Sam is a young woman struggling to overcome an unmentioned trauma. Her choice to cut her long hair signifies a new beginning in healing as she lets go of something that reminds her of her trauma.
“Walk-ins Welcome” invited the sign propped in the window of the hair salon. Sam paced in front of it, twisting a dark tendril of hair around her finger. The sign was inviting, but made her decision harder to stick to with no appointment to keep. If she kept on walking, the warm cafe on the corner would surround her with the familiar comforts of coffee bean fragrance and freshly baked goods, and she could greet the familiar faces of the baristas and order her usual black coffee.
Familiarity and comfort were easy. She took a half step away, then bit her lip and turned back. She’d made worse choices faster than this, she chided herself, and tried to give herself a mental push toward the salon. It wasn’t an unattractive building, and the girls that left and walked past her while she dithered on the sidewalk looked fabulous and stylish.
A stylist looked up and happened to see Sam while she cleaned her tools for her next appointment. She raised an eyebrow, pointing to the empty chair at her station. Sam flushed, and pushing down the panic that churned in her stomach and rose in her throat, she opened the door and stepped in. The stylist smiled brightly and turned the chair for her to sit.
“What do you want today? Cut? Color? Style?” she asked.
Sam sat on the edge of the seat and clasped her hands to keep them from playing with her hair. “Um, I don’t know. Well, I mean, I know.”
“Something big?” the stylist questioned, leaning back to rest on her counter.
“Yes, something I really want to do… I’m scared to.” Sam admitted.
“Big chop or crazy color?”
“Big chop. Really big chop.” Sam pulled her hair over her shoulder. “I’ve never really done anything with it, never cut it.”
“Never?”
“Well, only a trim now and then. I trim it myself. I’ve never been in a salon before.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to be nervous about what we’ll do to you.” the stylist smiled and held out her hand. “Give me your jacket and sit back and relax a little bit. My name’s Sarah.”
Sam shrugged off her jacket and eased into the chair with her arms folded across her chest. She took a deep breath and held a finger to the hair above her ear. “I need it short. Really short. Possibly the shortest pixie cut you’ve ever cut.”
“Okay.” Sarah crouched for a moment and pulled a photo binder from under her work station. She stood and flipped through several pages before handing it to Sam. “These are a lot of popular cuts right now. There are a lot of variations, so it’s not as simple as it sounds. It’s a really big change from your hair now to this, especially if you’ve never had it cut before. I don’t want to question you, because you can totally do what you want with your hair, but are you sure?”
Sam traced the photos absently with her finger and cleared her throat. “Um, I’m sure I want to do it, it’s just a big thing to just jump in and do it. Thanks for being so patient.” She ducked her head quickly to hide the tears welling up and spilling onto her cheeks. “I just, I have a lot of memories… I just want the hair gone. It’s one less thing.”
“Of course!” Sarah leaned forward to touch her hand quickly. “Hair is such an emotional thing. It’s really hard to part with, it’s okay. Let’s get it how you want it and get you feeling better.” She smiled, “Show me the pictures that are closest to what you’re thinking, then see if there’s anything you want me to do differently.”
Sam nodded and pointed at a photo of a woman with closely-cut blonde hair. “As short as this, with a little more length over my ears. I’d like to be able to push it back out of my eyes.”
“Sure.” Sarah took her binder back and closed it. “Let’s get started.”
Sam closed her eyes as Sarah’s comb slid through her hair, followed by the light snip of her scissors. They got closer and closer to her scalp, and she struggled to keep her eyes closed. Best not to have any regrets now, but accept the final product.
“You can open your eyes now.” Sarah smiled a half smile, but not a mocking one, and turned Sam’s chair to face the mirror.
“Oh, wow.” Sam swallowed in an effort to suppress another surge of tears that threatened to well up. “Oh, wow. I look like another person.” She laughed a nervous laugh and turned her head. “Wow, thank you.”
“You’re welcome! I hope you feel like you wanted to feel.” Sarah gestured to the locks of wavy brunette hair lying over her station. “Are you interested in donating this? It’s amazing. You’ve really taken good care of it; it’s so healthy.”
“Yes, please do. I don’t mind at all.” Sam raised her hand to touch her cropped head. “I feel so light. Like weightless.” She breathed a deep sigh.
Sarah handed her back her jacket and took her payment. “I don’t know what you’re going through, and I don’t need to know. I just want to give you a hug and tell you to come back any time, even if you don’t need me for your hair. If you need someone to talk to, come back here and ask for me.” She gave Sam a quick squeeze, then turned to sweeping up the scattering of hair on the floor.
A gust of wind whipped through Sam’s hair as she stepped back onto the street, and she pulled her hood up and scurried down several doors to the coffee shop. She went in and shut the door on the wind.
“Hey, Sam!” called Kay, the middle-aged, motherly barista over the light babble of voices around them.
“What do you need today?”
“Usual.” Sam sat down at her favorite window seat to wait on her order and let her hood down.
She watched fat raindrops start to fall and pool in the street, sipped slowly from her steaming mug, and let the familiar strong coffee warm her from the inside. Not everything needed to change at once, but the start felt good.