The Haircut That Changed Everything

When I was in 9th grade, I had really long hair. One day, my mom suddenly took me to a man’s barbershop. “Cut her hair short like a boy,” Mom said. I cried, but Mom kept asking the barber to cut it shorter. People around started staring at us. “Will that be all, ma’am?” the barber asked. “No”, my mother replied, rising from her chair. “Cut it even shorter.”

I felt like I was in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. My hair fell to the floor in thick clumps. The barber hesitated every time he took the scissors near my head, looking at me in the mirror with eyes that seemed to say he was sorry. But Mom’s glare kept him going.

When he finally finished, my reflection looked like a stranger. My head felt lighter, but my heart felt heavier than ever. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stepped down from the barber chair. Everyone in the shop pretended not to look, but their eyes followed me until I left.

Outside, Mom didn’t say a word. She just grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the bus stop. I remember every crack in the sidewalk, every dog barking in the distance, and the way my scalp tingled in the cold breeze. I remember thinking, “Why is this happening to me?”

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