Bad feelings are one part of what sucks about this world. Good feelings are the other. Because the good stuff is what can get taken from you, the rug that gets pulled out from under you. A warming feeling that, once it's gone, leaves you out in the...
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M E G A N
"What do you think?" Jessie asks, taking her towel off from around my shoulders. She then uses her fingers to comb through my tangle-free, groomed hair.
Being able to look into this bathroom mirror and care about my appearance is something I never thought I'd miss from the world before. Although my hair doesn't look much different, the selfish, civilized little girl inside of me is satisfied after not being able to worry about such silly things for so long. My new, clean reflection gleams back at me and my eyes flick down to the tufts of my mangled hair on the tile floor.
What makes this new look even more enjoyable is the friendly woman who gave it to me. Her warm, green eyes stare me down in anticipation of my reaction. Throughout the haircut, she seemed excited to just spend time with another girl. I guess two sons, a stubborn husband, and a bunch of superficial neighborhood moms who complain about pasta makers will do that to someone.
"I forgot what it was like to look like a real person." I joke, standing up and further inspecting my hair in the bathroom mirror. "Thank you so much, Jessie. You really didn't have t—"
"Oh you stop," The woman remarks, playfully slapping me with her small towel. "The pleasure is all mine. I had a great time talking to you, Megan." The woman's words followed by her gentle, warm smile comforts me in a way I never knew I needed. She leans over and gives me a quick, gentle side-hug. Her embrace and the comforting scent of her perfume once again fill a void that I didn't even know was there.
The kind woman gives me a similar feeling to the one I used to have when I was around Beth. A feeling where I know that she doesn't know my story, or who I am, and she doesn't really care, she just cares about my well-being. But the last thing I want to do is mistake this stranger's moment of kindness for her actually caring about me.
"Well, let's get this place cleaned up and then I'll get out of your hair." The woman awkwardly jokes and the both of us chuckle. She then squeezes my shoulder one last time before letting go of the prolonged hug that I'd long-forgetten to let go of.
After Jessie packs her hair-cutting supplies into the case and I sweep the clumps of hair off of the floor, it is time for her to go. Or so we think. The woman stands across from me—in my living room—for another half-hour or so, her large supply case held steady in her dainty arms.
We have the conversation on her way out the door, standing in the middle of the living room, never running out of things to talk about. I even get self-conscious that I'm keeping the woman longer than she'd want and immediately try to kill the conversation. Jessie then reassures me by changing the subject a few times, prolonging her exit.
