The Early Appointment

Having worn her hair long for most of her adult life, Lena had spent weeks considering a shorter style without actually booking anything. Eventually, she called a hairdresser near her flat and arranged an appointment for Saturday at ten thirty. She copied the time onto a small card and put it in her bag, as though making a written record would make it harder to change her mind.

On Saturday she woke early, ate breakfast and left home with the picture of her chosen haircut open on her phone. The shop was locked when she arrived, its lights still off. Her watch said nine thirty. Instead of immediately checking her card, she wondered whether the appointment had been cancelled, an explanation which would conveniently spare her from having to make the decision herself.

The card settled the matter: ten thirty, exactly as the hairdresser had said. She had arrived an hour early. Rather than return home, where she suspected she might start looking for reasons to stay, she ordered tea in the café next door. From a table by the window, she could watch the shop without standing outside its closed door.

At ten a man arrived and unlocked it. Lena finished her tea and went over. “Would you mind if I waited inside?” she asked. “Not at all,” he replied. “Take a seat while I get things ready.” There was something reassuring about watching the ordinary preparations: lights switched on, clean towels put out, a chair adjusted. Her appointment was one small part of a normal working day.

At ten thirty, he invited her to sit in front of the mirror and asked how short she wanted her hair. Lena showed him the picture. “Like this, please,” she said, before she could replace it with a safer option. She was still nervous, but no longer felt that nervousness was a reason to leave. The extra hour had not brought the appointment forward; it had given her time to arrive at her own decision.