I’m a hairdresser. Small salon. Walk-ins welcome.

Teenage girl came in one afternoon. Matted hair. Hadn’t been washed in weeks.

“How much for a cut?”

“Thirty-five dollars.”

She had seven dollars in coins.

Started to leave.

“Wait. Sit down.”

Spent two hours on her hair. Washed it three times. Deep condition. Trim. Style.

She stared in the mirror. Started crying.

“I look normal.”

“What’s going on, sweetheart?”

Everything spilled out. Homeless. Sleeping in her car. Seventeen. Trying to  finish high school.

“I have a job interview tomorrow. Wanted to look presentable.”

Gave her the seven dollars back. “For gas. Good luck tomorrow.”

She got the job.

Started coming back. Once a month. Always with seven dollars.

I always took it. Never told her cuts cost more.

She graduated high school. Got into community college.

Came to see me before her first day. “Make me look like I belong there.”

She graduated two years ago. Social worker now.

Last week she brought twelve girls to my salon. All from the homeless shelter where she volunteers.

“These girls have job interviews. Can you help them?”

I looked at those scared faces. Saw her three years ago.

“Everyone sit down.”

My whole staff showed up. We did all twelve girls. Free.

Haircuts. Makeup. Confidence.

All twelve got their jobs.

The original girl stood beside me. Crying.

“You started this. That seven-dollar haircut changed my entire life.”

Now we do it monthly. “Fresh Start Fridays.”

Because sometimes looking in the mirror and seeing hope is all it takes.

—Maria, salon owner​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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