Snip. Snap. Hair falls in small wet clumps. A bead of water slowly rolls down my forehead. Small sharp strands poke everywhere, mostly around my neck. Snip. Snap. I stay as still as a statue. My joints are made of marble. I resist the urge to twitch, or move my hand to seek some relief from the itchy strands. Snip. And a pause. A sweet smell hits my nose as she leans forward. Another drop rolls off my bangs. Snap. A word of self-doubt. I return a word of confidence in a quiet voice hiding the fading hope. Snip. Snap. A step back. My eyes study the scrunched up face. I shift, my back aches from the kitchen chair. She leans forward and the smell hits me again. Snap. One more peak of wet dark hair tumbles to rest on my white shirt, dotted with dark clumps and wet drops. A small mirror in my hand and two eyes studying my face. I beat back a double take and drag a smile forward. The two eyes are asking me. I push the retreating smile back in front. I thank them and tell them I love them. She smiles, satisfied, and turns away. Quickly I look again. The hair pokes with a new viciousness. I blame the quarantine.
–Matush Prokop. I am a senior at Skowhegan Area High School in Skowhegan, Maine.