Renegade Summer

I've always wanted to be as free as a man but as pretty as a woman. It wasn't enough to achieve this ideologically and politically. There have been many women who sought high achievements and paired their conquests with power suits. No, this is not for me. Someone like me takes in each day as its own adventure, whatever it may bring. If you are a free spirit, then your ride or die is life its very self, or, if you are 17. For those of us who question the very underpinnings of our mundane lives, we rebel with our day-to-day choices- from fashion, to food, to the very way in which we see our work, families, and free time. After finishing the 11th grade, I definitely was looking forward my free time. Especially since, my parents were away with our family friends and decided I was old enough to be alone while the kind old lady downstairs check on me.

This summer, it meant that I was cutting my hair short and letting the bottom lengths grow longer than what was traditionally assumed for short hairstyle. You see, as I ride my bike, I want to feel the the cool air breeze through the top section of my head as if I didn't have a concern in the world- aerodynamic. I want my bottom locks to frame my face softly, softly enough for an attractive somebody to maybe twirl the strange, dark heartstrings between their fingers as we fall in love during the renegade summer.

My stomach was filled with butterflies or emptiness, I couldn't tell. Were they the same thing? The feeling prompted me to jump up and find our yellow pages directory. Perhaps, there was something in there, a spiritual calling to my true, inner self. I had also always wanted to meet my true love by some kind freaky-deaky chance encounter, yet we both would know that it wasn't a chance encounter, but rather an orchestrated path guided by our inner urges and gut feelings. I shook the thought out of my head. Seriously, what was I thinking?

My finger guided me through the ads, " Look pretty please! Lolita’s Boutique: Perms, machines and machineless.” Hmmm, no, not quite. “ Easy n Breezy Salon; Glamorous Hairdos with Natural Products.” Finally, I came upon one that read “ Chris’s Angles: Chris is a wiz and knows all the right angles”. I picked up the phone and dialed in.

“ Hello? Chris’s Angles.” A monotone, yet strangely expressive voice answered.

“ Hello there, I was wondering if you do haircuts with the top being shorter and bottom lengths longer?”

“ Do you mean- you want a mullet?”

I blushed; I didn’t really know why I did. I felt like a kid who was being asked if they wanted a cocktail in a nifty restaurant.

“ Yes, yes. I would like that. Do you have any availabilities this weekend?

“ How ‘bout Saturday at 12 o’clock noon?”

“ Sounds great. I’ll bring a photo—“

“ Groovy, see you then.”

All of a sudden, I felt a wave of nervousness. After all, I wasn’t good ol’ Jane Fonda. I began to think about what other people would think. Would my boss and the other folks down at the Carhop think I was queer? Or would they think I was just trying on a new edgy fashion? I tried to put the thoughts off. For days, every once in a while, I felt pangs of excitement along with fantasies of what could be.

Saturday came and I woke up from a strange dream, I had been trying to save a small cat from the bottom of the well, but as I was pulling the bucket up, the string kept getting thinner and thinner. I woke up before I knew the fate of the kitten. Perhaps, I had been psyching myself out a little. After a few minutes of basking in the sunlight from my window, I was ready to start the lovely day. I got up, showered, and ate a bowl of sir grape fellow while listening to a Cambodian surf rock cassette a friend had given me after a long trip with her parents through South East Asia.

11.45. It was time. I got on my bike and cruised down the Main Street toward Chris’s Angles. It was a medium sized salon, well decorated with lush velvet couches and Hollywood vanities, but not too fancy, as the floor was bare and the hairdressers were laidback but industrious.

“ Are you my noon appointment?” I immediately recognized the voice on the phone.

“ Yes, that’s me. You know…Mullet Seeker.”

“ I’m Chris” she said, following a small chuckle. “ Come right this way.”

I followed. She was wearing high waisted jeans, but not the wide legged style I had seen in the previous years. She looked to be between 18-21, but felt older, more poised. Her hair was voluminous and her bangs curved around her cheekbones. It was as if they were handing one her eyes, which were sharp and flirtatious. I had hoped this meant she knew what she was doing.

I sat down in a rather heavy olive chair that swiveled. We spoke of the haircut I wanted. I was a bit embarrassed. Perhaps, someone witnessing your transformation or transition, is a a vulnerable moment. My hair, which was flat-on-top-and-frizzy-on-the-bottom was getting an inversion. I watched her cut my hair from the bottom up, after collecting the hairs into flat plates, which she cut diagonally. Rather quickly, the shape of my face became quite visible. I did not need to go into the helmet-like dryer contraption like the other customers. I stared into my reflection, I was confused and yet, I liked it very much.

“ So, do you ever hang around this part of town? Do you ever go to Devon’s down the street?”, she asked while smiling. Her smile was so perfect, but it had sort of hid her eyes and you couldn’t readily read them. Her gleaming confidence made my insides tickle, it was as if she knew me already.

Could she tell that I, once in a while , entertained the thought of being with women? I had seen a bunch of women walking in a group, with funky haircuts and loose fitting clothes, holding hands and kissing near Devon’s last summer. My eyes lingered on them as I passed them on my bike. I had taken that street sometimes, secretly, in hopes I could see them again. Chris adjusted her posture, and I suddenly became self conscious and pretended not to be too thoughtful about it.

I responded casually, “ Oh, right on. Sometimes if my friends invite me, I’ll go there.” I was lying. I jus I could not get in yet.

“ Ive never seen you there before! That’s our bar; we go there often after work.”

“ Oh rad, what a cool place to hang out after work, and all the time!” I said.

“ If you’re not busy tonight, we’re having a party for Bridget’s going away.” She gestured at a woman who was only visible by her pleather white boots. I didn’t

Know what to say, but out of fear of sounding awkward and like a shut in, I responded rather quickly, “ That sounds great. Now that I think of it, I remembered some of my friends wanting to go. I’ll see you there.”

Try not to make it awkward. Try not to make this awkward. I chanted this in my mind over and over again. After the haircut and leaving a tip that didn’t show I was particularly interested but still, was more than I would normally leave, I left on my bike and thought about who would want to try to get in with me to Devon’s Tonight.

Suddenly, my attention was taken away from the nights dilemma and brought to my head. The gentle wind had been producing airstreams on my scalp and the lower half had been wavering like a bird’s tail feathers. The softness tickled the sides of my neck and I said to myself: You finally did it. You have a mullet. Your hair is liberated! I decided to take the long way home or maybe I wouldn’t go home at all. I combed through the fluffy layers and thought about a lot of things. I felt like a brand new person. I stared at myself in the reflections of windows. I went home, finally, and laid on my bed, thinking about how I wouldn’t have to worry about my tangled hair. I looked in the mirror and thought that whatever happened from now on, with my new mullet, would only be the beginning of a renegade summer. Suddenly, I remembered, I had to find a friend and a way to get into Devon’s.