Teachback Prep...

“So is there anything else you’re interested in doing besides behind the chair work? Are you interested in management or education at all?” Cyndi asks me after briefing me on what Art+Science is all about. It’s my first interview and I’m in Evanston sitting on a couch practically exploding because I have a feeling finally that this is it. This is what I want.
“I want to teach.” I beam.
“Really!” she lights up. “Well, at the end of your time in class, we have you do a teachback where you cut hair in front of the class, so that will be some good practice.”
Teachback? I think to myself. This sounds scary. I decide not to worry about it until that day arrived. Maybe by then I’ll know what I’m doing well enough to do a good job and it won’t be so intimidating…
Over the course of eleven months I’ve seen a few teachbacks. I’ve watched then intently, mentally taking notes on what I wanted to do differently, what else could I bring to the table to be thorough, and prepared, all while seeming perfectly comfortable standing in front of my co-workers and managers as if I did this sort of thing all the time.
I would daydream about who my models would be, what would I say, what cut would I do, and when this would happen. When I met Charlie I had already decided I wanted him there. Part of me was slightly insecure about this idea. I’m not sure I wanted him to see me speak in front of my co-workers. I didn’t know how nervous I would be, and if having him there would exacerbate that nervousness or calm me, because I knew him. He wouldn’t be some random person I pulled off the street.
My co-workers, Annie, Blair and Alyx were doing this with me. In class, I was a little behind them but ahead of a couple other girls. I felt my options were to ask to do mine right now, or wait. I asked, wanting this to be over with. Paul said yes and it was done.
The plan for the stylists is to find two models that we have pre-done to present, and one live that we cut in front of the class. The colorists need the same. Charlie agreed to be a pre-done, my friend Shannon agreed to come in from Atlanta to be my live model and a friend of a co-worker could be my other pre-done. I’m set, so why am I freaking out?
Personally, I want this to be perfect. I want to be so organized and put together that our audience is blown away. I want to appear polished, calm, and comfortable no matter what.
Then there’s the technical aspect of it. I’m not strong in men’s work right now and will need guidance with Charlie’s hair. I haven’t met my other pre-done, Jamie, but I know what I’d like to do on her, I just don’t know how to execute it, and Shannon? Her haircut works out in my head but how do I cut her in front of an audience? What if my idea doesn’t work? I take a mannequin head home to practice.
Days go by. The four of us meet up for coffee before class one Monday and toss around ideas. We agree on putting together booklets that explain each model, and add a little bio about ourselves. We want to put together a slide show to play while people are coming in that morning, and decide to bring in donuts and coffee. We also decide to meet at the Wicker Park salon the day before and get all of our pre-done models completed.
I ask Patrick, our Lincoln Park manager, to come in and help Annie and me with our models. Despite the Vikings game being on, and the fact that it’s his day off as well as the rest of us, he agrees.
Meanwhile, life is still happening. The four of us are still following our usual assistant schedules on top of prepping for this thing while maintaining something that could resemble a social life.
The day after Rob’s birthday I call Annie. I’m a hot mess. It’s freezing outside and I’m choosing to walk home from work, trying to feel better.
“Let it out mama. What is it?” she asks.
“Girl, I don’t know. I’m looping my feelings about Rob and him being gone into this teachback. The last time I spoke in front of people it was his funeral. When I think about who I was at that moment, standing up there talking, it makes me so happy. I want to be that girl again when this whole thing happens. I can’t explain it really. I don’t completely understand it.”
She quietly listens. For whatever reason my brain has chosen her to lay all my grief on. I don’t share much else with her but this. I don’t share much about Rob at all to anyone since moving. It’s created this island that I swim to sometimes when I get sad. I go out there and sit on this island alone. I walk around, look around, kick through the sand, scream, stare at the sun, and the stars. I wonder what if, then when I’ve had enough I go back to the world again. Only problem is, the world doesn’t know I’ve gone. It wants me to go to work, and pay the bills. It wants me to talk to it, clean it, go out in it, experience it. It doesn’t understand the grief any more than I do and now it wants me to give a presentation? What? Now?
The subject moves to what we’ve done to get ready before going in and doing our pre-done models.
“Have you done your headsheets yet?” she asks. The headsheets are diagrams of how we cut each model.
“Hell no. I tried the other day. I read over my notes and tried to come up with something but then I thought, if I wanted to change something then I’d have to change the headsheet.”
“I know! Ok. Let’s just do all of this on Sunday after everyone is finished.” she suggests.
“Deal.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“Will do. Same to you.” I smile.
We get off the phone and I walk the rest of the way home.
Sunday arrived with fluffy white clouds and sunshine. Charlie and I got up and went to Alliance bakery for coffee and breakfast. I went here every day shortly after moving to Chicago. I now can’t remember the last time I went.
