I’d Like to Cut Your Hair

I never thought I’d find myself in Denmark.

And here I am standing inside a cliff house at the top of a cove that overlooks the North Sea. Standing in a living room that is Nordic minimal; A Norwegian cherry wood floor made with old timber and picture windows that give an epic view of the beach, sand bars and water. That’s all. I stand at the window taking in the view. I know no one at this party. I’m like a five-year-old with unburdened eyes. It’s evening. There’s a full moon. The water shimmers between the sandbars. Three sandbars. Three.

I can’t believe the beauty I see. The longer I look, the more innocent I become. There’s a sensation of something settling into my bones. Like sand filling an hourglass.

I’d find myself. I am standing. I know no one. I’d find myself

I hear it from the ineffable

“To your bones, you are an artist.”

While I notice the odd sentence structure, I still feel the increasing weight of the sand in my body. It’s a striking feeling. Everyone and everything here’s alive appreciating life for the sake of life. It now feels that this Danish house is quite the opposite of the Melancholy Dane. Instead, it’s filled with affection.

I hear it again, this time the sentence sounds better. “You’re supposed to be here. This is home. You just need to get used to it.”

I turn towards the dining room. I see Darryl Hannah. Darryl Hannah walking towards me. I think, “her last name is a palindrome.” Her easy eyes show me she’s found a long-lost friend. The strong steel stanchions surrounding my heart begin to melt. I’m at a loss filled with a dictionary of words and experience I don’t know how to use. I can’t get the shimmering water out of my mind.

“I’d like to cut your hair.” Darryl says.

I begin to explain how I’ve been getting a simple trim from Supercuts. I then notice my hair has changed. Long, lush, and layered. It’s chocolate brown and drops to my mid-back.

We walk to the south-side of the cliff house. I sit and lean my back against the wall. Darryl stands in front of me. She leans over to kiss.

I lift my chin hoping our lips will meet. They hit off-kilter. Her lower lip between mine. My upper lip between hers.

I remember. “She wants to cut my hair!”

She leans in for a second kiss. I hold the line in the face of her love, affection, and these ten astounding words, “I can love this man for the rest of my life”

Our lips meet true with feeling and tasting sweeter than wine.

We awaken the next morning. White sheets are cast aside. She’s on her right side facing away from me. I’m cradling her from behind with my bent right leg draped over her right hip. My left arm is her pillow. I stroke her hair with my right hand.

“Why didn’t you fuck me last night.” Darryl knows I had passed the ineffable taste test. She just wants to hear what I have to say about it. Her smile is so broad that even my cheeks hurt.

“I watched you bathe,” I say. “That was enough.”

There’s a moment of quiet.

“How would you like to die?” she asks.

My cheeks stop hurting.

“That’s easy,” I reply. “With my heart lighter than a feather”