My mother laughed. “We weren’t expecting you to get married! Goodness.”
“Just stop it! I can’t continue this conversation with you because you’re not even willing to admit what you did was completely messed up! Just totally wrong in every way. There is no way you can spin this to make it right, except you don’t even see that!”
“Chloe,” my father said sharply. “I don’t think I like the tone you’re taking with us. You can be upset if you want, but that’s not license to be disrespectful.”
*****
I went into the bathroom with the scissors and before I even let myself think about what I was doing, I started to chop my hair off. I thought about that girl, the waitress we’d had in Provincetown, with the short, pink hair. I wasn’t going to dye my hair pink—not right now, anyway—but I cut it as short as I could, except in the front. I left the front pieces about three inches long and brushed them to the side. I wasn’t a professional stylist and I used a mirror to see the back, so what hair I had left looked choppy, but not bad. I studied my face in the mirror. My head felt a lot lighter now. I turned to the left, then to the right. My neck seemed longer. My jawline looked different. I liked how I looked. Without all that hair, my cheekbones seemed more prominent, my eyes larger. I’d cut more than a foot of hair off, and it covered the bathroom floor. I did my best to clean it up, and then I hopped in the shower. I barely had to use any shampoo, and when I got out, instead of having to wrap my hair up turban style, I just rubbed my head a few times with a towel, ran my fingers through my bangs, and that was that.
My mother let out a shriek the next morning when I came downstairs.
“Chloe!” she yelped, her hand on her chest. “What have you done to your hair? I thought you were an intruder for a second! Oh, my God.”
She was standing there at the counter, in her bathing suit and sheer coverall, spooning sugar into her coffee. She let go of the spoon and it clattered on the marble surface. Her mouth hung open and she blinked at me several times. She looked over at my father, who was sitting at the breakfast table with the newspaper.
“You didn’t actually do that,” she said. “Tell me this is just some sort of optical illusion. Tell me you did not cut off all of your beautiful hair!” Her voice rose with each word. She almost sounded hysterical.
“It’s no optical illusion. I gave myself a haircut. It’s not a big deal.”
“It most certainly is a big deal! You look like ... you look like ...”
“What? What do I look like?”
“Well, I don’t know! Like you belong in the circus or something. Chloe, how could you do such a thing?”
She started to cry.
Not sobbing, but her eyes started to well up and a tear slid down the side of her face.
“Oh, God, Mom,” I said. “Stop it. It’s just hair. Would you be crying if I had cancer and had to go get chemo and lost my hair?”
“But you don’t have cancer! If you had cancer, there’d be a reason you had to lose your hair! You don’t have a reason! You just did this because you want to spite us! What is going on with you, Chloe? I mean, really.” She wiped at her eyes.
“Mom, you’re making something out of nothing. It’s just hair; it’ll grow back. If I let it, that is. I actually like it short like this. I’ve never had short hair before, did you know that? Of course you know, because you’d never let me have short hair when I was a kid.”
“That is not true.”
“Yes, it is. You were always saying how I had such long, beautiful hair and I should never cut it. And you know what? I never did. Because that’s what I thought you wanted, and I just always went along with what you guys thought I should do.”
My mother wiped at her eyes again. “How can you say that? How can you say you never got your hair cut? Don’t you remember the mother-daughter dates we used to go on? We’d go to the salon, and then I’d take you out to lunch, and sometimes we’d stop by a bookstore after. You don’t remember any of that?”
I sighed. “Of course I remember doing that, Mom. And it was fun, I’m not saying it wasn’t. But those ‘haircuts’ were never more than just a trim, maybe adding a few layers or something. My hair has never been above my shoulders, except maybe when I was little and it hadn’t grown that long yet!”
“But I thought you liked it like that.”
“I’m not saying it was the worst thing. It’s more like ... it’s like, symbolic of everything else, too.”
My father grunted. He’d been quiet this whole time, but I could tell by the expression on his face how pissed off he was. “I don’t think symbolism has anything to do with the fact that you’ve just cut all your hair off. Where’d you do this, by the way? Your bathroom? I’d think you’d at least get it done professionally if you were going to do something so drastic. What this really is, Chloe, is you rebelling, because you’re upset. But really, your mother and I are the ones who should be upset. You’ve just been out of control this summer. First the tattoo, now the hair. Plus, this new attitude of yours, which is not appreciated. What’s next? What’s going on with you? This has to stop.”
My father’s tone was sharp, his eyes angry. Any other time I would’ve been apologizing, or slinking off to my room, but this time, I stood my ground. Maybe because I knew they were totally in the wrong, regardless of what their motives were, for offering someone a job if they’d take me out a few times.
“What has to stop,” I said, “is you two thinking that you can control my life. I’m not a child anymore. And you don’t know what’s best for me.”
My father opened his mouth to say something but didn’t; he stood up and started to walk from the room. “I’m done with this convers
ation right now. When you’re ready to have a rational discussion, I’d be more than happy to, but now is clearly not the time.”
He left. My mother wiped at her eyes again, shaking her head. “We just thought that maybe you’d like to go out with someone this summer, Chloe. I’ve talked to you about this before. You know that it’s something we want for you. You’ve never really had that experience before and I was just getting afraid that you’d keep putting it off until it was too late.”