She hated them! Hated Them! They didn’t have names like Mom or Dad. She just hated them for everything. His drunken meanness, her inability to protect the children from his outfall.
They cut her hair – her long thick straight honey blond hair.
He was drunk and laughing.
He called her outside with the scissors in his hand. He had The Red Stool set up out on the patio. He clipped the blades together as a gardener would clipping a hedge.
The Mia Farrow look was in. All his girls should have short hair. He had a serious fantasy going on about being Frank Sinatra. As usual he started in on Kristie first.
“I don’t want short hair,” she protested knowing full well that she would end up with short hair.
He made a mess of it. She sat silently as huge hunks of her long golden crown were cut off and fell below to the concrete floor.
Her mother was crying unable to stop his irrational frenzy. Her brothers and sister were hiding. Who would be next in the barber’s chair?
Just like a good scapegoat, Kristie excelled at receiving punishment. She went straight into the bathroom and re-cut her own hair from the ridiculous bowl cut her father had given her into spikes and asymmetry.
When she emerged she looked stunning with her spikey hair, her black lined eyes framing her large cold blue determination.
(First published 4/2/12)
