Scars Are Miracles Written on Skin

I sit quietly in the chair as hair falls to the ground. She works quickly and with each snip of the scissors, another question comes my way: Remind me what you do for work? Are you dating anyone? Did you want layers today?

I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I answer each one, ask a few of my own in response, and then hold my breath wondering if she’ll ask about the scar suddenly on full display.

You’d never know it unless I were to pull my hair into a ponytail, unless I put it into a bun,...