In Grand Style

There wasn’t a single memory of going to meet my mother at her hair salon that didn’t excite me. 

Remember those movies in the 90s and early 2000s where the girls got together and helped their low self-esteem friend get spruced up for a special event? Or for a revenge scheme to get back at an ex? Or my personal favorite, when kickass superheroes or agents get ready with their equipment and disguises? 

I didn’t watch those movies when they were first released, seeing that I wasn’t born yet when they came out. But making transformations happen is my jam. And when they first appeared post-makeover all decked out in their outfits (though some looked less-fortunate than other makeover scenes)  and, most importantly, their fierce confidence, I can’t help but admire them and imagine the endless possibilities when it comes to changing one’s appearance. And how this superficial transformation can affect the self emotionally and mentally.

It’s cheesy. But I like cheese.

I got to watch my mother work on her clients a lot when I was a kid. I had to give up more time on my homework when I hit my teens, but I spent time there as much as I could. I know, it’s not what an ordinary girl would like to do, hanging out at their parent’s shop while they work. But it’s not bad at all. Mom had decorated the place back in the 80s, and it remained that way for a very long time. But I liked it. And so did most of her regulars. Salons these days are all so… clean? As if I were to walk into a clinic and wait for the nurse to call my name. 

In here, it’s cosy. Mom always had some compilation of love songs CD playing and plus, she doesn’t look the least bit intimidating. Not like those modern places, with their black suits and cold demeanor. Everyone here makes friends easily with one another. Although newcomers can be scarce, since we’re in a rather small town, it was rarer to not have them become regulars in the long run. 

It was nice.

It was home. 

But not for long.

“You’re moving to the city?” Mom exclaimed.

I nodded. The shop had just closed and Mom’s clients had gone home. It was only me, her, and her best friend May.

Despite being the same age as my mother, she’d refuse to be called anything else but by her name or Big Sis.

“I got a job there. It pays well. And I can stay with my friends till I find a place for myself.”

Mom and May’s shoulders dropped simultaneously. They both had the betrayed look on their faces. 

Why did I ever think this was gonna be easy?

“But you’ll be so far away from us,” May said. Half-true. It’s pretty far from here. But I’m sure I can get back home from there within a couple of hours.

If I floored it.

“I can come by every other weekend.”

Mom gasped, then turned to May. “Did she say ‘come by’?!” Mom began to sob while May tried to comfort her in her arms. “She doesn’t think that this is her home anymore!”

Oops?

“Mom, it’s not- I didn’t mean-”

Her sobs got louder and May was going “There, there,” to soothe her, which made me the bad guy here.

I got up from my seat and went to her, kneeling in front of both Mom and May.

“Mom?”

“Why’d you wanna leave?”

“It’s not a big deal. Listen, all of my friends are leaving town, and those who haven’t left yet will go eventually,” I began, but it didn’t do anything to make things better for her. “I just thought…” And still thinking. “It’s just, I need to grow up. And I need to learn how to get by on my own.”

Mom didn’t answer. But May looked up and she smiled at me. “You go home for the night, sweetie. I’ll send your mom back later. Okay?”

I wasn’t in the position to protest. So I nodded.

I got up from the floor and went to the door. I was dragging my feet, because all of the enthusiasm I thought I had earlier had crumbled when I saw how Mom reacted.

She may have overreacted, too. 

But could I blame her?

The hair salon was not just a job for her. It’s her life. She spent most of her time there and had seen years go by from that place. It was her anchor. Her reason to keep on going. You might even say that she’d be more loyal to the salon than to any of us.

And any of us would not think less of her because of it.

But that was her choice. She could have opened a different kind of store. Or she could have decided on a different career. I know that she had a degree in something at a prestigious university, because I once found pictures of her in a graduation robe and mortar board, surrounded by other graduates in a friendly manner. But for some reason, I could not find her degree and she would not say anything about it. She claimed that she never went to pursue tertiary education. 

