He sat down on the chair in the middle of the kitchen and tilted his head back. His hair was wet, hanging in long curly strands above the floor. He caught it all in one fist and then the other. "About this much."
The scissors made several scrunching sounds, hungrily biting at the curls. The strands fell limp on the floor.
I looked a bit sad towards them. Half frightened that maybe it was too much, maybe he'll regret it after seeing himself in the mirror. He was very proud of his long curly hair and hated to cut it. He did it about once every two years, always careful not to have too much trimmed off. I looked at the floor. Half of the thick mane was gone.
He got up and went to the mirror and looked at his hair. He ran his hands through it, turning left and right to capture all the angles. "I like it." he smiled. Some of my worry dissipated. "You do?" "Yes, it's nice and bouncy."
He played with it a little more, trying out the new, smaller pony tail. He then went back to the heap on the floor and picked up a thin strand. I eyed it curiously.
"I want to keep this. As a memory." he explained. A memory flashed through my mind. Last year, I'd watched his mother cut his hair for him. She had also kept a strand, telling me she always did that. "As a memory."
He smiled at me, playing with the strand. I think for a moment, he turned into a little boy again.