Craft Scissors- A Short Story
I heard my daughters scream from the living room. This was a fairly regular occurrence with the two of them. I stroll leisurely from my bedroom. When I entered the room, I saw my older daughter, Julia, on the right, holding her hair. I asked what was wrong, and she screamed at me, “Mom! Lucy tried to cut my hair!” They were on two different sides of the room. Facing off in a standstill. I couldn’t see Julia’s face, but I could imagine her expression.
I looked over at my giggling toddler. Holding a pair of craft scissors from the office. Her clothes had little cuts in them, presumably from the scissors. Her smile was big and bright. Like this was better than the ice cream we get from the corner store. She looked over at me. A bubbly laugh burst from her throat. She proudly held up the scissors, as if they were a trophy. “Look, Mommy, I’m giving sissy a haircut,” she told me. There were so many questions on the tip of my tongue.
The glint in her eyes was familiar. A childlike curiosity and non-understanding of the world around her. Just wanting to get into everything she can. Her grip on the scissors was pretty tight, like she’d brandish them as a weapon if needed. Her hair, black as the night, that once had two full braids, was down to one. I could see the missing braid lying on the ground, next to our gray couch. Her smile couldn’t be any brighter if she tried. I ask Julia what happened, turning away from Lucy.
“I was taking a nap on the couch and I felt something.” She explained, “I felt something move, and when I opened my eyes, she was walking towards me with the scissors. I immediately got up and moved away. Now she’s just holding them.” I looked back at Lucy. She was pouting a bit. I started walking towards her. She took a few steps back.
“Lucy, darling, can you hand me the scissors?” I ask her calmly—the years after my Julia have mellowed me a bit. Not trying to be as hard on Lucy as I was on Julia.
“No! These are mine!” She says back. I feel my eyes twitch. I stand next to Julia, looking at her. Her expression is mad like mine. “Lucy! Give me the scissors!” Julia yells. Lucy doesn’t move an inch from her side of the room.
“Lucy, please come over here,” I ask again. I put a soft smile on my face as I try to placate her to come over. “You won’t be in trouble, sweet girl,” I told her. However, Julia speaks up before I can stop her.
“Yeah! You’ll just have to eat some veggies and be on time out!” she says. I turn towards her fast, a shocked expression on my face. These were words I used before, but didn’t think Julia would be the one to say the quiet part out loud.
I look towards Lucy again. I begin again. “No, no, no! Lucy, honey, you won’t be in trouble. Mommy’s not mad, and you won’t be in trouble.” I wave my hands in front of me, trying to backtrack and get her to listen. I grit my teeth as she shakes her head again. Lucy’s little face starts to seep into a frown. She looks between us, an angry pout bleeding onto her lips. Then, a smile comes back, but it’s more sinister than before.
“I’ll give you the scissors if you can catch me!” She shouts before taking off. Julia and I stand still for a second, then we give chase. That’s when it started to go downhill.
We ran after her through the house. We run through the kitchen, dining room, and bathroom, yet she’s too slippery. I have to take those scissors before she cuts herself or worse. All the while, Lucy’s giggling and screeching as she narrowly escapes us. My mind goes a mile a minute as I think of all the ways she could get hurt.
She could cut herself, trip and fall with them, and so much more. All we need to do is get the scissors. Julia chases her back to where it all started. I enter the living room a few seconds later. Lucy is sitting on the couch, waving the scissors in Julia’s face. Like she’s taunting her. I walk up to them.
“Lucy Jones! If you don’t hand me the scissors right now, you will be in big trouble, young lady!” Julia tells her. My mouth twists down. I love both my daughters, but Julia is acting a bit too much like a parent for me. My smile is strained as I help her.
We continue with this song-and-dance. I try to grab Lucy’s arms, while Julia tries to grab the scissors. Any time we get that close, we need to back off because the scissors are too close to the skin for my liking.
Lucy gets off the couch and tries to run away again. My patience has been stretched thin at this point.
“Julia! Grab her!” I yell to my oldest. She does just that. Scooping her up by her midsection and sitting down on the floor. Lucy squirms and kicks in her lap, but does get out. I reach for the scissors, but in a show of toddler strength, she lunges at me, but she doesn’t get too far. I fall down.
When Julia grabbed her, she hit the ground hard. She screams a bit from the pain, like toddlers do. Her scream sets me off. How dare she act like such a spoiled little brat! I get up fast and do something I never thought I’d do to my little Lucy. I strike her across the face.
“Lucy Jones! I am tired of your constant disrespect! You will hand me those scissors right now, go to your room, and think about what you did!” I yell at her. Lucy stops her struggle, and Julia looks with disbelief. In one last fit of childish anger, Lucy screams again and throws the scissors at me. Tears of fury began pouring from her eyes.
