I’m following the clouds” I told you announcing I was not coming back, that I’d like my vacations so much I was staying. You didn’t say anything, no complains, no grumbles, just a supportive smile and a promise. “I would not cut my hair until the clouds bring you back.” I could almost see your satisfied smile and I laughed – you always make me laugh. I agreed ‘cause you know how I love your hair, those deep black, unruly curls that invite me to play with them.
How many times did I request, begged, demanded, and pleaded you to let it grow long. Stubborn you never wanted.
“It’s not appropriate” – excuses.
“It requires time” – excuses.
“It won’t suit me” – excuses.
“I will look like Crusty” – excuses.
Two things I always asked and you never did: let your hair grow and be on time. Impossible. No matter what I said, “Girls will like it. I will like it. You’ll look sexier”; what I bribed, “I will make brownies” or threatened it didn’t work.
It took you 20 thousand kilometers to give in. Of course I didn’t think you were serious – you never are. Your promises are… let’s say variable. “I will be on time. I will let you drive.” It never happened.
Since after a year and a half, mails were scattered, no pictures sent, no even posted on Facebook, I didn’t expect you to have fulfilled your promise.
“I’m going back on July” I announced. “I will meet you at the clouds station” you answered.
When we met again, you seemed taller (is it possible that you keep growing?) and broader (have you been exercising lately?). I noticed a growing beard (that I didn’t request) and the same huge smile that I know so well.
Happy hugs to discover that your neat, polished pony tail hid a pompom of untamed black curls inviting me to play. “You did it!!” I shouted in unbelief and surprise. With the pride of a first grader showing his last drawing you let you hair free and massive black cotton locks spread upon your shoulders. My smile was wider than yours.
We had a great winter, and although we never made it to the saloon, I’d released you from your promise. I knew your mom didn’t like it, and our friends were giving you a hard time.
A year later – just two days ago – somebody posted a picture of you. Your eyes shinning with the usual scallywag look, the unsolicited beard, your smile and the longest, wildest mane!!
My first thought was “we’ll have to do something. You are about to graduate and that heavy metal guitar player look won’t help you find an engineer job.”
At that moment – surprisingly – you showed up, asking about my vacations, telling me you have only three more exams to graduation, you’ll soon be free and dropping casually that “there are some clouds going to Dallas on February”. “Oh my! Oh my!” I wrote frantically. You explained the plan… I was about to get started on the how to prepare for the visa interview – cause your Che Guevara look might not be helpful, my dear – but I decided to ask before lecturing you, “How long has it been since your last hair cut Fer?” (I am so glad you couldn’t listen to my tone.) “Hm… It’s been three years… since you left.” Speechless I melted. I couldn’t help but smile – you always make me smile.
We discussed hydrating products, brands and creams you can use – yeah, I know, weird. We agreed to we’ll go together to the hair stylist when you visit me… but I’d been thinking… I really, really want you to come and I would hate that a miscomprehension of those beloved curls would hundredth our plans.
So, I say, let’s play safe. I will be home for Christmas, we could go then to the hair dresser and cut it some. It won’t be compromising cause they would be long enough for me to play with, just shorter than now. Don’t give me a hard time now! Just trust me, ok? You’ll look fine, like a curly hipster. Girls will like it, I will too. Even the visa interviewer will love it. I promise!
In February, I’ll be the one waiting for you at the Cloud’s Station.
