that I am not a doll to be dressed and played with.”
“Indeed, you are no child’s plaything, lady.”
Divide it into three. Over, under, over. Gather more hair. Over, under, over. Finally, the rubber band. “Do you wish to inspect my handiwork before we proceed, Your Imperial Highness?”
Battle raises one hand regally to her head and carefully feels the braid. “It is well done. Now cut it off.”
“My lady, wish you not to wield the blades yourself?” I pick up the scissors from the desk.
Battle shakes her head, just barely. “Nay, I do not wish it. Do me the honor of performing this service, and you shall be well rewarded.”
“My lady, I wish no reward but to continue in your service.”
I open the scissors, holding Battle’s braid with my left hand. It takes me several cuts to get through the thick mass of hair. When I finish, I hold the braid in both hands for a minute. Then I go back around, still being Lady-in-Waiting, and kneel in front of Battle’s chair, holding the braid out to her. “What is your will for this, lady?”
“You may keep it, if you desire. I have no further use for it,” she says.
“Thank you, my lady!” We smile at each other.
“God!” Katrina says. “Would you guys get over yourselves? Isn’t it time for the clippers yet? I can do that part, unless you would prefer that I just leave.”
“No, no, that’s fine—I mean, of course, you should do the clippers—um, they’re in my dresser, I’ll get them,” says Battle all in a rush.
I have no idea what to do with Battle’s braid. I don’t want to throw it away, but I don’t have any place to put it.
“I’ll be right back,” I say. “I’m going to get some soda. Want anything?”
“Coke, of course!”
“Sweet tea, or whatever they have that’s closest.”
“Okay. Don’t cut off too much while I’m gone.”
I go to my room and shove the braid into the bottom drawer of my dresser, underneath a sweater Mom made me bring in case it got cold. Then I get the drinks and come back.
Katrina is doing stripes on Battle’s head with the clippers, making race-car noises as she does it.
“Do you want this now, or do you want to wait till you’re done?” I’m in the background again. Holding the props.
“Now!” Katrina takes the Coke, and Battle takes the bottle of frighteningly colored strawberry tea. I didn’t get anything for myself, but they don’t notice.
Battle runs her hands over her head and giggles. “I almost want to leave it like this,” she says.
“That could work,” says Katrina consideringly. “You could dye some of the stripes black, and it’d be this cool bumblebee effect.”
Battle shakes her head. “No.” She sounds serious again. “I can’t do this halfway.”
“Hon, excuse me for asking, but you don’t actually think you’re going to accomplish anything with this, do you? I mean, I totally am with you all the way, bald is beautiful and power to the people, but you don’t, do you?”
Before Battle can answer, I say, “It seems like it’s not about accomplishing something so much as it’s about sending a message, is that right?”
“Exactly,” she says.
“I just gotta get a message to yoo-oo-oooo,” Katrina sings. “Let’s finish it, then!”
Finishing it proves to be easier said than done. The clippers get clogged with tiny hairs, and we can’t figure out how to take them apart.
“Maybe the last stage is Nair,” suggests Katrina.
Eventually we decide that the last stage is a razor and shaving cream. We relocate to the bathroom down the hall and occupy one of the sinks. Fortunately, no one else seems to want to take a shower at eleven P.M.
This is the hardest part, and the least fun. It seems like every time Katrina thinks she’s done, she discovers some new patch of stubble. Finally she steps away from Battle and says, “Nic, I think I’m starting to hallucinate hair that isn’t there. Feel her head.”
I wipe my hands on my jeans and
“Indeed, you are no child’s plaything, lady.”
Divide it into three. Over, under, over. Gather more hair. Over, under, over. Finally, the rubber band. “Do you wish to inspect my handiwork before we proceed, Your Imperial Highness?”
Battle raises one hand regally to her head and carefully feels the braid. “It is well done. Now cut it off.”
“My lady, wish you not to wield the blades yourself?” I pick up the scissors from the desk.
Battle shakes her head, just barely. “Nay, I do not wish it. Do me the honor of performing this service, and you shall be well rewarded.”
“My lady, I wish no reward but to continue in your service.”
I open the scissors, holding Battle’s braid with my left hand. It takes me several cuts to get through the thick mass of hair. When I finish, I hold the braid in both hands for a minute. Then I go back around, still being Lady-in-Waiting, and kneel in front of Battle’s chair, holding the braid out to her. “What is your will for this, lady?”
“You may keep it, if you desire. I have no further use for it,” she says.
“Thank you, my lady!” We smile at each other.
“God!” Katrina says. “Would you guys get over yourselves? Isn’t it time for the clippers yet? I can do that part, unless you would prefer that I just leave.”
“No, no, that’s fine—I mean, of course, you should do the clippers—um, they’re in my dresser, I’ll get them,” says Battle all in a rush.
I have no idea what to do with Battle’s braid. I don’t want to throw it away, but I don’t have any place to put it.
“I’ll be right back,” I say. “I’m going to get some soda. Want anything?”
“Coke, of course!”
“Sweet tea, or whatever they have that’s closest.”
“Okay. Don’t cut off too much while I’m gone.”
I go to my room and shove the braid into the bottom drawer of my dresser, underneath a sweater Mom made me bring in case it got cold. Then I get the drinks and come back.
Katrina is doing stripes on Battle’s head with the clippers, making race-car noises as she does it.
“Do you want this now, or do you want to wait till you’re done?” I’m in the background again. Holding the props.
“Now!” Katrina takes the Coke, and Battle takes the bottle of frighteningly colored strawberry tea. I didn’t get anything for myself, but they don’t notice.
Battle runs her hands over her head and giggles. “I almost want to leave it like this,” she says.
“That could work,” says Katrina consideringly. “You could dye some of the stripes black, and it’d be this cool bumblebee effect.”
Battle shakes her head. “No.” She sounds serious again. “I can’t do this halfway.”
“Hon, excuse me for asking, but you don’t actually think you’re going to accomplish anything with this, do you? I mean, I totally am with you all the way, bald is beautiful and power to the people, but you don’t, do you?”
Before Battle can answer, I say, “It seems like it’s not about accomplishing something so much as it’s about sending a message, is that right?”
“Exactly,” she says.
“I just gotta get a message to yoo-oo-oooo,” Katrina sings. “Let’s finish it, then!”
Finishing it proves to be easier said than done. The clippers get clogged with tiny hairs, and we can’t figure out how to take them apart.
“Maybe the last stage is Nair,” suggests Katrina.
Eventually we decide that the last stage is a razor and shaving cream. We relocate to the bathroom down the hall and occupy one of the sinks. Fortunately, no one else seems to want to take a shower at eleven P.M.
This is the hardest part, and the least fun. It seems like every time Katrina thinks she’s done, she discovers some new patch of stubble. Finally she steps away from Battle and says, “Nic, I think I’m starting to hallucinate hair that isn’t there. Feel her head.”
I wipe my hands on my jeans and
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