He climbs up onto the spinning chair. She pumps the lever and raises him up.
The man-child, all teeth and sweat and scraggly hair.

I worry about the buzzer—whether its vibrations will trigger a meltdown.
Little electric bees circling around his neck.
We talked about it beforehand.
He says it’s okay.

She gives him a time: twelve minutes.
I wonder if the notes say he likes to count.

Chin down.
Chin up.
Stay still.
Look straight.

Hair falls in bushels onto the floor.
A shedding of the past.
What once felt impossible now lies within reach.

The skin around his neck and forehead is lighter where it has been hidden. Sun-kissed freckles are missing in those places.

The blow dryer whirs to remove the stray hairs that cling like old habits dying hard.
He squeezes his eyes shut and I lean in close to watch.

She promises she has never lost a patient to drowning in her chair as she sprays his head with water. It’s cold, and he squints as it drips down his neck.

You’ve got this, I whisper. Just a little longer.

The sound of snip, snip, snipping commences.
Spiked hairs and tiny triangles join their siblings on the floor.

Almost there.

He looks calm, but beneath the cape he begins to fidget.
I can tell he’s ready to be done.
She trims the edges like a master gardener, soothing him into stillness.

“Done?” he asks.

And just like that, it’s over.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

Who is this handsome child emerging from the seat?

And when did he become so brave?

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For the parents and caregivers who know that even the smallest victories are worth celebrating.