Evie Gives Steve a Haircut, According to Girl

Evie gives Steve a haircut according to Girl: If I were to look into a mirror, a magical mirror that could look inside my soul, if I stared deeply into what was hidden behind my dark brown eyes reflected by that mirror, I think I might discover a polished walnut desk, not unlike one that might belong to the CEO of a major Wall Street firm. There I think I just might find the secret to who I am. But that secret would not be laying on the top of that desk. No, it would be filed away in a securely locked drawer, in a file named "Evie." Inside of that file would be the password that could unlock my soul, and explain just who I am. That secret password would be this: "Evie loves her life."
That’s who I’ve always been—the girl who loved life.

Were it not for that gift of happiness and security, I might have been in over my head. Here I was—a girl from the Midwest, living in New York City, in the middle of a PhD world, surrounded by graduate students from NYU, with all their scholarly talk about dissertations, tests, professors, and textbooks. Steve and his good friend (Paul) would come over to visit Mike and discuss the department, curriculum and credit hours; while I was focused on only the practical. I could not get my eyes off Steve’s head. I was planning the attack.

I checked with Mike, when the guys left. I wanted to make sure he knew about the idea. I had a goal to find a way to solve Steve’s issue.

"Unless I do something about it, he will never find a nice girl," I thought. "He will never get a date. Girls will always think that he has dirt on his head. If only given the chance, I know I can help poor Steve." So, I methodically put my plan together.

We invited Steve over for dinner. After his wine, maybe two glasses, I mentioned that I knew how to cut hair. "I always cut Mike’s hair, and it looks great," I told him. "I would be happy to save you some money by cutting your hair. Shall I get out my scissors and give you a bit of a trim?"

He liked the money thing. Perhaps that was the clincher, as most students did not have any money, so the thought of saving a few dollars was very persuasive.

He agreed, and the next thing I did was grab an old towel, wrap it around his shoulders, find the shampoo and conditioner and bring him to the kitchen sink. The water got warm, he bent over, I put some shampoo in my hands and started to wash his hair. He had sandy colored straight thin hair. I could see the dirt on the top right hand side of his head—there was a lot of dirt. I scrubbed. I rinsed. I repeated the process—more shampoo, more scrubbing, more shampoo. His poor head was turning red; however the dirt remained. I gave it my best shot, but the "dirt" was not going to come off.

Maybe it was a birthmark. I had not seriously considered that possibility.

I rinsed out the soap, I put some conditioner on his reddened skin, he was anxious to have the job finished, I put him in the kitchen chair, gently combed and snipped.

He looked great when I was done. I did a bit of a comb over and put some spray on it to keep it in place.

This was one of those challenges that went bad. I never cut his hair again (he never asked me again). He probably thought of me like the dental technician who cleans my teeth. She is from the old country, wears little or no makeup, wiry gray hair pushed back in a skinny headband. She is a tough, mean, German. I think her motto in life is, "never show mercy." Bleeding gums and stretched smiles are her objectives in life.

I never intended to be mean to Steve. I wanted Steve to look good. At the end of the day, he knew we cared, he held his head high, shoulders back, his glasses and navy blue blazer back on, he had a few more dollars in his pocket and was ready for the world.

I was ready to accept a new challenge. "Perhaps the next time it will go better," I thought. "Next time I think I will target a new victim. And I should probably do a better job at looking into the risk factors and making better decisions."

Steve got filed into the "semi-successes of New York." Sometimes just paying attention to a friend is the best thing a person can do.

I love my life.