General Writer

Then sometimes I want to do a little bad.

In the end does it even matter, cause all the things I do seem bad in the end.

I just wanna remember myself with a shining light instead of all this haze.

When everything is said and done.

When all our memories are dust.

All I have to show for it are the lukewarm tears.

Could it have really been all that simple, a snip here and a curl there before drawing my nails over the modified lengths of hair. They played like cool silk in my fingers, and I had this image of manicured nails sifting through my locks not unlike my mother so long ago. If she could see me right now I think she’d be proud of just how far I’d come in styling my own hair. Though I think the length would leave her something to be desired, I always had my long platinum hair for as long as I cared to remember. She loved it, especially when dad would grow irked at the sight of one more lost strand of feminine hair. Knowing not if it belonged to Mom or me, and I remember vividly that he would scold the two of us. He never really meant anything by it I think, just it was his way of getting us all in the same room.

The scolding would end and he would hug us both, everything that he could’ve possibly meant flying out the window.

I wonder now how he would react now, his only daughter trimming and making her once vibrant long hair rise up alongside her face. I imagine him laughing and kissing the top of my head and saying quietly that he liked it short. That made me smile against myself in the mirror, my eyes refocusing in on their reflection and their deep trap. Now my thoughts drifted to the object of my day, the very man who I had snipped my hair down for. He always said my eyes were like dark traps, I’m sure if they were blue he’d say something liking them to the seas. But instead they were dark traps, and for a brief second as I gazed into myself I got what he meant. They way the edges of my irises formed along my pupils seemed to blend into one color. Making the dark brown encircling that seem much darker in comparison.

I finished shipping away the hair and set the scissors down on the counter top, returning my left hand to what remained atop my head. I had to admit I wasn’t terrible at this, I could’ve just gone to a hairdresser but I was intending this asa surprise. I’d rather that surprise be created by me rather than someone else. ‘He’ll certainly be surprised.’ I thought to myself, I had to admit that I was nervous about it. Would he like it, or would he be so shocked he wouldn’t be able to put it out of his mind for the whole evening. What if all of this ends up as a pointless endeavor and he doesn’t mention it at all, that’d certainly sting more than disappointment.

Just then with my paranoia spilling over the edge the sound of knocking finally announced itself upon the door. I almost jumped from how engrossed I was in my appearance, pulling away from the mirror and turning out towards the open door that would separate me from the living room had it been closed and called.

“Just a moment!”

I made sure that’d be just a moment, slipping out into the living room and softly shutting the bathroom door. Most of my removed hair had been thrown out hours ago, only meager offerings remained. I tiptoed across the soft carpeting in my apartment, almost crashing along the coffee table that sat besides my couch. It always seemed to close to the bathroom door because I’ve stumbled over it many times in my years of living here. My moderate heels sat just beside the door, coat draped on the hook above it, no umbrella. They were hidden away in my closet since he insisted on bringing it, I remember that being a point of discussion, do normal couples debate just who would bring the umbrella? Typically I’ve seen that the man holds the umbrella, but the woman brings it, would that work for same sex couples? I should know but I’ve never had to debate umbrella possession before. We agreed we’d alternate on the practice, depending on the weather. Tonight it was forecasted that the rain would fall around 7:30 tonight, which means we’d only be leaving the restaurant in the middle of the weather. Coats and umbrellas were a necessity, but this was supposed to be my week, so it stuck with me that Al insisted he bring his. I capitulated after a rather arduous debate that concluded with him admitting it was his pride holding onto him. I had a disturbing inclination he planned something, he was never prideful on many things, save for impressing me. Which I had to admit I never understood about anyone, my covered feet slipped into my shoes quite easily. The slimming socks feeling cool against my bare skin, and allowing me to fit comfortably into my shoes. Which could be described as smaller but seemed quite average to most women. I clicked the tips of my shoes to the floor to ensure they were fitted properly before turning back to the coat hanger. Grabbing the weighty garment from its metallic holder, it was soft but thick, double breasted button design. It was a gift from dad, long enough to sit around calves like a trench coat but with the appearance of a typical peacoat. I slipped it on over my clothing, tying it off but refusing to button it, that was for when it was windy. I sighed delicately, moving over to the front door and opened it with a steady practiced hand but I had to admit I was scared of the possibilities.

There, the door was and there he was standing rather lopsided, leaning forward towards the door as it was pulled inward. His soft brown eyes widening in surprise before his signature grin split on his face, his right arm was curled up around the infamous umbrella. I stood just slightly out of his reach, I had an idea of just how long his arms were and I was mostly bracing myself for the words. I was facing down, like a scolded puppy, my eyes flicking up to him and away. The growingly long silence was terrifying, time like cold syrup, thickly coating everything in its relentless grasp.

I eventually stood up straight, facing myself off to the side so he could properly admire how short I had cut it. He’d mention once how’d he like to see me with short hair. Mild curiosity that I saw as a challenge, this is how things were between us, one upping each other. He seemed speechless with his eyes rolling up and down the side of my face slowly. Every detail had to be captured and documented, every small deviation from the norm.

“Charlie...” he started slowly, I knew I had him now, my feet shortened the distance between us and I finally faced towards him with a small smile. His perfectly rugged crimson coat a stark contrast to my muted black outfit. His collar was slightly lopsided and opened at the top button exposing the inner space of his chest. He smelt somewhat earthy, faint lingering cologne filling whatever remained in the space between us. I looked up at his soft doe-like gaze with his attention intense despite the gentleness he exuded. “You look stunning.” He spoke rather plainly, but he stopped there, letting his admiration sit in the open air that seemed to pace up as he spoke.