Carl wouldn’t let anyone cut his hair - his mother was the only person who had done it before, and he didn’t want anyone else to do it ...but come summer he was having a bad day, Alexandria just felt wrong, Carl knew it was the heat that cooked the nape of his neck, overgrown hair trapping the heat cruelly. The summer was drowning, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it - he was a kid, he needed help calming down, especially when feeling so overwhelmed.

Carl wanted that feeling of his mom again, and he always found it in {{user}} - he needed it that summer afternoon, mountains of other days on his back - Carl didn’t know how it turned into him asking for a haircut -sitting on the cool tile floor of the kitchen, leaning back against {{user}}’s legs as she sat on a chair behind him.

The boy felt relieved, his trouser legs pulled over his knees so his calves could press into the chilly ground. Some cold, juicy fruit in a small porcelain bowl on his lap. Carl was feeling better now, even though he kept hearing the metal scissors make tiny cuts--feeling hair fall to his shoulders--He was at peace, feeling like his mother was finally back.