we sat in the chairs
capes on our shoulders
looking older than we ever have
my stylist
robyn
sprays down my flyaways
with a bottle of conditioner and water
she smells like cigarettes and rain
I close my eyes and she parts my hair
“my last day is sunday,”
she says
she will go to the next town over
to cut hair for 11.75
plus tips
“what are we doing today?”
she asks
in 5 months I’ll graduate
ceili will transfer
and cole will go back to south hills
but today
we are doing long layers
the scissors float around my head
and clipped hairs fall on my face
behind me
cole has taken off his glasses
there’s an indent on either side of his nose
ceili’s stylist is holding her hair
to simulate curtain bangs
our eyes meet in the mirror
and she nods
when we are done
we pay
and leave big tips
we are both young
and old
both rich
and poor
we are alive
and we are friends
and we have new haircuts
Winner of the Gerald Stern poetry prize and the Joan Didion nonfiction award, Caitlin Cruser lives and writes in Western Pennsylvania.