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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1920291-In-the-barbers-chair-24-Malcolm
Rated: 13+ · Prose · Personal · #1920291
My hair grows out, thin on top, a bush along the jaw, dark hairs fringing the nostrils.
In the barber's chair

         for Malcolm

My hair grows out, thin on top, a bush along the jaw, dark hairs fringing the nostrils. It grows where I'd rather it not, disappears where I beg for more...

Like being 22 again, thick brown mop bleaching blond under a noon-day sun... I would be like my picture in my passport except for the nightmares of not knowing who I'd become, not sure of the ghosts of who I was.

I had slimmed down, then slimmed more until I was a shadow of my former self, warped by the tropical fragrance, the rain showers, the burning sun. One could see through me. No one knew me.

And who knew me when you first cut my hair,? Most only knew the labels they stuck on me, what in their eyes I'd become. They too looked through me.

So, I came to you, showed you my passport from when I was 22, asked you to make me look like that once more. You smiled and did what you could. The results were stunning. There I was, full-fleshed but older, balder, a fringe of white beard. Even those who knew-me-back-when, would have recognized that mug! Even those who never knew me, hiding from the winter of their mis-perceptions, under a tropical sun.

© Kåre Enga

[168.229] #24 November 16, 2011.

Note to self, earlier version:

My hair grows out, thin on top, a bush along the jaw, dark hairs fringing the nostrils. It grows where I'd rather it not, disappears where I beg for more...

Like being 22, thick brown mop bleaching blond under a tropical sun. I would be like my picture in my passport except for the nightmares of not knowing who I'd become, not sure of the ghosts of who I was.

I slimmed down, then slimmed more until I was a shadow of my former self, warped by the tropical fragrance, the rain showers, the burning sun. One could see through me. No one knew me.

And years later, who knew me when you first cut my hair? They only knew the labels stuck on me, what I'd become in their eyes. They looked through me too.

I came to you, showed you my passport from when I was 22, asked you to make me look like it. You smiled and did what you could. The results were stunning. There I was, full-fleshed but older, balder, a fringe of white beard. Even those who knew-me-back-when, would have recognized that mug! Even those who never knew me, hiding from the winter of their mis-perceptions, under a tropical sun.
© Copyright 2013 Kåre Enga UdonThani 🇹🇭 (enga at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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