The scissors creaked with each snip.  Fragments of hair slipped to the ground, accumulating into piles. Three children were clustered around a chair, experimenting on a younger child’s head. The eldest held a pair of scissors and was meticulously attempting to shorten the bangs. The younger child eyed her siblings warily as they worked. Though her child-like instincts placed whole-hearted trust in their abilities, she still couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps this may not turn out as planned.

   ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    “Let me try! I want to try!” The nine-year-old lurched for the scissors in his oldest sister’s hand.
    “Stop it, Mark. You’re going to make me mess up.”
    “But you’ve been doing it forever!” he squabbled, swinging another arm in the air.
    “Yeah, Liv, you’re being selfish. Let me try!” The second sister cut in.
Olivia “Liv” sighed and passed the scissors to her sister. 
    “Hey,” Mark whined, frowning at the action, “I said it first!”
    “Well I’m older!” Lucia shot back.

    The six-year-old victim sat placidly in the wooden chair, listening to the bickering around her.

She had been seated in that chair for what seemed like forever. It was now ten o’clock and it
had been breakfast when mom had announced that she was going to give Anne’s bangs a trim, just enough to last until they had time to get a haircut. So Anne had pulled up a chair and mom had gotten to work, clipping the jagged flyaways.
   

Olivia, aged fourteen, had lingered in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes. When the phone began ringing stridently, she picked it up and glanced at its face.
    “Hey mom, it’s Aunt Susy, do you want me to answer it?”
    “Oh yeah, just a minute,” She said, placing the scissors on the counter and taking the receiver from Olivia.
    “Hello?” her voice faded away as she walked towards the upstairs.
Anne saw her oldest sister glance at the abandoned scissors. Olivia reached out and grasped the silver handles. Lucia had just wandered into the room with Mark in close pursuit.
   

“Hey guys,” Olivia addressed them, navigating over to where Anne sat. “Let’s see if we can trim Anne’s bangs, it couldn’t be too hard.”

The idea sparked like a wildfire. The two clambered over to the chair and surrounded it like an army.  Lucia began issuing orders.

 “Ok, Anne, just sit really still. Mark, go get a damp rag and make her bangs wet. Liv, you can cut first, since you have the scissors. And I’ll get a towel to go around her shoulders.”

The three set up shop, alternating among the positions.

Anne felt like a cat cornered by a trio of toddlers. She dug her fingernails into the soft, waxy wood of the chair as she watched more and more slivers of bleach-blond hair shower down. They snipped and trimmed for ten minutes until Olivia, gazing at the finished product, pronounced the project complete. The three stepped back and examined their work.

   “It’s kinda short, isn’t it?” Mark commented in his raspy voice.
    “Well, sort of, but that’s probably because it’s still wet.” Olivia voiced a tinge of uncertainty.
Mark cocked his head, squinting, “Yep, still short.”

What are they talking about? Anne wondered, confused by her siblings’ remarks.

She sprang from her chair and flew to the living room, where a mirror was positioned above the couch. Pouncing on it, she peered into the mirror. Her green eyes stared back at her. Nothing looked abnormal. Her eyes were still sea-green as they always were, her nose still small, her eyebrows still in tawny-brown lines. Then she saw it. Her bangs, which had originally fallen to her eyebrows, were now chopped short. They fell at an awkward length, mid-forehead. She gazed at herself.

Well, they are a lot different. But Livvy didn’t say they looked bad so I guess they’re ok. I’ll go see how mom likes them.

She continued her childlike reasoning as she made her way upstairs and found her mom in her bedroom. She was brushing her hair, back turned to Anne.
   

“Hey mom,” Anne exclaimed, “look what the others did to my hair.”

Linda pivoted around and studied her daughter’s new do.

  Puzzlement clouded her face as she eyed the bangs.

   “How did this happen?” she cried.
   -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Anne watched, silent, from the comfort of the living room couch as mom dialed a number into the phone. Nearly a week had passed since the incident. After numerous futile attempts to rearrange the bangs in a natural way, they had been deemed hopeless. But then Lucia proposed a solution.

