Chapter 25 - Nell Chooses the Scissors
Nell was eleven when she asked for a bob.
I thought she was joking.
“You want what?”
“Short.”
She held her hands beneath chin.
My stomach reacted before my brain.
“No.”
She stared.
I heard myself.
Wrong.
I sat.
“Sorry.”
Nell crossed arms.
“Mom.”
“I know.”
“You said my hair.”
“I did.”
“Then?”
“I got scared.”
“Of haircut?”
“Yes.”
“That’s weird.”
“Extremely.”
She waited.
I said:
“If you want a bob, we can make appointment.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Let’s give you forty-eight hours because hair decisions can wait. Not because I get veto.”
She accepted.
Two days later:
Still bob.
We went to Mina.
Same stylist.
Mina remembered.
She asked Nell:
“How short?”
Nell showed.
“Do you want to save the cut hair?”
“No.”
“Donate if long enough?”
“No.”
Good.
No need to make it meaningful.
I sat in chair behind.
The scissors opened.
My chest tightened.
Closed.
A lock fell.
Nell smiled.
“More.”
Another.
Another.
This time no one grabbed her.
No one decided she needed humbling.
No campaign brief.
No jealous aunt.
No adult score.
Mina paused:
“Still good?”
Nell looked at mirror.
“Shorter.”
I laughed.
Of course.
Final cut:
Just below chin.
She shook head.
Hair bounced.
“Cool.”
On the drive home, Benedict video-called.
Nell turned camera.
He gasped theatrically.
“My rope!”
She laughed.
“Gone.”
“Who will tow my car now?”
“Use insurance.”
Then she looked at me.
“You okay?”
The child checking parent.
I smiled.
“Yes.”
And I meant it.
May you like
The scissors had not been the problem.
Choice had.