The silence is deafening as Charlie surfs the internet and I eat a bagel waiting for his mini laptop to load the yahoo web page. I feel my heart begin to speed up and I desperately want to run a marathon right now. I could run straight to California and not feel a thing. I can’t sit still another minute. I glance at the time after finishing the bagel. I need to leave in a few minutes but can’t sit still another second.
“I have to go.” I whisper to Charlie.
“Ok. What time are you walking up to the salon?”
“Ten thirty.”
“Meet at Division and Milwaukee?” he asks.
“Yup.” I reach for my purse.
“Can you hang on for five minutes? I’ll walk with you.” he says and shuts down his computer.
I nod and minutes later we’re out the door headed for our apartments.
I quickly shower, get dressed and pull together all my work things. Charlie meets me at my place because I’m running a little late.
“Ready?” I exhale grabbing my bag when I think there is nothing left for me to do or bring along.
“Yup.” he stands from the couch and we’re off.
I haven’t told Charlie all my feelings that are cropping up about this whole thing. It crosses my mind to say something on our walk to the salon but I don’t. My conscious self is anxious about the unknown parts of this situation. It’s worried I‘ll cut Charlie‘s hair too short, that I’ll slip up and get my words jumbled while talking tomorrow about him, that Jamie won’t be into the idea I have for her hair and I’ll be back at square one, that I won’t be able to answer a question that could be thrown at me, the list goes on.
There’s this other side though that is extinguishing all those negative thoughts. It feels like it’s something bigger than me. It’s calming warmth is reminding me that I’ll find the words I need, I have the help I asked for, and I need to relax because Monday isn’t here yet but when it comes, I’ll know what to say and do. For now, it reminds me, I have to do today.
“I owe you my life for doing this for me.” I grin at Charlie. We’re halfway into his haircut. The dermatitis on my left hand is screaming and my brain feels a little scrambled but other than that, everything is good.
He’s quiet as I steal Annie’s clippers and get Patrick.
“This clipper action isn’t a strong point for me.” I tell him.
“It’s ok. Just make sure you….” he goes on to explain how I should hold the device. “Just go in like this.’ he demonstrates on the right side of Charlie’s head. “Here.” he hands the clippers to me.
I gingerly take them, turn them on and press them to Charlie’s skin. I try to mimic what he did but pulled away too fast causing a line to appear just below Charlie’s occipital bone. I move to the next section and end up doing the same thing.
“Patrick!” I exclaim, feeling my skin heat up.
“What’s up?” he walks over.
“Look at this. This is what continues to happen.” I point to the trouble.
“That’s nothing. We’re not even worried about that yet. I need you to only pay attention to this part.” he takes the clippers from me and shows me again what I’m to do. I do it and this time I cut it too short.
“I hate this.” I growl to Charlie.
“You’re doing fine.” he says.
“I continue to have the same problem. I hear what I’m being told, I’m just unable to make my hands do what I need them to.”
“You are fine.” he says again.
I shake my head, still feeling my skin radiate heat.
“Patrick?” I call over to him.
He walks over and stands next to me, both of us surveying Charlie’s head.
“What’s this?” I point to right behind Charlie’s left ear.
“Ok, that’s a little shorter but it’s not big deal. Use your shears to even it out and detail this section.” he tells me pointing to the middle of Charlie’s head.
Shannon arrived and so did Jamie as I was working on the top of Charlie’s head. It took me two hours to finish him. It took another hour and a half to finish Jamie. I carefully listened to Patrick’s instructions and carefully followed them as I worked quietly on Jamie’s pretty, curly hair. Once I was done and satisfied, I brought Shannon over to discuss with Patrick how I was going to do this. In the end, I’m still not entirely clear on it but the feeling that everything will be fine has enveloped me and I’m ok with it.
Shannon leaves and I go into the office with Blair, Annie, Alyx to continue discussing and outlining how we’re going to execute this, who is going to say what and when, and what we need to wear, bring and set up. This takes an hour.
When I’m finally done, packed up and walking out the door my head is spinning. I’m trying to calm down as I make my way downtown to meet Shannon for dinner. It feels good to sit down and breathe for a moment.
After saying goodbye at her hotel, I take a walk in search of the train. I’m only vaguely familiar with the area and eventually find the red line and go to Charlie’s. My stress about this situation has manifested itself in the spreading my dermatitis from my hands to my arms and the feeling I need to snap at everything he says.
“Stop it.” I tell myself. “He’s done nothing. It’s not his fault you can’t speak. It’s not his fault you’re stressed…”
He wants to watch a movie but it’s already 10:30. I want to be up early to go for a run in the morning. It isn’t long before we’ve climbed into bed, the idea of a movie set aside for now and quietly gone to sleep.