    “Why don’t you send Anne over to Mrs. Cathy?” she had suggested, “she’s always saying how she’s been learning to cut hair. She may be able to spruce it up a bit.”
    “Well,” Mom had replied,” I suppose she might be able to do something to them.”
She chuckled as she had swept another glance by Anne’s bangs.
The stunt had now taken a more comical view, much to Anne’s displeasure.
   

Mom pressed “talk” and held the phone to her ear. After a few moments, it connected with the phone on the other end.
   

“Hello, Cathy? This is Linda. How’ you doing?”

Cathy was a well-known talker and she took this opportunity to relate how well her vegetable garden was thriving that year. After a few minutes of hearing about the various types of slugs invading Cathy’s tomatoes, she found the opening to broach the subject of her call.
   

“Say, I wanted to ask if you would try trimming Anne’s bangs. Through a recent escapade, her bangs were shortened and I was wondering if you could help them look a little more natural.”
   

“Ok, thank you, Cathy. We’ll see you on Friday.”
   -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anne watched Cathy gather her supplies. She was digging in the drawers of her bathroom sink; pawing through empty nail polish bottles, hair-ridden brushes and the like.

Cathy, clothed in her usual attire of a knit scarlet turtleneck and dark denim jeans, was informing Anne of the success of her pear tree.

“Yes, this is really the first year that it has prospered. Oh look, here they are.”

She spotted the scissors in the corner behind the sink and snatched them up.

Anne placed her hands on the cool tile of the counter. She felt a little uneasy about this second trimming.

Something about it made her stomach clench up. Perhaps it was the way Cathy talked while she worked or maybe it was that this was the second event of this nature. Whatever the case, Anne decided that it might be best not to look in the reflection and watch the process. She squeezed her eyes and balled her fists while Cathy worked. The sprinkling of hairs on her nose felt like snowflakes. They skimmed her nose as they fell to the floor, making Anne imagine a winter wonderland.

Cathy had now moved on to the subject of her homemade goat’s milk soap.

“Yes, I’ve been selling bars of it at a local farmer’s market and I’ve been able to pick up a little income. I’ve also been making shampoo bars and facial scrubs and I’m going to sell those too.”

She stopped talking as she cut the last bunch.

“I think we’re done.”
Cathy placed the shears back in their usual spot, “I’ll go get a broom so I can clean up.”

Anne heard the pattering of feet as Cathy left on her pursuit. She opened her eyes and studied her haircut.
 

Oh boy, she sighed to herself as she scanned her bangs.

It was as if the winter wonderland she had been imagining earlier had turned into a blizzard. Not only were the bangs shorter than they had been, but now clusters of hair hung like jagged icicles across her forehead.
  

At least before they were in a straight line, she thought, eying the miserable crook of the hairs.
As she lowered her gaze to the bathroom counter, a scattering of bobby pins caught her eye. She narrowed her eyes and reached a hand up towards the chopped bangs, an idea dawning.
  

Maybe I’ll be able to clip it back and no one will notice that I barely have any bangs!

She could only hope that this would be the solution.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anne once again found herself peering into her bedroom mirror.  She sighed helplessly as she stared at the

slanted fall of her bangs. Reaching up, she played with the few hairs that were cut so short they stood straight up as if charged with electricity. In her sweaty palm, she clutched a hairclip. Its sharp edges dug into her hand as she swiped to clear her forehead of the bangs.

Rolling the hairs into a clump, she fastened the clip. It stayed intact.
  

“Yes!” Anne cried jubilantly, finally free of the hair.

But just as soon as her exclamation, the hairs began to stick up.  They slipped back into their usual placement and left the clip dangling.

No amount of braiding, twisting, or pulling could urge the bangs to stay.
  

Well, I guess I’m stuck with them, Anne thought dejectedly.  I think I’m going to grow my bangs out from now on. No bangs are worth this much trouble.

She placed the clip back in the basket.
  

I wonder if that shampoo bar Mrs. Cathy was talking about helps at all with growing out hair. But then again, maybe I shouldn’t find out. After all, now I know that you never really know just what could happen when you try your hand at a second-hand haircut.