“How does it look?” You touched your shoulder and bare neck, as though missing something. The new haircut made you look like a teenager, and I was a little afraid of you. You seemed like a stranger. You wore a black turtleneck and mustard-colored jeans. You tugged at the shirt’s neck.

“You don’t look like your real self,” I said.

“Good job, yeah?” W reached over her own shoulder and patted herself on the back. She swept the towel off your shoulders. A flurry of your hairs floated to the newspapered floor. “You look completely different.”

You stared at the mirror behind the bar. Did you see what I saw?

“I don’t want to look different,” I said.

“This is what we have to do,” you said. You got down and lifted me onto the barber’s chair. It was my turn. The two of you debated cutting my hair very short—shorter than yours—with an electric razor W said had been her ex-husband’s. She was happy to have a use for it, she said.

When she turned the razor on, it buzzed like a saw.

“Nonononono!” I yelled, as though she were trying to kill me or cut me.

You hushed me. W dug around behind the bar and unearthed a jar of chocolates. The jar had once had a large gold-foil label, but most of that was peeled back, leaving the white paper backing.

“Honey, take one,” W said. “And have as many as you want when we’re done.”

I scratched the foil off a ball of chocolate and put the candy in my mouth, sucking on it. First, W braided my hair, quickly and deftly, her fingernails tapping against my neck. She cut straight across the back and gave you the plait.

“I don’t want this.” You dropped the plait like it was a rat.

“You will one day, or she will.”

You picked up the braid and stuffed it into the pocket of your jeans, where it bulged, like you had too much cash in there.

“You need new names, too.” W pointed at each of us. “How about Amy and Sheila?”

My mouth was clammy with chocolate. I reached toward the jar and grunted. W put a new chocolate in my hand.

“Amy and Sheila?” Mama rubbed the bridge of her nose, like she was trying to erase her features, as well as her name. She didn’t sound convinced.

As W clipped the hair at my neck, I closed my eyes and watched yellow and red blotches dance around. Chocolate slid down my throat. It was peaceful with my eyes shut. For a few seconds I was somewhere else.

You startled me awake. “Don’t do that!” I had wiped my nose with my fingers, which were sticky. I sandwiched them between my legs and stared at them so I wouldn’t have to see your face transformed by the haircut, by your anger.