Sarah twirled a strand of her waist-length brown hair, watching anxiously as the line at Davidsons inside Willow Creek’s only supermarket grew shorter. Her best friend Maria stood beside her, absently running fingers through her own thick black curls that cascaded down to the middle of her back.
“Are you sure about this?” Maria whispered, eyeing the elderly woman ahead of them walking away with what was supposed to be a shoulder-length cut but barely grazed her shoulders. “Everyone knows they don’t follow exact instructions, but we’re desperate after Judy’s salon closed down.” said Sarah
Mia nodded, though her stomach churned. Sarah’s wedding was in three months, and she needed a trim to get rid of the split ends. She’d requested appointments at salons in the next town, but the earliest opening was two months away. Too late for her pre-wedding hair care routine.
“Next!” called out Barb, the older stylist with spiky gray hair. She beckoned to Sarah with a well-worn comb.
Sarah settled into the black PU leather chair, the vinyl crackling beneath her. The cape snapped around her neck felt like a sentence. She watched in the spotted mirror as Barb lifted sections of her hair, the plastic comb started untangling her hair. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, mixing with the distant beeping of checkout counters.
“Just a trim,” Sarah said quickly. “Two inches off, please. I’m getting married soon.”
Barb nodded, reaching for her professional scissors – new silver Jaguar shears, their edges catching the harsh lighting. The first snip made Sarah’s breath catch. She watched in horror as Barb gathered a section of hair and cut straight across, not at the requested two inches, but almost 5 inches, and continued to cut near her shoulder and her sides
“That’s… that’s a bit more than two inches,” Sarah stammered, her hands gripping the armrests.
“Trust me, honey. This length will frame your face better,” Barb replied, continuing her methodical cutting. The scissors made a rhythmic snick-snick-snick sound as they moved through Sarah’s hair. Each cut sent another long section of brown strands sliding down the cape to join the growing pile on the linoleum floor. Sarah felt sad as she watched months of growth fall away.
Maria stood nearby, her own eyes wide with shock as Barb finished evening out Sarah’s now shoulder-length hair. The cut was neat and professional, but a far cry from the minimal trim Sarah had wanted. Sarah’s fingers trembled as she reached up to touch the blunt ends, her engagement ring catching the light.
“Next!” Barb called out, brushing hair off the cape with quick, efficient strokes of a neck duster.
Maria stepped forward hesitantly. “Maybe I should wait…”
“Nonsense,” Barb said, patting the chair. “Hop on up.”
Maria still sat down, her curls springing around her face. She’d wanted long layers to help manage the volume of her thick hair. But as Barb quickly spritzed her hair with water, the spray bottle making a weak pfft-pfft sound, Maria knew she was in for more than she’d bargained for.
The wide-toothed comb Barb used fought through Maria’s curls, each pass making her wince. Then came the sound she’d been dreading – the opening and closing of those sharp Jaguar shears, testing their action before making the first cut. Maria closed her eyes as Barb gathered the back section of her hair.
The first cut was decisive, and Maria felt the weight of her curls immediately lighten. The scissors moved methodically around her head, Barb’s practiced hands working quickly. With each snip, Maria’s curls sprang up shorter, bouncing around her face in a way they hadn’t done since college. The thinning shears came next, their serrated edges making a different sound – more of a scritch-scritch than a snip – as they removed bulk from her thick hair. “Curls have to be handled differently” Barb said
When Barb finally spun her chair around, Maria barely recognized herself. Her curls now formed a bouncy bob that hit just below her chin, springing up even shorter as they dried. The cut was actually quite flattering, but so far from what she’d asked for that she could only stare in shocked silence.
Both women paid their discounted prices – the only upside to the supermarket salon – and walked out into the store proper. They stood between the greeting cards and the pharmacy, touching their drastically shortened hair.
“Well,” Sarah said finally, “at least we’ll both look different in my wedding photos than we did in the engagement shots.” Maria laughed, the tension breaking. “Your fiancé better like short hair. Though I have to admit, it does feel lighter and refreshed.”
Over the next few weeks, a strange thing happened. Other women in Willow Creek began complimenting their haircuts. The mandatory shortness of Davidsons became something of a local legend, with women either avoiding it entirely or going in with the understanding that they’d leave with significantly less hair than planned.
Sarah’s wedding photos turned out beautifully, her shorter hair curled and pinned with tiny white flowers. Maria’s bouncy curls framed her face perfectly as she stood beside her friend at the altar. They even caught Barb shopping in the produce section one day, and found themselves waving cheerfully instead of ducking behind the apple display.
“You know,” Maria said, as they loaded groceries into their cars, “I might go back when this grows out, I loved that haircut although it was short. There’s something liberating about not having to spend an hour detangling every morning.”
Sarah touched her own hair, now grown just past her shoulders. “Maybe,” she agreed with a smile. “But next time, we’ll know exactly what we’re getting into.”
Inside the store, the scissors continued their work, transforming one head of hair after another, while the checkout counters beeped their steady rhythm and the fluorescent lights hummed their unchanging tune. In Willow Creek, where options were limited but spirits were high, sometimes the best deals came with a little less length than expected.