Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
He walked over to the outlet near the pillar, plugging the black cord into the wall.
The guests watched us, their eyes moving from the clippers in my hand to the long hair pinned at the back of my neck.
The sharp hum of the electric clippers filled the silent room.
I held the heavy clippers in my right hand, the vibration buzzing all the way up to my elbow. Mason stood directly in front of me, his gaze locked on mine, his eyes steady and clear. He nodded once, a tiny movement of his chin that told me he was ready.
“Go ahead, Clara,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear it over the motor’s drone. “Right down the middle. Don’t hesitate.”
I raised my arm, my fingers tight around the black plastic casing of the clippers. The metal blade was warm already from the motor. I reached out and touched the guard to the front of his forehead, right at his hairline, and pressed forward.