And she wasn’t pretentious about it, either. I mean, she didn’t force me to go to college. She just wanted me to do what I want. If I did want to go to college, she’d approve. But if I decided to stay and work, she’d agree all the same.

But when it comes to leaving town to see the world outside?

That’s a different story.

I got into my car and drove home. It wasn’t a long drive at all. Not even long enough to finish one song that played on the radio as soon as I turned on the ignition. 

No use in making playlists for a journey this short.

In my room, I laid down on my bed, scrunching the tightly tucked sheets that Mom did. 

I won’t get that anymore if I were to leave. Just thinking about being far away from her hurts. But it would hurt me more to know that I didn’t try to do something.

Would I rather be a coward or a traitor?

I got up from my messed up bed and went to the bathroom. I took a mental note of how long my hair had grown. Because I had Mom, it was always neat and healthy. I ran my fingers down from scalp to tip. Not a split-end in sight. 

I wondered what May would say to Mom right now? Would she agree with my plans to leave? Or would she convince her to make me stay? There’s no telling of what the outcome might be if I put the choice in someone else’s hands.

I’m 18, and soon, I’m going to be a full-grown adult. I know that there’s still room for me here in this town, with all of the comforts that it could provide, but I couldn’t just let my life go by not knowing what I can do. I needed a-

“Transformation.”

If my words couldn’t convince Mom to agree with me, then maybe my actions could. I grabbed a pair of scissors that I had on my desk and went back to face the mirror. My face was red. Maybe it was anger. Or was I about to burst into tears. My nose felt cold. And so did the tips of my fingers. I’ve never had any other kind of hairstyle other than this. And I never had anyone touch my hair before, except for Mom.

I swallowed my doubts. Not now. I can’t give up now.

I held the scissors up with one hand and with the other, I tightened my grip on a portion of hair near my face.

I held my breath.

Snip.

The thought that occurred to me as I chopped a large portion of my hair was that it wasn’t my attempt to rebel against my mother. Or, maybe there was a hint of it. But the main reason why I did it was the exact opposite. I needed her to see me as someone who can be different. That I, too, can grow up and be whoever I wanted to be. I could make a choice with my life. As she had made hers. 

But also, I wanted her to see that in the process of transforming, I can make mistakes. Because equipped with only a single mirror and a pair of plain scissors, there was no way I could tell what the back of my head looked like. I couldn’t tell if the sides were symmetrical with one another. I couldn’t make my hair look as good as she had made it.

But that’s okay. Because I’m trying. And one day, I can get better. I might actually be good at this. 

By the time I was done, I had tears and snot running down my face, and some strands of hair got stuck on my cheeks and chin. I looked like a messy child, pretending to be all grown up. I know that I wasn’t.

But one day, I will be.

That was perhaps how my mother saw me. Because the next morning when I walked into the salon as she and May were opening shop, she let out a loud gasp while May was trying to stifle a laugh when she saw my ridiculous-looking haircut.

“Mom,” I said. My heart was pounding. “I know you think that I’m still a kid. And maybe I am. Because I still couldn’t do things on my own.”

I heard her sigh, and I had to pull myself together.

“But I will learn how. It might take awhile for me to do it, but I’m going to keep trying.”

Silence. There were onlookers. But I didn’t care.

I continued.

“So, Mom… All I need to know is that you’ll continue to love me and encourage me to be better. This place will always be my home. And I’ll always find my way back to you.”

With this, she rushed towards me and held me tight. 

We both cried there in front of the store. And though my gut tells me that she will still try to convince me to stay, I think we’ve made good progress.

Step one from the hundreds or thousands to come.

“You didn’t have to cut your hair, though,” Mom said, mid-sob.

I chuckled. “I kinda have to to convince you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So that I’ll let you leave?”

“Well, that,” I shrugged. “And to tell you that I won’t let anyone else do my hair except you. Even me.”

She scoffed, but a warm smile was etched on her face. “Especially you. This is going to take forever to fix!”