Pixie Cut

Welcome to the tiny little wall of my 1 bedroom apartment, where I am perched on top of a window sill on a rainy Friday night, trying to breathe in that earthy smell left by the rains. The roof’s a bit leaky from last night’s showers, something I cannot be bothered with on a Friday night. My roommate is out of town and it’s just me and my favourite day of the week and time to kill. I’m pro caffeinating, for roomie’s not here tonight for our usual evening coffee. So I make myself a hot chocolate and pick up the dusty old photo album that I had already gone over several times. I’m a little old school when it comes to photographs, I like to be able to look at them whenever I feel like and without having to frisk through a computer.

A hot chocolate and half a packet of chips later, I realize that after all, it’s not that bad being home alone. We are always spending so much time filling our days with activities that finding downtime is fleeting. And I’m the kind of person who likes to replay the good old times in my mind for idle mental indulgences. I open the album and flick through it casually. I find a photograph of me from the time when I had a pixie. I had cleared my last round of interviews for this job and started packing up to move into this bustling city. Back then, I lived in a beautiful city some 100 miles from here. One that is much less chaotic and I kind of keep half hoping I hadn’t left it. People there always had time. And it was so much easier to get around town, whereas here, going to work felt like leaving for the battlefield. Living in tiny boxed houses and joining a workforce that is marching towards some forgotten goals and dreams of a “settled life”, pretty much describes life around here in a nutshell. Decisions had to be taken around – how easy is the commute to work when renting a place, or what hobbies one could pursue, if or not one could make it to the gym or play tennis with their buddies, and even matrimonial alliances were sought after considering an easier commute to work. Well, I had gotten used to it by now but I missed my earlier quiet lifestyle that seemed like living in the countryside in comparison.

During most days, I would stop by this little cafe on the way to work. Mayble, the girl who worked there had become a good friend. She was smart and flirtatious by nature, but always passed on some good vibes to you when you greeted her. She was always thrilled to see me and had an entire week’s update for me on the latest good-looking men in her cafe, while she made mine without the slightest bit of rush. “You have to check out this cutie who has been dropping by lately, more than usual I would think! It’s been a month and he pops up at least 3-4 times a week. He has that brown skin Adonis look going on, dark eyes that make me weak in the knees. From what I can tell from all the stories he tells me, he has the heart of a lion and the soul of an angel. He’s a fair few inches taller than me, which I like”.
“That is astonishing”, I say in my most genuinely interested tone. “Please tell me you’re planning to ask him out”. To which she replies, “See, now that’s where you start to complicate things unnecessarily. True love must be really amazing I’m sure, only when it’s truly true. I’d rather sit with a lemonade watching as people fall into that pit”, she laughs. Mayble always makes me have second thoughts about approaching a crush, it makes me go “what-if” in my head all the time.
Once a guy at work asked me out, it did not end well and for a month I had to dodge the cafeteria for the fear of accidentally bumping into him. What’s worst, he was my secret Santa on Christmas and what followed was a week full of amazing surprises awaiting at my desk accompanied by nasty messages and it did not take me past Day 1 to realize it was him. Once, he got me this really ugly pair of Christmas crew socks, the kind they sell near the cash register, accompanied by a note that read “Hope the cold does not catch up to your feet”! It was the perfect way of getting back at me and also for my guilty conscience for the sudden change in heart, a win-win.
When I had told Mayble about it, she came up with the least helpful advice “Let’s get you a haircut. I am going to this new salon near my house for a manicure on Sunday. Why don’t you come along? Your hair looks like it could use some pampering". She was absolutely right about that, my post-shampoo hair always looked frizzy and unkept, and tying them down into a tight bun seemed like the only solution to be able to step outside on that day. I agree and carelessly start fiddling with my hair making tiny little knots that I very much regretted. Mayble wouldn’t stop laughing and I was beginning to start looking forward to Sunday even more. I spent the entire week browsing magazines to find a suitable haircut that I liked, a tedious exercise indeed.
Come Sunday, I was still biting my fingernails trying to think of something for a non-risky haircut. My hairstylist greeted me with a smile, she was a young woman most likely in her thirties. She had a pixie cut.

"You should do it," Mayble prodded, as if reading my mind.
"Do what?”
"Cut your hair like hers."
"I can't pull that off. No way."

But I was intrigued.

I didn’t think I would let Mayble talk me into it. I mean that is drastic and impulsive for someone like me but it still happened. Next morning was panic. What in the hell was I thinking? I managed to get to work early that day so as to draw minimum attention while walking towards my cubicle. I couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit offended by how much everyone loved my new hair. Yes, it was great that people thought I looked like I’ve stepped off the pages of a photo shoot. I’m sure it’s also a huge compliment that I now looked a bit like Ginnifer Goodwin, but every coo and compliment made me wonder just how bad everyone thought I looked before.

I was woken up from my reverie by the sound of my phone ringing. It was my roomie who had called to inform me that her client meeting was super awesome and that she missed her coffee with roomie time. I told her about the pixie and she insisted I should do it again. "That is an outrageous idea", I lied but felt all the more drawn towards it. I actually would have a hair style. Hair would no longer poke my eyes while watching a movie in the couch or move over the shoulder and make me lose my mind thinking it’s a spider. I wouldn't find tumbleweeds of hair in the corners of my house. I remembered the energy and confidence I felt after my pixie, one that neither can be bought or borrowed but can be unlocked. Besides it’s only hair…it grows.