My hair looks good today. It's the longest it's been since... Since I decided I would be alright without him... I could leave him without any backlash that would not be worth the change I needed in my life.
He was cooking fried chicken in the kitchen. I opted to luxuriate in the bath tub while he cooked, knowing it would be a while. Scented, steamy-hot water, dimmed lights, scented candles,... what a wonderful environment for a few meditative moments.
I was totally calm and at peace with myself and the world. (That was an unusual place for me at that time in my life). I took deep somber breaths, inhaling the calm lavender steam and exhaled all the worry and strife. I was in a trance-like state when it hit me: It's time.
As I got out of the bath, I saw my reflection in the full-length mirror. My long locks, dripping wet, reached past my nipples. I studied my hair's length, my face and my thick naked body, pink, from the bath's hot water. I stood there for a moment, taking in the thoughts that were swimming in my mind, observing how I had changed within a few moments. I didn't look any different, but I WAS different.
I towel-dried my hair, smoothed a comb through it gently, as usual, and thought of the beauty of it when it was dry... Soft, extremely thick, touchable, shiny-smooth, champagne-brown-auburn in color, very wavy and in some places just straight-up unruly curls. I thought of how exposure to the elements of nature made it change...
The Wind: Tousling it, whipping it and then softly tickling my face. Teasing it, creating a pouffy cloud that was very difficult to comb out. (I smiled at this, remembering the last time I had to deal with a blustery day's results).
The Sunshine: Kissing my hair with Its heat, creating golden streaks that spoke volumes of Its love for me. Heat that caused me to pin it up into a nice, big bun at the nape of my neck, escaping the feeling of wearing a fur coat in the summertime.
The Rain: Soaking it, baptizing me with the Tears of Angels and waving up my tresses with a glycerin-like sheen as it curled up at my temples.
The Snow: Flakes of Snow that landed upon my crown, laying themselves ever-so-gently upon my hair... each snow flake had a mission: to kink my hair to the maximum... (and it worked).
As these visions left me, I realized there would come a time when I would feel the elements in my hair again, it would just be a while.
The scissors called. They needed to take part in the ritual of ridding me from my past with my husband and birthing me into a new life. Breaking the chains I had found myself in. Found. No longer lost in. No longer trapped in a fantasy of "It will change"... Found.
Carefully, I combed it evenly around my head. I grasped a small strand of hair that covered my face. I held the scissors with steady confidence and cut below my chin, dropping the severed locks into the towel that draped the sink. I continued to cut, carefully, evening the edges out. I was gradually feeling the weight lift from me, from my shoulders, from my head and from my soul. Tears of freedom escaped my eyes as I realized the progress I made within the last 40 minutes.
One thick strand of hair remained down the center of my back. I wrapped myself in a towel and sauntered into the kitchen, scissors in hand and stood before my husband... his back was turned toward me.
Upon hearing my footsteps he turned to me noticing my bare feet with my toenails painted bright red. I saw a smile begin to creep onto his face. His eyes followed up my legs to the towel's edge. Suddenly, the grease from the frying chicken averted his gaze and then quickly back at me, to my face... his mouth had turned from a smile to agape. I saw hope completely drain from him. He knew, almost telepathically, what had transpired.
The silence between our brief eye contact lasted mere seconds, but felt like eons, slow-motion eons. I broke the queer ambiance.
"Will you please cut this piece for me in the back?". I held up the scissors. He didn't have time to answer me as the grease from the frying pan began to spatter, as if in retaliation to the moment. "...after you finish the chicken, of course", I said.
I moved to sit in a kitchen chair, and I watched him... looking at him as if he was a stranger. I began to remember things... like our first kiss and everything that had brought us to this point. All that died. Whithered dreams, crumbled trust, broken faith, fallen hearts, just torn apart... every seam completely ripped apart.
He didn't speak as he came toward me. I stood, not speaking either, handed him the scissors and turned around. The last of my hair's length awaited his acceptance of the whole ritualistic scene. He grasped the lone lock gently and I heard the ear-deafening sound of the scissors releasing me from the years of my life spent with him, ready for whatever was next.
As I turned to thank him, I saw the half-yard hank of my hair drop into the trash bin. It laid there, like a blanket. Silken strands covered the packaging from the now-fried chicken as a flag covers a casket. A casket of lifelessness, finally putting the remains to rest.
My hair looks good today... The longest it's been... and a new year begins...
bpa
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