Snip Snip

"You like it?" Maureen could hardly contain herself, grinning and shifting her weight. She had one hand on her curvy hips and the other one running through her freshly cut hair, toying with the short, glossy brown strands.

Mark raised an eyebrow, struggling not to gape. When Maureen had complained about wanting a haircut on Friday he had never imagined her coming back on Monday looking like a boy. And she did look like a boy- to some extent. She had the same distinctly womanly figure, of course, but now it was concealed with a loose button-up flannel shirt hanging loosely around her and a white undershirt and baggy jeans that frayed at the bottoms. No one could miss those painted toenails, bright pink, but she wasn't wearing her other makeup anymore. Maureen had effectively transformed herself… and it looked good.

"Yeah… It's, ah- it's you," he said honestly. It wasn't a lie. This was Maureen, and Mark had known her for four years now. She was bound to do some quirky thing now- the entire year had been peaceful, uninterrupted by her loud protests and bold demonstrations of willpower and creativity, but he had known instinctively that it was only the calm before the storm.

Plus, even if she was his ex-girlfriend, Mark would always think she was beautiful.

As if to highlight this point she beamed, happiness practically oozing out of her, and Mark felt his heart melt a little in his chest. Yeah. Ex. What a shame…

"I donated it," she admitted, chewing her lip and looking around, hyperactive. It was as if she was buzzing- she looked happier than she had in a long time. Despite his misgivings about the loss of her best- in his opinion- feminine trait, Mark couldn't dislike the haircut if it was making her this happy. Even with hair barely longer than his he would take Maureen back in a heartbeat if she would just give him the signal. "They needed ten inches. I had just enough."

"Is that why you did it?" For some reason, Mark felt the need to rationalize her decision. She wrinkled her nose at him, as if to say, 'you know me better than that!'.

"What? No!" She smacked his arm lightly, playful, but Mark winced and cursed his pale skin. Hopefully tomorrow he wouldn't have another bruise for his mother to cluck at him about. "I just wanted it short is all."

He can admit that that's probably true. Maureen seems to want a lot of things out of the ordinary lately. Like rides to feminist events and shopping in the men's department and hiking boots and this haircut. Maureen wants sleepovers with other girls and time away from Mark, who still secretly loves her just a little bit, because she feels like they're better off as friends. Because she doesn't want to hurt him.

It's not as if Mark had ever denied Maureen whatever she wanted.

So he nodded his head and smiled and did all of the necessary things and that was that. Maureen would flounce away, happy-go-lucky and working towards some greater goal that Mark is beginning to suspect means more than just a break from each other in the romantic sense. But he knows he can't stop her. He doesn't want to. He's a scrawny Jewish boy living in a tiny suburb and right now, maybe forever, that's going to be the extent of his world. Scarsdale and Maureen Johnson. They went hand in hand.

Maybe to her they didn't. Maybe Maureen had bigger dreams or different plans. It certainly wouldn't surprise him.

"I thought you loved your hair." He frowned, trying to remain neutral; his fingers tapped restlessly on the camera hanging from a strap around his neck. "I loved your hair."

"I love it even more now," she replied simply. He found that he couldn't argue that point. Once again he was struck with just how happy she looked, tips of her hair barely brushing the base of her neck- happier than she'd ever looked when she was with him- and he wondered- Was I holding her back all this time? Was it me? Sidling closer, a devilish glint in her eye, she mock whispered, "It looks right."

"What?" His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Good, maybe, but right? That didn't seem like the right word.

"It's how I always imagined it," she said, almost shy, and he recognized her posture now- she was telling him a secret. It could even be one that no one had ever heard before. Her fingers curled around a different strand, a dreamy look stealing over her for just a moment. "Now I look on the outside how I always have on the inside."

People at school had been saying all day that Maureen Johnson wanted to be a boy. Maureen Johnson had gone lesbian. What a dyke, what a lesbo, and Mark had covered his ears and grimaced. He didn't care, not as much as one would think, what Maureen liked or who or what she wanted to be. As long as she was Mo, she was Mark's- romantically or not.

And even when he was starting to believe that maybe some of those things were true, Mark couldn't help but be happy for her.

He slipped his hand into hers, offering an encouraging smile, and said, "Well it looks good on you." After a pause, in which she didn't move away from him, just smiled bashfully back, he added, "D'you want to go for ice cream?"

"Sure!" She was off, gripping his hand tighter and tugging him toward his bike chained at the front of the school, and the June breeze ruffled her short hair.

It did look good, he decided as it caught the light in a chestnut wave. It looked good like Maureen looked good. Because she was Maureen.

Maybe Mark did love her a little bit, but when you love something, sometimes you have to let it go.