He shaved my head in the strange faux leather seat at his salon, grin pasted on his face with something more like liquid nails than clag. I felt the vibration of the clippers in my teeth and hated it. Foilers were worse, imagine a cheese grater cutting your hair right to the scalp.
I thought I would cry,
but I didn’t.
It was the burden of insecurity slipping in clumped locks to the polished concrete floor. I tasted victory and peppermint.
He planted the seed less than twenty-four hours prior, surrendering to a partial clip and I squealed “no fucking way, buddy!”
Look at me now,
oozing sex appeal and confidence.
Half guard, buzzed tight, right back. Bleach bombed and painted acid green. No where to hide. Bangs? What bangs?
I’m all face and all attitude. I can walk the walk better than I can talk the talk, my actions scream louder than my words and I feel unfamiliar to myself. New denim blue eyes search denim blue eyes in the mirror and I smile for the first time, honestly.
Still, I lack an ego. Still, I shy from compliments like they’ll taint me with disease. Arrogance is not in my nature nor my vocabulary but confidence has clawed its way in. Tooth and nail, fought its way through hoards of depressive monsters wearing torn cloth and a cloak of faith.
I breathe deep into my diaphragm,
and I Thank God. Thank the boy who buzzed me. Thank the man who gave me sight once more.
Your tatterdemalion creature of five foot four has found the wings you told her were hers all along. She has found the voice she swore she had lost and blown kisses into the night knowing they’d reach you eventually.