In trembling hands I hold the electric hair clippers. My mother never allowed me short hair because said she didn’t want me to “look like a lesbian.” From the freedom of my own apartment two states away I watch the pieces of hair rain down into the sink. I cut some places too thin and other too long but the point isn’t the style. The point of this exercise is revolt or perhaps mild revolt. I Googled hair growth to make sure I’ll have at least a feminine half-bob for graduation next spring before attempting this exercise in freedom. I do not want my four years of college to culminate in a battle over gender roles.
