Crossing the aisles of vibrant, propaganda-filled food packaging, I scavenge the store for the most typical snacks America has to offer the youth and the old.

 My hands are clammy in my hoodie-pocket, and my feet are moving a bit faster than normal, because this is my first time alone in a grocery store. I have irrational fears such as shopping alone and finding my way around the store, which is why my dad makes me venture the depths of Safeway alone, and despite its name, I worry. 

 I stack popcorn, Oreos, candybars, and cereal under my arms, then trapeze to the check-out line as if I were a part of some balancing act.

 The woman in front of me grabs her bags and leaves, so I step up to the conveyor belt.

 A man, appearing to be in his 40's with grey hair and black clothes, meets my eye and says, "Will this be it for you, young man?"

 I falter. I contemplate correcting him, telling him that I am a girl. I falter again– I am wearing make-up, and I've been growing my hair out since the beginning of this summer. I begin to assess myself in a new light. Is it the baggy clothes? Are my lips too pale? Is it because I'm wearing my dad's hoodie? Should I have put in my earrings before we left? Maybe it would be better if I tried to pull my hair back a little? Do I not look feminine enough?

 On that day, several months and assumptions prior, I sat in front of the pixelated television. This girl, her character, her family, it was everything that was my life, despite the science-fiction aspect, of course. Her clothes were loose, but they suited her. Her hair was short, and curly, but even more than that, she was tough. She overcame hardship within her life, while guiding her little brother through those hard times, too. She didn't care about all the negative comments thrown her way– she endured it all, and ended up growing for the better. She was brave, and strong. I knew I would feel more confident with the same, unique hairstyle as her.

 In my mind, I figured that this haircut would express a side of myself that I noticed, but only a few others did.

From my childhood up until now, even, my hair had been the sole attribute that people used to identify me. It was big, curly, long, brown with blonde highlights and raven lowlights. I was praised for my hair, but often, the true cornerstones of my personality were overlooked because of this. They failed to recognize my intelligence and leadership mindset. People tended to glance over who I truly was, what I strived for, who I strived to be. I figured, if I were to remove the one thing in the way of people seeing me for not just my appearance, I could finally be free of the stereotypes they had because of my hair.

 I told my mom these feelings, and we went to her friend's salon.

 Umber curls fell to the floor in foot-long chunks. I felt light. Lighter than I ever had been before.

 Although, after I cut my hair, I began to have strange interactions.

 The time a girl from volleyball class asked me if I was a boy.

 When my sister's teacher said, "He."

 The time a security guard at the local marathon told a couple to follow, "Him."

 When a highschool boy talked to his friend, referring to me as a boy.

 Maybe I had swung the pendulum with too much force. Maybe in my effort to be seen, I became seen, but as someone else. Maybe, the stereotype goes both ways.

 "Yeah, that's all," I answer the cashier, intentionally forgetting his comment.

 He examines the items I've picked out. "Ah, lot's of snacks. Is this for a special occasion?"

 "Yes, actually, it's movie night for me and my dad," I say while watching him scan the items.

 With a smile, he says, "That sounds like a lot of fun. What movie are you going to watch?"

 "Venom Two," I report.

 "Marvel, I see. My boys loved Marvel. Have you seen the Guardians of the Galaxy?"

 "Of course. It's good," I grin.

 "One of my favorites." He finishes putting the food in bags, and continues, "Alright. Here are your bags. I hope you and your dad enjoy the movie, kid."