I took him back…I don’t know why. I just did. Felt bad for him. We moved here shortly after he was released from prison. Now I fear for my life, I live by rules that he makes up as he goes along and I have to hide food. Was he like this before? Did prison bring it all out? All I know is, I don’t know this man.
He wants me to cut his bangs. I don’t want to. If I mess it up…He yells that he can’t see and he tosses the scissors to me. He sits down, combs his bangs and puts his hand down over them to flatten them. I tell him if he wants me to cut his bangs, he has to remove his hand and let them fall naturally. If he keeps his hand on them and I cut, when he removes his hand, they will bounce up and be too short.
He tells me that I don’t know what I’m talking about. He holds his bangs flat and I cut. It’s a miracle that I’m not shaking. I cut just bellow his hand like he tells me to. And of course, when he removes his hand, the bangs go up and they’re almost above his eyebrows. I can’t even laugh. I’m so sick to my stomach. He goes to look in the mirror. I hear him before I see him. He barrels back in to the room and punches me in the face. I lose my balance and go sprawling to the floor. My just healed lip is split again.
“You stupid bitch!” he yells, pacing and pulling at his bangs. “I tried to tell you but you wouldn’t listen,” I cry. “SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!” I’m listening for the babies to wake up. There’s only quiet from their room. “Come here!” he yells. I don’t move fast enough and he grabs me and shoves me down on the chair. He grabs the scissors and for a horrifying moment I think he’s going to stab me. “Since you butchered my head, it’s only fair that I get to butcher yours,” he sneers. Please don’t…“It’s you or the babies,” he says. I’m on my knees before him, crying and telling him not the babies. He lifts parts of my long hair and laughs. He then just grabs the hair from the top of my head and starts to cut…and cut…and cut…he hands me chunks of hair and I cry harder.
When he’s done, he laughs and laughs. “You look just great!” he snickers. I run to the mirror and I almost pass out. The hair on the top of my head has been chopped to about a quarter inch. It goes from one side to the other and half way down the back. I’m almost bald down the middle with long hair on the sides. He then decides I should go to the store to get his cigarettes. No scarf, no hat. He tells me to take my time. The walk of humiliation is long and my sobs echo into the night.
When I get home he asks if everyone liked my new do. I don’t answer. He then announces that we should go home for the weekend to visit our folks. I pray he’s not serious. He never wants to go home. Where will he get the train money? Friday comes and he somehow has money to go home. His maliciousness burns into me as I board the train to the stares of everyone around me.
Next -> Trip to Humiliation
Tags: butchered head, chunks of hair, prison, scissors, train