clean shaven

we stood in a circle and watched as she shaved her head.  Locks of hair fell into the red bucket, strand by strand until it was all gone.  "Are you sure you want me to cut more?"  Anna continuously asked.  "Do you want to see yourself before I start shaving?  Maybe you want to keep some of your hair."  

"No." She replied.  "Just shave it all."   And then slowly, the razor grazed her scalp.  It took over an hour.  The room was softly light with candle light.  The stars were in lined for hair cutting.  She had consulted the universe and tonight was the night.  

I sat in silence for the whole hour.  In awe of her courage and vicariously feeling the sensation of detachment and letting go.  With her eyes closed she lifted her head towards to skies as if waiting for rain to wash over her, cleanse her.  

when it was all over we asked, "how does it feel?" 

"lighter."  She smiled.  "Who needs shampoo?  I've got extra."  

my friend walked over and felt my head.  "You have a good head for shaving."  He laughed.  "You should go next."  

Should I?  Why am I so attached to my hair anyways?  Its been the bane of my existence.  As if my beauty exists within my hair?  Shouldn't my beauty lie somewhere in my heart?  Somewhere in my soul?  I twirl it when I'm flirting with you and dye it to feel anew.  I straighten it before interviews and curl it to go dancing.  But maybe if you saw me for me, I wouldn't need to do any of those things.  Maybe I don't need to do any of those things.  Maybe I don't need my hair to impress you.