Excerpt from Unheard: a Memoir – Chapter 5 – told from a child’s point of view
Bianca has a way of making everyone believe her. She says she always cuts Daddy’s hair and her own, so I agree to let her cut mine after church. I look in the mirror a few times while she works on it, but I don’t like what I see. I think maybe she can fix it and allow her to keep cutting. But when I look in the mirror for the last time, I see that my beautiful, healthy, long dark hair has gone from being about eight inches below my shoulders to a shaggy, cropped mullet. I start crying, put on a painter’s hat, and run out the front door. At first I don’t know where I am going. Since it is only about two miles up the road, I decide to walk to Grandmaw’s.
The first person I see is Aunt Jackie.
“Oh hi, Susanna,” Aunt Jackie says. “I didn’t know that was you. I thought it was a boy walking down the road.”
I cry harder. I know Aunt Jackie doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings, but what she said is true. I do look like a boy. She hugs me, goes inside and tells Grandmaw about it.
“Why did she do that to your pretty hair, honey?” Grandmaw seems sad.
“She said she could cut it like I wanted it,” I tell her.
Uncle Charlie is shaking his head.
“That old bar whore can’t cut hair! She ain’t never went to school for that,” he speaks very loudly.
Grandmaw calls Daddy to come get me. Bianca gives him my things and makes Daddy drive me home alone.
“Your hair doesn’t look that bad,” he tells me.
I keep quiet the whole ride home. Mom is standing outside when we pull up to the house. I say goodbye to Daddy and he leaves.
“What did you do to your hair?” she looks horrified.
“Bianca cut it.”
“I don’t like it,” she frowns. “She should have left your hair alone. Why did you let her do it?”
“I don’t know,” I cry. “She told me she could cut hair. I thought she knew what she was doing.”
“She cuts your father’s hair and look at his!” She is mad. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing! That bitch!”
Mom stomps off to call Bianca and give her a piece of her mind, which usually means saying a few four letter words and mentioning Jesus Christ or God’s hamlet, even though I don’t think they have anything to do with it.
I want to go to school tomorrow, except that I don’t want anyone to see my hair. I pick at my arms, pondering what to do about it and decide that putting it up in pigtails will be the easiest way to hide the awful cut.