ing I knew, she was reaching up with the towel and rubbing it across my head.
She was so, so close to me—closer than any non-relative female had ever been—and she smelled so good. I inhaled slowly through my nose and tried to figure out the scent—something like peonies. For some reason, it seemed to relax me a little.
I opened my eyes and looked down at her. She had a slight smile on her face, and her gaze was fixed on her hands and the towel she was running over my head, which also felt wonderful. After a minute, she pulled the towel away from my mostly dried hair and tossed it over her shoulder. She looked at me for a moment, smiled a little more, and then reached up and ran her fingers through my hair. She pushed it back up off my forehead and then twisted it around her fingers.
“You need a haircut,” she said.
“I know,” I replied.
She fiddled with it some more.
“It doesn’t stay where I put it,” I said randomly, but it seemed to make her smile again.
When she smiled, her eyes lit up, too.
“I see that,” she smirked. “Do you want me to cut it for you?”
I just stared at her, trying to comprehend what she was asking.
“I cut my dad’s all the time,” she said. “I’m good at it—I swear.”
“You want to…cut my hair?”
“I will,” she said, “if that’s okay with you.”
I couldn’t seem to form any words to answer her, so I silently found a pair of hair-cutting shears and sat down on a chair in the kitchen.
Trying to stay still while Mayra was near me with a pair of scissors was not easy.
I knew I needed a haircut. I had planned on getting one at the end of the month, when I usually got paid for my website work. I just didn’t have much extra money on hand. It was all budgeted exactly with the remainder going into the account for college. I kept whatever didn’t round evenly for spending money.
The lady who usually cut my hair knew just how much to take off. I didn’t like it if it was changed too much, and she had managed to figure out exactly how I wanted it cut after I freaked out on her once. Mayra didn’t know, and even as I sat on the kitchen stool with the cream-colored towel around my shoulders, I felt myself start to hyperventilate.
“Not too much,” I managed to gasp out as she came up behind me. “Please.”
I felt her fingers moving through my hair right before a comb followed.
“Only a little,” Mayra said as she leaned over to look in my face.
I kept my eyes away from hers, choosing to look down at the curve of her neck instead. She had very pale skin. There weren’t many freckles or anything on it, either. I had a weird desire to touch it.
“I promise,” she said. She touched me right underneath my chin and pushed against it until she turned my head to look back at her.
Looking people in the eye was never something that came easily to me. It always felt so…confrontational. Sometimes it was unavoidable, but I still tried to keep my eyes away from others whenever possible. It just wasn’t comfortable.
There was still a smile on her face when our eyes met.
“Just a little,” she said again. Her eyes were intense, and I flinched a bit. “Okay?”
“Just a little,” I whispered back.
Sitting completely still, I closed my eyes and waited for her to be done. She pulled the hair away from my head in little bits. I would hear the snip of the scissors, and then she’d move to the next part. I tensed only a little at the sound when it came close to my ears. There was a strange feeling of unreality, like this was all just a dream, and I was still asleep, almost ready for the alarm to go off and wake me to get ready for school. I turned my head a little and looked at Mayra.
She was standing in the kitchen where my mother had cooked dinner. She was standing on the parquet flooring I had helped my dad install—making sure all the little wooden pieces were lined up just right. She was in the house where my grandparents had lived when I was born. It was just weird.
“All done!” Mayra announced. “Do you have a mirror?”
“Upstairs,” I said.