Tonsured!

It was just like getting a haircut, I told myself. A cooler haircut. My hair had been green, blonde, and even blue. Had streaks of orange, ash blonde, and green for Independence Day. But something told me this was going to feel a little different from all those expressions of rebellion.

This was different. Cruela smiled, and her eyebrow wobbled weirdly. I did not know why I was crying.

It hurt. Somebody should’ve told me the razor would be more cutting than any harsh words hurled at one. Somebody should’ve told me that looking in the mirror afterwards would be a big mistake.

I had imagined it would feel as if it were the aftermath of a bad haircut. Trust me, I know. I have had many.

But there’s only one that was done in a frenzy of self loathing and a desire to run away. It came back to me in a flashback as the chanting around me helped drown the pain of the closest haircut I have ever had.

They say nails and hair have no feeling. But I can still feel the hand that had twisted my hair ever so gently in a fist. I still feel the heartbeat increasing rapidly against my back as the fistful of my hair was pulled ever so gently to his nose. I can still feel the warm breath inhaling the scent of the shampoo I had used just that morning. I still feel that warm breath exhaling slowly against the back of my neck. I can still hear that rough voice gently murmur, “Halo shampoo!”

And I know for sure I wasn’t there because I wanted to be there.

I knew I had to run. Nothing more was important any more. I could hear his surprised yelp as I pushed him. I could hear him yell, ”Silk!” as he saw me bolt through the French windows.

I vowed never again to ever get into a situation where I would have to run like that again.

The razor had nicked me in several places. Cruela looked satisfied with her performance. As she held the mirror in front of her smirk so I could look at her handiwork, instead of touching my bald head I touched my eyebrows. They looked immensely hairy on my hairless head.

I wiggled them. I raised one. Then another. My face had become a stage for the dancing eyebrows. My eyes looked darker on my face. And the shadows under them, deeper. I looked weird, not at all like a version of Persis Khambatta in the Star Trek movie. Not that I looked like her with the hair, but still, I was thankful that my head was not wobbly or odd shaped. I touched my head.

It was a big mistake. A shudder passed through my entire body. I had hoped the touch would have disappeared with the hair. I had cut my hair before with the same hope. But I could still feel it. I could still feel the breath. And before I heard the voice that had haunted me for years, I threw up.