I sit in the swivel chair, watching my faded reflection in the mirror. The image dissolves until all I can see is the wet hair (to my waist), pale skin (how long since I was last out?), and faded eyes. Eyes that stare out from the mirror. Eyes of horrible emptiness

The woman has honey-blonde hair, fashionably short, highlighted in all the colors of the rainbow. She clacks the scissors, business-like. "So how do you want it?"

My eyes unglue from the unrecognizable face. "What?"

She rolls her eyes and repeats the question. "So how do you want it?"

I hesitate for a split second. "All off. To my ears" I say firmly.

She looks at me. I can see her mind measuring the time it took to grow it that long. Her eyes go down the length of hair. Then she shrugs. "If that's what you want..."

I nod tightly.

She takes a deep breath and cuts off the first lock. I can't stand to watch, and close my eyes. She chatters about her daughter, the weather, the rival stylist, but all I can hear is the quiet snip of the scissors. Growing louder and louder until all I want to do is hide and never come out. But I am tired of running.

"Finished!" She announces in that happy voice of a hairdresser who will soon get her cash. I slowly open my eyes.

The first thing I notice about the girl in the mirror are her eyes. Wide and dark. I never knew they were so large and dreamy. Above these eyes, well-defined eyebrows contrast against her smooth skin, no longer hidden by long greasy locks. Her hair is cropped a little above her ears, in what is probably the latest style. She is beautiful, radiant.

She isn't me.

I pay the waiting coiffeuse, who smiles and nods. As if in slow motion, I see her mouth the words Come Again. I bob my head and leave without a word.

The drive back home is filled with thoughts of nothing. Thoughts of the emptiness inside my head. I roll into the driveway, walk to the door, fumble with the keys, and step in. No one home.

As if in a trance, I walk into the bathroom. And look at the girl in the mirror. She has changed.

Her eyes, which at the beauty shop looked so beautiful, are now too big for her face. Her smooth skin now has a plastic feel, like mannequin. Her eyebrows are now sharp and severe, too thick. She grins, and it looks false, a faux smile.

The girl raises one hand. And smashes the mirror.

Little pieces of glass rain around me, landing on the sink and toilet, flying at my face. I run. Run into my room and slam the door. Throw myself onto the bed and let the tears flow. My hand throbs, the sheets are there for the loss of my hair that has turned me into a Barbie, a toy doll. The haircut that has turned me into one of them.