I rubbed the back of my head as a gesture. Even now, my hair was growing back quickly, growing over like vines the
space in time I made a point to
start over. Bare skin filled in with hair now, an even coat.
"The guys at work looked at me when I first shaved my head and thought 'why would Laura do that?' I'm sure lots of people are thinking that."
"That's not what I was thinking." He leaned back in his undershirt, leaned against the frame of the window. His baseball hat was fraying at the brim and it shaded his eyes.
Hours went on, the way they do in bars. Beer after beer and we both had small bladders, each standing guard over our few belongings: my change purse, his American Spirits and my Sampoernas, two sweating mugs of Abita Amber, the stools he had made some effort to acquire for us. There are things you do, even in public, to make the environment comfortable. You keep your sphere of space far enough away so as to not appear imposing, keep the swing of crossed and uncrossed legs isolated so that nothing is misconstrued. We are friends, simply friends who have lots to talk about and never enough time.
"You remember what I said earlier about your comment about your hair? Well here's what I was thinking." He ran his fingers through his own, which is longer and didn't look good or bad on him. He had said letting his hair grow out and growing facial hair was a new phase for him. We are all in need of new phases. "I thought to myself, I would love to have her head on my shoulder and be playing with her hair."
I hate it when he does that. But I smiled anyway.