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I was feeling daring. "I have something interesting in mind for you." Interesting? No, no no. Wasn't I interesting enough without it? Then again, what could be the harm? He proceeded to raise his hand to my face, nearly covering my eyes. Once I let myself relax a little - why was I always so uptight? I thought I had worked past that - I started to consider the possibilities.
"Bangs?"
From anyone else's vantage point, this wouldn't seem as momentous as I make it out to be. Maybe a few years ago, maybe even last year . . . But after a handful of unexpected style changes, the scandal that was once my new haircut had lost its impact. They had already seen me in short hair before. Never with bangs, but I'm sure most of my peers hadn't picked up on that seemingly minute detail. Their shock was simplistic, I had gone from having some of the longest hair they'd ever seen to a cut arguably shorter than those of many boys. This summer, the second time around wasn't as jarring. It was old territory. Still, that cut was undoubtedly better - I've always been adamant about being able to tuck my hair behind my ears, a futile attempt to keep it out of my face, to destroy a barrier between myself and the rest of the world.
Before I had even begun to grasp the repercussions of my decision, I found myself as I was the first time - wincing as though in pain, not wanting to see the blades wound my once precious hair. This was obviously of no use, I'd have to look at myself at some point. An hour or so later, the unnerving period of anticipation came to an end - and I was left with a near bouffant blowout, as to be expected. Previously, this would have brought me to tears, all of my cherished hair ruined, my curtain gone, all for naught. But I've grown. I've learned to expect that my hair, as all else, will calm down. It will all look better in the morning. Nowadays, I just keep telling myself those things, all those cliches we want to believe in, but only do in retrospect.
Coming home, I feel as though my head's lighter - literally. But this could not be further from the truth in a less tangible sense. I robotically help my mom with the groceries, stuffing them in the fridge as quickly as I can without damaging them, without damaging my new hair. I want to see it, but I'm scared. Then again, if I was brave enough to get the cut in the first place, shouldn't I be able to gather up enough nerve to look at it? Within a matter of seconds - my house isn't very big - I'm staring down the mirror, or rather the figure staring back. She looks distinctly European, with familiar features, but they're in some way enhanced. A chameleon, but one who retains a piece of herself with every transformation. Turning my head to try and capture her at another angle, aspects of her face are more striking, but her familiarity fades, and I wonder.
Would my old acquaintances recognize me? After all, they're just that - acquaintances - it's unlikely that they recall much of me beyond my old walls of hair.
Would he recognize me? Stop me on the street, "Hey! Don't I know you?" Yeah, you did.
And what of my father, would he recognize me, I foolishly inquire, as it's doubtful he would have before.
Would I recognize me?
No differently than any other night, I lie awake fruitlessly on the couch. It has been suggested that I simply turn the TV off if I want to sleep, but then the ravenous thoughts that circumnavigate my subconscious would plague me further. Thus I lounge there, mulling over anything and everything. Somewhat fresh in my mind, although picked from a tree rather old, planted by hands long gone, the question again beckons. Would he really? Do you really think he'd recognize you? A subsequent query, that as of late usually accompanies the former, offers some respite - Does it matter? Even in the unlikely event that two such paths were to cross again, would it honestly be in a meaningful way? Maybe a few glances on the subway, gawking at the asymmetrical casing around a strangely familiar face. Yet I've made peace with that. I don't have to ruminate over what should have been done, but wasn't, because of my indecision. The impasse, if only in my mind, has been rectified. I didn't hesitate, and so have proven to myself that I can seize the moment, even if it's only in a small way.
But do I really believe that?
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