, and besides it was just hair right? She had done a great deal more drastic things to her hair before anyway. It was decided then, and soon she would have hair eleven inches shorter than she did now.
She decided to stay home from school the following day, to sort out the details of her conclusion and to recover from those words that were still lingering in the back of her mind. Besides, staying home meant that she could watch her favorite movies with her favorite person, her mom. It also meant she didn’t have to face the boy that cut her so deeply in class. She sat across from him in English, which previously had been her favorite class but now there was an ugly cloud that encircled that classroom.
She also made a list of the reasons to cut her hair, just to make sure that she wasn’t just making this choice in a brief moment of insanity. Not only would cutting off her hair be a pain release, but it used to be the thing that boys (especially the aforementioned boy) loved about her. Also there was the fact that she was entering into a new phase in her life, moving to a drastically warmer city, summer was on its way, etc., etc. If anyone asked, she would tell them the more positive reasons, and they would smile and accept it without inquiring further.
She went to school on Monday during lunch, having just barely missed the dreaded third period, with her hair straightened cascading down her back. Secretly, she hoped the surrounding students noticed her hair. She hoped they would take in the length, color, and style. There were only two more classes to go before she drove to the small salon. There were only a few more times she would be in these classes actually, as graduation was rapidly approaching. That also made her anxious.
She walked into the solon, quiet country music in the background, and felt excited at the thought of what was to take place. She decided to also make her hair a few shades darker this time and to cut it about shoulder length. As the hair hit the floor, she didn’t feel drastically different. It wasn’t until her hair stylist wheeled the chair around to face the large mirror that she saw what she had done to herself. She didn’t recognize herself, but this was a good thing. A burden was lifted from her in the pile of split ends on the salon floor, and she felt lighter.
The next day at school, mostly the girls noticed the change, which was nothing out of the ordinary. She was told she looked older, which in her mind wasn’t a bad thing to be told until you were about forty, then it was just an insult. As she took her seat in the small circle of her college English class, she knew that he noticed. Here she was after being absent since he had told her she was pathetic and other negative attributes, and she was wearing a new dress with a new hair style. She was pleased that he looked slightly uncomfortable.
After that, the depression that had taken over her body for the last few months slowly began to retreat. She began to see traces of herself in her actions again. She was eating normally, sleeping more than four hours a night, laughing at the lunch table with her friends, and wearing clothes other than a sweatshirt and jeans.
She was able to forgive the boy for breaking heart, able to forgive her friend that broke his after he dumped her, enjoy the last few days she had with her friends in that summer, reach out to those around her, and prepare to leave for college. She was finally herself again and it all started with a haircut.
