What is it with Charlie and his haircuts? Especially when they are short. Buzz cuts, almost.
November 2003. Aberdeen, Scotland. College tour. Walking through the shadows of granite buildings, blustery winds blow off the North Sea. This is the Houston of the UK. Oil rigs float offshore, dotting the horizon.
Charlie's hair flops in the breeze. Beatle-style. He needs a haircut. *Poof* We pass a barber. A stylist actually. £3.5 $6 roughly. Such a deal.
We walk in. The bell on the door tinkles. The barber waves us in. I sit in an armchair by the picture window and pull postcards and a pen out of my overstuffed LV bag. Settling in comfy I compose one missive after another to friends at home. Charlie takes his seat on the leather chair facing the mirror. I drift off waiting. It took some time. Longer than usual. But it had been awhile since I sat waiting for him to get a haircut.
When he came over to me thirty minutes later I looked up with a giggle. Charlie definitely got his money's worth. Perched on the top of his gorgeous head was one of those classic Scottish schoolboy clips. Short everywhere except the bangs. He was furious with me. Me?!
Me because I wasn't paying attention to his haircut. Even though with his back to me across the room I had no view of the mirror he was peering into. Oh Charlie. He stressed about it all the way through dinner that evening. He still reminds me of it seven years later.
August 2010. Salon 96. Maine Summer is drawing to a close. Earlier in the day we played backgammon on Parson's Beach, ate turkey wraps while drinking lemonade and walked along the shore. Sailboats floated in the stiff wind. In a few short days Charlie will board the jet that will whisk him across the globe to his new life, his new job.
His hair flops in the breeze. We head to Cheryl who keeps my tresses tame and shiny. Up the stairs into her studio. Charlie perched on the chair in front of the mirror. I settle into the black leather chair by the window immersing myself in People.
Cheryl and Charlie are deep in conversation as she clips his locks. I drift off into the world of ersatz wannabe celebs. When he touches my arm a scowl is clearly on his face. he is not pleased. His hair looks great. But in his opinion, it is waaaaaaaaaay to short. And he will be embarrassed when he matriculates at his new job in Hong Kong the following week. Again, I should have been watching so I could have curbed her scissors. Another Aberdeen do. And, la Mama's to blame.
But that's okay. The next day he loves his haircut. And I love that I have had a few opportunities to be with him regardless of the activity. it seems like yesterday that I carried him into my salon for his very first haircut. A big boy cut. Where does the time go?
To my cherished memories of those magical moments with my precious son. I will miss our frequent visits ... but anticipate with great pleasure what is to come.