Sam and Del -3- Salons are just cool. (Patreon)

Mom did the whole, "I'm disappointed in you," thing when she picked me up. Mostly with her eyes and the tone of her voice. "You aren't hurt at all?" she asked.

I shook my head. "He never touched me."

"And you put him in the hospital?"

"Not intentionally!"

"Didn't you think he might get hurt?"

I shrugged. "Honestly, no. He was trying to kick me in the head, so I pushed his foot away."

"You didn't want your hair getting dirty," she snarked. "Well, we still have time to make your appointment to get it cut."

I shook my head. "No, Mom. Leon's still in the hospital, if I get my hair cut, he might die."

She gave me a hard look. Mom and Dad were pretty exasperated with me about the hair thing, but after years of arguments, I was fed up, too.

We ended up parked behind a beauty parlor. I glared at her as she got out of the car, but I didn't move.

"I thought you might be willing to get your hair cut somewhere they really respect hair, not like a barbershop," Mom explained.

I didn't say anything. I hadn't even removed my seat belt. I just sat there.

"Samson Israel Tucker!" she barked. "You get out of this car and come inside with me."

Well, a direct order was hard to ignore. As slowly as I could reasonably do so, I got out of the car and trudged inside the salon behind her. It smelled like all salons, of chemicals and perfume.

Mom went into conference with a lady named Janet. I looked around with some curiosity. I'd been with Mom to other salons when I was younger but not this one. I'd even had my hair cut in one, years ago. Right before Uncle Trevor got in that car accident where he almost lost a foot.

I didn't want something like that on my conscience, so I was just as determined as always not to get a haircut.

Mom and Janet motioned me to come over to where they stood beside one of those complicated chairs.

"Rachel tells me that you're refusing to get your hair cut?" Janet said to me. 

Rachel is my mom's name, but it always startles me to hear it. I nodded. "Bad things happen when someone cuts my hair," I explained.

"How about if I just styled it?"

"Huh?" I considered. "Styling wouldn't involve scissors, would it?"

"Doesn't have to." She examined my hair. "Such a lovely color, do you know how many girls would kill to have this ash-blond hair? They pay me a lot to get it." She murmured something that sounded admiring. "Down to your waist and no split ends. How do you do that?'

I explained my hair regimen. Shampoo twice a week, conditioner, do it up in a loose braid at night. Comb and brush as needed but never to excess. No hairdryer, either, just take the time to let it air dry. And not too much sun. It wasn't an easy thing to do, sticking to a program like that.

I could tell she was impressed. But she asked, "How do you secure your braid?" 

"With a ribbon I tie at the end."

"What color ribbon?" 

I looked at her. What possible difference did the color of the ribbon make? "Blue," I said. "Well, more of a turquoise, really."

"Uh-huh." She and Mom exchanged a glance. What was that about? "Your hair is beautiful," she admitted. "But it's so straight, have you ever wished it had a bit of curl? Like a body wave?"

"Uh...." I said. I had indeed wished that very thing, sometimes. You know, just for variety. But, "I get teased enough about having long hair at school. If I had curly hair, it would probably be worse. And if you're talking about a perm, huh-uh. No chemicals. You use chemicals on your hair, and sooner or later, you have to cut it."

"But you're not going to school for two weeks, your Mom says."

I realized she was right. This happened on a Thursday, Friday was tomorrow, then my six-day suspension would last all next week. And the week after that was Spring Break. Wow. This was punishment?

"So," said Janet. "We could experiment and see how you like different looks. No one has to know, because, according to your mom, you're not only suspended for two weeks, you're grounded."

I hadn't known that, but it made sense. I was still feeling guilty about Leon, so I didn't even resent it I deserved grounding. But she had made me curious. "What would you do?"

"Well," she said. "If you use big curlers and just water—nothing harsh—you could give your hair a body wave. You'd have to do it every day to keep it, but I can show you how. And any day you want to leave it straight, I can show you how to do different braids, so it isn't just hanging straight down your back."

Mom had said something about a salon being somewhere they respected hair, and I could see that Janet did. And she seemed to respect my determination not to get it cut. I looked at Mom, and she smiled and nodded. "Janet is a wizard with hair. That's why I brought you here."

"Okay," I said. "Let's do this. But if I see scissors in your hand, I'm out of here."

"No cutting," said Janet. She waved at the big chair. "Have a seat."

I sat and Janet started telling me what she was going to do first.

It took a while, but I ended up with big curlers in my hair, some of them as large as three or four inches across, and sitting under a hairdryer with no heat, just gentle air blowing my hair dry. I looked at myself in one of the mirrors covering the walls. The gigantic curlers with my hair done up in them made my head look enormous and I grinned at my reflection.

After a bit, I picked up one of the magazines on the little table beside me and read about how to tell if my boyfriend talking to me about football meant he wanted to have sex. Well, duh, he's a guy, of course he wants sex. I grinned because the whole idea struck me as funny.

From other articles in the magazine, I got the idea that women had no idea what men thought about anything. Imagine that.

Janet came by to check on me a couple of times. "Uh," she said, "maybe you want me to find you something else to read?" I made a face and nodded so she went away and came back with some other magazines, these mostly just about hair and nails and how to run a salon. I had to admit, I found them much more interesting than the soap opera-ish concerns of the first one.

I wondered vaguely what it might be like to have my own salon some day.