THE HISTORY OF CREATION
The first cut is always the hardest.
“You ready?”
I met Mikaela’s eyes in the mirror.
“Yeah.”
The clippers buzzed to life and growled in my ear as she pushed the teeth through the back of my hair. The curls tickled my neck as they fell to the floor.
It was tradition among the student athletes on Chapel Hill High School’s varsity men’s soccer team (Go Chargers!) to get their hair cut before the first game of the season. It was supposed to promote team unity.
Except I had my internship at Rose City Teas on Sunday when everyone else got their haircuts, so I had to make a separate appointment.
It was my first haircut in two years.
“How high do you want this fade?” Mikaela asked as she neared my ears.
I’d never met Mikaela before, but Landon recommended her. She was beautiful, with brown skin, impeccable box braids, and the brightest smile I’d ever seen.
I shrugged, but I wasn’t sure she could tell from under the plastic cover. “I don’t know,” I said. “What do you think would look best?”
She turned off the clippers and looked at me in the mirror for a second. “Probably something higher for you. Show off these beautiful curls up top.”
“Okay.”
I relaxed and let her turn my head this way and that as she worked, first with clippers and then with a pair of scissors. When she was done, Mikaela took me to the hair-washing station. I guess it wasn’t designed for tall people: I had to scoot my butt to the edge of the chair to fit my head in the basin. But she washed my hair and massaged my scalp (which was just about the nicest thing I had ever felt) and got all the itchy bits off, and then it was back to the chair for styling.
“You use product?”
I shook my head.
She pulled at one of my curls—she hadn’t touched the top, except for a little trimming—and twisted it around her finger.
“Landon said you’re... Indian?”
“Iranian. Half.”
“Sorry.” She let the curl fall. “Lucky boy.”
My cheeks warmed.
“Thanks.”
Mikaela squeezed something that smelled like coconuts into her hands and massaged it into my hair. It made it a little shinier but kept it soft. She took one last lock from the very front and pulled it down into my forehead, so it dangled like a little question mark.
“All set.”
I studied myself in the mirror. Instead of my usual messyhalo, I had a huge pile of curls up top, but the sides and back of my head faded from super short black hair down to my skin.
I hadn’t seen the sides of my head in years.
I’d never noticed how much my ears stuck out.
“It looks great,” I said, even though I was kind of anxious about my ears. “Really.”
“Yeah it does,” Mikaela said. “Let’s go ring you up.”
