Jamal Wilkins, the eccentric man with funny hair,as the neighborhood kids called him, was searching for his scissors to trim his clients hair. Originally, Jamal had planned to give a fellow female client a buzz cut because he didn’t like her, and she was always rude to him, but then the buzz cutter blade broke as he was getting it out, so now it was time for “Plan B”.

He had already looked in all of the shop drawers, and at this point, he was running out of places to look. He was beginning to feel desperate, hopeless, and stressed. As Jamal Wilkins continued to rummage through any and all “hiding places”, which were actually just cabinets, drawers, and coat pockets, another one of his “brilliant ideas” popped into his head. In an instant, Jamal had a look across his face, telling anyone who saw it, that he was having a vision of the future.

I saw myself in an empty room, with only one desk, one chair, one pen, and one piece of paper. Immediately an idea came to me! I would invent a hairdresser belt, so that I would never lose my scissors again. I started to sketch the picture I had in my head, down on paper. My belt would have three pockets, for three combs. And each pocket would be magnetic and so would the comb, so it would be hard for the comb to slide out. It would have grippy tie strips, so that the belt would never come off unless the person wanted it too. Ahh, I’m brilliant. I will patent this new invention, and everybody will love me! I will become extremely rich and famous, and my name will be known across the world!

I sighed in content and my well thought out invention. I would not have to cut hair anymore because I would already have all the money I would ever need.

“The world would know my name, sitting in the Hall of Fame...”

After a moment though, Jamal realized that this belt was not going to help now, and that he still needed to find his hair scissors. He decided to continue his search in his car.

Jamal was now outside, in his hippie van, still searching for his scissors. It was a lovely day out, the sun shining through the clouds, a slight breeze carried the smell of BBQ past his nose. He was rummaging through the glove compartment when he came across an old CD he had made when he was in college. He popped it in the dusty CD player, and let the music pour out of the muffled speaker filling his mind with memories of the past. He lost track of time as the music enveloped him, along with his thoughts and feelings. I wanted to cry, but not out of sadness or anger, but tears of joy and gladness! Oh the memories that were in those songs.

There he was, Jamal wilkins, starting his first day of high school with fear written across his face. The word “victim” written on his forehead in invisible ink. The next song brought him to his junior year of high school. Pictures of his first kiss ran like a movie before his eyes. What was that girls name? She was special, at the time of course, but things change and people change, just like the seasons. Next, came college graduation. I was so nervous. I didn’t think I would ever make it across the stage to receive my diploma. I was sure I would faint in front of the audience. I never thought I would see the day I could place my head tassel on the other side of my cap. Jamal saw himself walk across the stage. Pride flowed through his body. Self-accomplishment swept across his face. Yes, I did it!

After Jamal’s “trip through time” ended, he came back to attention, and realized it had been forty-three minutes since he first sat in his rusty piece of metal that he called a car. He felt beyond overwhelmed. All these memories reminded him of his childhood dream, to be an actor in Los Angeles. But here he was, a barber, living everyday life like it’s deja vu. He absolutely did not like where he was at in his life.

He had always been a person to strive to his fullest potential, to reach for the stars, and never give up, but some things change, and people change, just like the seasons. Jamal decided to go back inside the barber shop. As he reached to shut the door, his fingers touched something cold, something metal, something familiar. It was his scissors.

Jamal pulled them out with a smile that soon faded. Something came to him. Something that can make smiles fade away just like that, depending on the outcome of it. it’s name? Destiny.

Do I really want to do this for the rest of his life? Do I really want to leave behind, Mrs. O’Malley, the friendly dog lady, or the little girl that would always wave to me on her walk past the shop window? After all, are they not my family? But what about myself? Shouldn’t I want to do what I want to do for the benefit of me? It is my life, isn’t it? People tell me to be the writer of my own life story, but then others are still trying to tell my what to do. Sometimes, I wish I might just wake up one day, and have someone walk up to me, and say, “Psyche! That all was a joke Jamal, a dream, a tiny figment of your imagination! Welcome to reality. Where you are on a reality T.V. show, living out your dream of acting.” I know it won’t happen though, never has, hasn’t yet, and never will.

After a minute of deep thinking, Jamal knew what he had to do. He walked into the shop, pulled out the pen and paper he originally had use to sketch the idea of his hairdresser belt invention, and wrote a note. A note that was about to change his life forever.

It read, “I’ve done it! I’ve finally figured out my destiny, my life. I’m cutting away from the things that attached me to this wretched place. I’ve rediscovered me.” He then put everything else away on the desk, only leaving out the note, and the hair scissors laying next to it.

Some things change and so do people, just like the seasons.