The hair salon was empty of customers when the bell clanked dully against the glass door, followed closely by a gust of damp wind and street noise. The dreary weather carried in a mother and daughter pair, coats tightly bundled around them to block out the grey skies. While the woman checked in for her appointment, the child pulled herself into a chair, legs swinging free. The soles of her battered sneakers just brushed the floor. A doll was withdrawn from the hooded coat she wore, it’s hair a mussed cascade of blonde curls, improbably long. Placidly smiling, the doll was arranged with elaborate care on the chair next to the child. The girl’s mother cast a few anxious glances as she settled into the stylist’s chair, making sure she could clearly see and be seen. As the cutting began, the girl watched the stylist at work, one hand absently toying with the doll’s curls. Her expression was sober and withdrawn. She watched the hair clippings fall to the floor with great attention. When the stylist was pulling off the protective bib, she found the child standing close beside her mother’s seat. Her voice was timid but very serious. “Will you cut my doll’s hair?” Kneeling beside her daughter, the mother carried on a brief, quiet conversation, then stood biting her lip. The child asked again. “Please?” The stylist looked between mother and daughter. “Doll’s hair doesn’t grow back. Are you sure you want it cut?” “I know. Please?” The child pleaded, more determined. The mother nodded tersely in consent, an almost pleading look in her own eyes. The stylist made a fuss of arranging the doll in the chair with a plastic sheet around her neck. “How does she want it cut?” “All of it.” Came the child’s simple reply. “You want all her hair cut off?” The question was confirmed. The stylist set to work, looking slightly nervous and unsure. Long locks of curling gold hit the floor, then smaller wisps as she trimmed the nylon fibers close against the plastic scalp. When the stylist was finished the doll was completely bald. It smiled contentedly on. “Does she still look okay?” The child asked quietly. The stylist surveyed the work in the mirror. “Yes… She’s actually still very pretty.” Truth rang in the words. The pale hair next to flesh coloured plastic was subtle enough to make the baldness look almost natural. Nothing could alter the pleasant expression on that delicately painted face. “She’s a beautiful doll.” The stylist concluded, returning it to the child’s hands. The girl beamed and hugged her doll, then at last pulled down the hood of her coat. The child’s mother paid, leaving a tip larger than the cost of her own haircut. She spent a long moment fussing with her own coat, and opened the door. The girl left her hood down and skipped to follow. “Mommy can I take her with me when we go to see the doctors again?” The bell clanked as the door closed after them, and through the glass the child’s bald head bobbed away like a small sun through the gloom.