Haircuts and Humanity
I saw you in the hair salon, an unsuspecting place. I, a mother with her babe, clumsily entertaining her toddler and conversing with the stylist at the same time. Blonde tresses fall to the floor as I ramble about a hectic holiday.
Woe is me! I talk too loudly. If you knew me well, you wouldn’t be surprised by this. You try impossibly not to hear me. Sideways glances and small smirks reveal your eavesdropping. I don’t mind. Sometimes you need to escape your own life and slip, if only momentarily, into someone else’s.
Seven days later our roles reverse. I am now childless sitting in the chair and you are cradling your son. His first haircut. I don’t have to eavesdrop because you immediately invite me in.
“Do you mind taking a few pictures?”
And instantly, I’m in your world. We easily talk birthday cakes and kid apps. I make silly faces at Miles as if he’s my own. A stranger, I manage to produce a few smiles, snapping quickly to capture them for you.
Peeking through the pixelated screen at the perfect flesh born from your body. He’s your whole heart. And you entrusted me, a stranger, a mother, to capture this moment. I hope I did okay.
Strangers. Mothers. Not strangers at all. Our worlds are one in the same.
Surely we shall meet again.