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Her father did come that night and he was in a foul mood. He told the girl to go to the bathroom, and she did so reluctantly. She knew it was going to be bad. She picked a book from the shelf and closed the bathroom door behind her. She couldn’t see what was going on, but she could hear everything. The bed squeaked violently and her mother cried out with such pain the girl had to cover her ears until it was over.
For the next three days, the girl awoke to find her mother gone, but she always returned, each time with an item to add to the bag hidden at the bottom of the garbage—a pair of sharp scissors, an electric razor, two bottles of water, two keys.
“Aren’t you afraid he’s going to come back?” the girl asked.
Her mother shook her head. “He’s always leaving at six. He goes into town for coffee and a donut,” she said. “He’s always back by eight. I love you,” her mother murmured out of the blue. The girl smiled, but an uneasiness settled in her chest because the way she said the words sounded a lot like goodbye.
Later, the girl’s mother shook her from her sleep. “Wake up,” she said. The girl rose to her elbow and looked blearily back at her.
“What time is it?” the girl asked.
“Just get up and do what I say—we have to hurry,” her mother said, pulling a red sweatshirt over her head. “Get dressed and go to the bathroom.”
The girl did as she was told. The room was dark except for the flickering light from the television. A weather anchor was taking about sleet and snow and gusts of wind. She went to the bathroom and pulled on her jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and a pair of tennis shoes.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Is he coming?”
Her mother shook her head. “No. Now listen, we’re going to do something scary, but you need to trust me. Do you trust me?”
The little girl nodded. Her mother went to the garbage can and pulled out the plastic bag. She untied the handles, reached inside, and brought out the pair of scissors and the electric razor. The girl looked at her in confusion. There was nothing scary about a pair of scissors, though these were much sharper and the blades longer than the pair she had in her art box.
“Come here, sweetie,” her mother said. “I’m going to cut your hair.”
“Why?” the girl asked.
“Do you trust me?” her mother asked again, staring directly into her eyes.
“Yes,” the girl said in a small voice.
Her mother lifted a section of the girl’s hair and, using the scissors, began to snip. Long dark curls fell to the floor. The girl gasped, and her hand flew to her head.
“Don’t worry, it will grow back. I promise,” her mother said and kept on cutting, and she didn’t stop until there was a thick mound of black hair on the floor. She plugged in the electric razor and it came to life with a low buzz. Her mother pressed the razor to the girl’s scalp and the remaining bits of fine hair floated around her head.
Finally, her mother let out a long breath. “Okay, I’m done.”
“Can I go look?” the girl asked, and her mother reluctantly nodded.
She hurried to the bathroom and stood in front of the cracked mirror. She looked awful. Not like herself at all. She was practically bald and her neck and ears felt naked, exposed.
“Please don’t cry,” her mother said, her voice thick with her own tears. “I need you to be brave.” The girl tried, but she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “We’re going to be different people for a while. I had to cut your hair, and I’m going to cut mine and change the color after we leave. Can you pretend to be a boy? Do you think you can do that just for a little while?”
The girl nodded.
“Good,” her mother said. “We’re leaving now and we’re never going to come back.”
“Won’t he be mad?” the girl asked through her tears.
“Yes, and that’s why we need to hurry,” her mother said and began snipping at her own nearly waist length hair, cutting it to just above her shoulders. “The calendar he has upstairs said cattle auction, Burell, Nebraska, under today’s date. But we have to go—we have to leave now. Go pick out one special thing to bring with you and I’ll unlock the door.”
They were leaving. They were actually going to walk up the stairs and out the door. A shiver of excitement went through the girl. They were going to theOut There.She knew exactly what she was going to bring. Her little white blanket with the bunnies on it. It was a blanket she’d had since she was born. She wished she could bring some books and her art box, but her mother told her to choose just one thing, and she couldn’t leave without her blanket. Then her eyes landed on the plastic figure of a man dressed in green. Her mother had given it to her when she was little, said she had it for a long time. The girl almost had forgotten about it—she spent most of her time coloring and reading books these days. The girl slid the figurine into her pocket. She’d bring both of them. Her mother wouldn’t mind.
“No, no, no,” came her mother’s voice from the top of the stairs. The girl heard the rattle of the doorknob, the pounding of fists on wood. “It doesn’t work,” she said, coming down and sitting on the bottom step in defeat. “He must have added another lock. It won’t open. He’ll know we were up to something. He’s going to kill me for cutting your hair,” she said, lowering her face into her hands.
“He doesn’t have to know,” the girl said, squeezing onto the step next to her. “We’ll tell him I did it. We can pinky promise.”
“He’ll know,” she said, shaking her head. “He’ll find out I got out and took the keys and money and the razor. I’m so, so sorry,” she cried. “I promised you everything was going to be okay, and it won’t.”
They sat that way for a long time. The little girl rubbed her mother’s back with one hand and her shorn head with the other. She looked around their small room. It wasn’t so bad. She had the bed and the television and the bookshelf and the window.
