Chapter 14 - THE DAY HENRY ASKED FOR SCISSORSFour months later, Rose’s hair had grown back in soft brown fuzz.
Henry’s hair had grown too.
Unevenly at first.
Then into soft golden waves again.
One Saturday morning, he came into the kitchen carrying a pair of child-safe craft scissors.
I nearly dropped my coffee.
“Why do you have those?”
“I want a haircut.”
I froze.
“You do?”
“A little one.”
David came in from the garage and heard him.
He did not celebrate.
Did not make a joke.
Did not say finally.
He simply crouched.
“How much?”
Henry pinched maybe half an inch between two fingers.
“This much.”
“Okay.”
“And I want Mommy to do it.”
I started crying before I could stop myself.
Henry looked alarmed.
“Did I do something bad?”
“No, baby.”
I wiped my face.
“You did something very good.”
We put a towel around his shoulders.
I showed him the scissors.
I asked before every cut.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Still okay?”
“Yes.”
When he said stop, I stopped.
That was the whole point.
Rose sat nearby rubbing her own fuzzy hair.
When we finished, Henry picked up one tiny golden curl from the towel and placed it in her palm.
“This one you can keep.”
Rose smiled.
“My lucky spring.”
David turned away for a moment.
I knew he was crying.
This haircut looked ordinary.
To us, it was not.
May you like
The first haircut had been about power.
This one was about consent.
