Short Stories About Hair

Part 1

My boyfriend told me he would break up with me if I got bangs, which brings me to this very moment at 1 AM on a Tuesday night.

I keep trying to wipe away the fog on the mirror, but it seems to return even stronger. I give up and stare at my naked forehead through the thick condensation. I haven't had bangs since I was twelve. I dyed them green once. They were meant to be blue, but my hair didn't take the bleach very well. Right now, I have a middle part. I've been flaunting it since my quarter-life crisis five years ago. I realize that I still have another 10 years before I can justify bangs with a mid-life crisis. (Don't bother doing the math, I'm a twenty-year-old girl with terrible health, I'll be lucky to see sixty). Truth is, I want to double-dog-dare my boyfriend to break up with me, without using words. I want to walk into the room with my glorious bangs and stare the man dead in the face. Only to see his reaction. Because healthy and secure relationships are overrated.

I take the kitchen scissors and hold them up to my forehead. I figure right below my eyebrows would be the most flattering. I consider looking up a tutorial but decide against it. If I'm going to cut my bangs horribly, I want it to be genuine and uninfluenced. I hold my hair between two fingers and begin snipping. I have always loved the sound of scissors gliding through hair. It makes my skin tingle. Flutters of hair fall down my face, resting on my nose or pooling in the sink. I start slow, trying to be cautious. As I become braver, my snips become more ambitious. If I had another pair of scissors, it would be like that scene from Edward Scissorhands. I cut off one inch, then two, then four. I didn't realize that this would feel so liberating. I keep cutting until my hair finally sits neatly on my forehead. I wipe the dead ends off my cheeks and take another look at myself in the foggy mirror. The bangs sit at an interesting angle. Some parts are significantly shorter than others, and I cut off my lady sideburns, too. I look atrocious.

"Alright," I say out loud. I pick up my phone and dial my boyfriend's number.

"Hey babe, are you busy tomorrow?"