01.03.2003 - 1:43 p.m.

Yesterday morning, I stood in my parent's laundry room with an old white sheet draped over me like a cape, fastened at my throat with a plastic-headed safety pin that once held my own diapers. My mother combed my hair, and because I'd already brushed it, the comb went through it in long strokes from the crown of my head to the end, roughly even with the bottom edge of my jeans pockets. I love having my hair combed, I love the almost ticklish feeling at the roots when it is being played with and it's not me that's doing it.

I read a short story once, about somebody's grandmother and how special she was because she never, ever pulled hair when she was combing it. My mother pulls, but I can tell she tries not to, and it's still worth it.

Another long stroke, this time with even pressure and a taut pause just before the end. My scalp feels the comb let go as the hair below it is snipped; this too is a good feeling.

"This much?" my mom asks, showing me three or four blonde inches hung between two fingers.

"A little more, I think. It's been a really long time, and I want to get all the splits off."

"Well, how much more? I don't want to cut more than you want." She is still holding the hair ends for me to see.

I want it at the small of my back. I am tired of sitting on it, tired of craning my neck up while I wash my hands. I almost ask her to cut it up to my shoulderblades, or even my collarbones. "Two more inches should do it," I say.

The whole process takes less than ten minutes. Halfway through, she assures me that she's only evening it up, not snipping any more. I tell her I'm not worried, it can be whatever length she needs to get it even. It's only hair.

Today was the first time I washed it. It piles differently on my head when I work in the shampoo. It needs less conditioner. When I gather it, twisting my hands down to squeeze out the water, the end keeps surprising my hands. It is the same with brushing it out.

I lost less than half a foot. I'll be surprised if too many people even notice, since I still have two feet of it left. And I don't know why, but it just feels wrong this way. I'm going to see if I can grow it back.

-stonebridge

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