scissor sister.

Sitting on the crosstown bus on my way home I was tired. The days are long now that the weather has turned cold making the trip back from the west side to the east side happen in the dark. I was hardly concentrating on this week New York Magazine (The Manic Depressive Economy) when I stared to hear the woman behind me talking into her cell phone.

Hello? Yes can you connect me with the Aveda Salon on 72nd and Columbus? Thanks, I’ll hold.

It caught my attention because at that exact moment I noticed that the bus we were on was just passing the Aveda Salon on 72nd and Columbus.

Hi, yes, is this the main number at the salon, because I know you have other numbers but I just wanted to make...oh, it is? Thanks, well I just wanted to call because I just had my hair cut with Celia and she cut it too short, but I just wanted to make sure she knows it’s OK. I mean it’s just way too short, but I mean it’s not a big deal, I don’t want to make her feel bad or anything. It’s just hair, it’ll grow back. So that’s it, I just wanted to call and say it’s not a big deal. Ok. Yes. Thanks.

The woman’s voice was very soft and she sounded like a ten year old apologizing to their mom for having spoiled their appetite for dinner by having too many candy bars. Most all people in small and cramped spaces in New York like to talk on their cell phones blatantly and loudly. We are, it seems, a city full of those who don’t notice or care about anyone around them other than themselves. Yet, as my luck would have it, this one woman’s story which was so intriguing (any good writer will tell you that overhearing great conversations is the best practice) had the decency to talk in a low and quiet voice.

I was struggling to hear, back flush against the seat, using all available willpower to not turn around to catch a glimpse of said disastrous hair cut (too short!) and tell her really, it’s not so bad (we've all been there).

The woman proceeded to call her friend to tell her the events of the day.

Did you get my message? Oh dear it’s awful. It’s just too short and I just called to tell her it’s OK because I felt bad I got so upset in front of her. I said that it’s just hair and that it will grow back...but God Meredith....too short. She took too much off the sides and I was sitting there.....couldn’t tell....I felt bad....how am I ever going to...

It was more difficult to hear everything as we passed more traffic on Central Park West, but I was piecing it all together. She had a big date. Her friend Meredith was being supportive. What good is it to make a big deal out of nothing? Men don’t usually like her anyway. But of all the salons in the city this had never happened to her before. Why does everything have to be so hard? New York isn’t all she thought it was going to be.

All I do is take the bus from one end to the other. I get up in the morning and take the bus from the east side to the west side. After work I take it from the west to the east, crossing through the park is my only real adventure.

When we reached 1st avenue she was still sitting there as I got up. Looking (how could I not?!) at her I could tell that it was short, a chocolate brown mop cut close to the sides of her face and head. She was pale with chubby red cheeks but the only bad thing about her hair was that it made her lonely and sad eyes more distinct.

It’s not bad at all. I told her. Really, you look lovely.

I left before she could say anything, the phone still paused at the side of her face, Meredith still talking on the other end. But as I walked by her I swear I saw a bit of a smile.

Sometimes all you need in this frustrating and lonely city and this frustrating and lonely life, is a little bit of hope.