Foiled

I knew it woul be difficult.

I knew it would be different.

But I didn't know how difficult or different it would be. 

I sat, woefully, but with a postive attitude hoping that my next relationship would be as fulfilling as the last.

But like many first "dates", this one is starting off uneasy. 

I sit in the hairdressers chair I have sat in many times before.  The current monthy edition of Bazaar magazine graces my lap but I am too sad to even open it.

My color may come out lovely enough, but I can't stop missing my girl, Gina.

I knew Gina was leaving me. 

Or... Her job anyway.

And as she told me in late September she was leaving the job because she was getting married I desperately wanted to ask, with great bitterness "what is this, 1940?"

But I held my tongue the way I do when I am sad and angry and taking something personal all at once. 

And I smiled and I did my best to look excited for her as I asked for the all the details of her sudden engagement. 

I was feeling selfish inside, but she would never know it.

And I didn't think I could bear the sullenness- coming back to the place where Gina and I had shared many happy memories and conversations.

But I was desperate as I looked at the calendar and realized my husband and I would be joining friends for dinner later in the evening and my hair was a sad and purposeless combination of mismatched brown and wheat.  I knew not where else to go on short notice.  I knew only the place I had been made happy so many times before. 

I sit in the hairdressers chair I have sat in many times before. 

It's so different. 

The new girl tugs at my soft scalp and makes me miss the tenderness with which Gina would comb through and foil my hair.

The new girl talks.... And talks... And talks... And asks me all the cliche questions a hairdresser might ask.  I tell the story of how my husband and I met. I describe my amazing daughter.  She asks what I do for work and the new girl asks me more than once if I want more children.  She talks... And talks... And talks.

And Gina would know to ask me few questions and then let me stare blankly out the window. It's the stare Lloyd says "freaks him out".  The one Sayler has inherited from me.  It's the stare that is almost as deep and disconnected as Walter Mitty's.

"I'm planning life", I always tell Lloyd. And I'll follow with a half-smile. And he'll look at me quizzically, perhaps deciding whether to ask me what that means.

Gina never asked me what I was thinking about.

I fear getting caught staring out the window today- lest the new girl should ask me what I'm thinking about. 

She'll want to talk about it.  And talk... And talk... And talk...