I let him do it.
I let him put his hands into my two-day old twist out.
I let him dig his fingers into the curls, wiggle them as much as he pleased. For as long as he pleased. The earth moved.
I don’t have that kind of relationship with my hair. I tug at it, sigh when it needs moisture, dodge the, “So how..exactly do you care for your hair? Like do you just get up and wash it in the morning?” questions.
I slap some oil on it, I don’t say nice things to it when I am styling it. I could go on and on about how I don’t know how to love it.
I wasn’t taught how. I don’t think my mother knew how to love hers.
I never thought of it as a source of pride.
Most of all I didn’t know how this curly mass of protein sitting on my head could be a real source of intimacy between two people…a source of intimacy with myself.
Forget the gifts, the walks, the dinners.
Forget how you wish he would call you more often or how you wish you wouldn’t call him so much.
I lay there and felt wide open.
Don’t get it wet, don’t use heat, watch out for the silicones, watch out for petroleum, to henna or not to henna.
Most importantly ‘DO NOT TOUCH IT!’
I’m not talking about random strangers doing the “we just discovered a new species of hair” thing on the street.
I’m talking about that moment when you’re watching a movie and yes his hand is in there.
Exploring. Caressing. Loving. YOU.
The rigidity with which we keep such a tight reign on our hair (the hands-in-hair syndrome is known to keep you from waist-length hair)…does this correlate with self-intimacy and intimacy with your significant other?
Maybe you’ve been touched more on your private flower and still do not have the intimacy you are looking for. You let him in…but you don’t let him into the places that perhaps you’re afraid to enter to yourself.
What if…accepting and loving these other parts was just the beginning?
Don’t get it twisted, I will wrap up these curls at bed time. Satin scarf anyone?