Yvette Rashawn Estime
Stories (1/0)
Running with scissors
Standing in front of my mother’s large dresser, I sweated in the summer heat in a large apartment in Harlem, Manhattan. My pair feet stick to the floor as a move to my toes to get what would be my first use of a pair of scissors. Of course, I have used scissors before but they were the safety ones, light, plastic and took a lot of effort to cut paper. These scissors though were heavy, a weight that tingled with purpose. The purpose was to teach my sister that she wasn’t the only one who deserved new things. Yes, I planned to give a certain Barbie a haircut. Unfortunately, my mom came in and I lost my nerve. Still, this became my relationship with scissors, a relationship steeped in defiance and rebellion.
By Yvette Rashawn Estime3 years ago in Humans