Dreadlocks finale

And with the careful snips of my closest friends I watched as each lock fell to my feet. They didn't protest, dreadlocks are far to cool for that sort of thing. I imagine they bid me farewell, asked me only to remember them when my head was chilled from lack of woolen-like insulation, when I went out into public and was not asked if my head could be touched by strangers. I thought about donating them to some organization making bald-headed patients dreams come true. A nice rasta capped dome would suit most anyone well. 

I will miss: pulling them back into a massive pony tail, feeling the cool air hitting the back of my neck in instant relief. Their weight, holding me closer to the ground. The nod I gave to and was given by fellow dread heads. Making the elderly, overly conservative and super southern folks uncomfortable, making little kids curious, gaining the approval of strangers, the disgust of strangers. I will miss tea tree oil and musty bees wax. I will miss nervously tugging and twisting them between my finger tips. Wringing them out after being in a body of water. Pulling them high above my head like a pseudo african queen. Getting asked if I knew where the trees are (aka where one can procure some potent marijuana). Hanging upside down and feeling their weight. 

I know who I am, with or without those beautiful locks. But I will definitely miss them. 

Ja Love,

Jaime