Some of his earliest childhood memories were haircuts with his Mom. They'd always gone downstairs into the basement where they would find the haircutting instruments on the table. An old wooden chair sat in front of an even older mirror. A black comb, a pair of scissors and a hair clipper layed in a cracked floral bowl.
When he was a small boy, X asked her to cut his hair like the Fonz on Happy Days. Of course his
Mom would do her best to cut it like Arthur Fonzereli. He'd often worn a spike haircut in his teenage years, but on one strange occasion she had given him a permanent, pink curlers and all. They had ended up cutting most of his hair off after that. He remembered that it was their time together without interruption. The only sounds in the basement were their voices, the humming of an upright freezer, clothes tumbling in the dryer, and the snips of scissors.
X saw himself growing up in front of that old mirror, while his Mom had groomed him. He had very happy memories of those times they had spent together. His favorite part of the haircut was at the end. She took the scissors and trimmed his neck in short little strokes. There had been something about that sensation that had put X in a trance and at perfect peace.
As the words fell onto the page, Y heard snipping scissors and felt goosebumps tingling up his spine.
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