winter baby. //
I see her every day. This girl with lavender hair, light lavender, as if someone maybe convinced her that dyeing her obviously light hair this pastel color would make her an individual. I am not one to judge, I come here every morning, get a black coffee, every morning, sit and read the paper before heading into my office. My daunting office that awaits me, with cases, heart-breaking stories, court dates and trials.
So I sit. I drink my coffee, and enjoy the company of the lavender haired girl. Not really a girl, maybe 30. She doesn’t even know I exist; I come before her, sit in my spot outside the café, and wait. I don’t really think this qualifies me as being a stalker. I have a fiancé. She is beautiful and put-together, well-spoken and incredibly brilliant. I am not looking to take the lavender haired girl home, but just to sit in her presence. Her aura is alluring; her simplicity is breath-taking. She is mysterious and simple. Every morning, she orders the same items, a caramel latte, requested in a mug, not a paper cup and an apple pastry. She eats half the pastry and saves the rest, every morning. She never finishes it. I imagine she takes the other half to her roommate, or little sister, or grandmother, or maybe trashes it out before she heads into her profession. I am convinced she works with books of some sort, because without fail she has a stack of books, maybe 2 or 3 new books, always with her. Always perfectly bound, and opens them and turns each page meticulously as if looking for a hidden error or meaning.
The girl with lavender hair, has it loosely tied back, always revealing perfectly shaped and tanned shoulders, generally in a sweater that is slightly too big. It is comforting, this girl with the lavender hair, she laughs loudly, at mundane things, a waiter cracking a joke, a giggling baby. Her denim jeans hold every curve of her body perfectly.
Why? I can’t get over this hair, and so I go, every morning, and every morning I see her, and every morning we don’t conversate, and I leave, refreshed, as if seeing this girl has had some small impact on my life. Is this who I want to be? The guy with lavender hair? Ridiculous. Am I not happy with my fiancé? I had never thought of that possibility, we were ‘us’, together since undergrad, we were comfortable and living together and already discussing the prospect of starting a family. We weren’t getting younger; I was almost 40, and she 34. She wanted to be a mother so terribly, and I wanted that for her, but we has so many things left to do. We were young, we could move, we could leave, we could dye our hair lavender.
I love her. I do. I love her, she is my fiancée.
But this mystery woman, who I can’t seem to let go from the depths of my being has this power over me. I find myself questioning her life, and her past and future in my mornings with her. I imaging the passion and sensuality that could consume her, and realize that I want her. I want that girl in every way possible. I want to be with the Lavender hair girl.
But I love my fiancée.
So I continue to get my coffee, and continue to want this lavender hair girl for years, and years, never changing, continuing to have the same hair color, and an array of different guests, I continue to watch until one fateful morning, she until she stops coming.
My lavender hair girl is gone, and my coffee is bitter, the air is darker, my mornings aren’t as sweet. I go, every morning, for the next twenty years to this café, hoping to see her, hoping to say something, ignoring the past and future, I wasn’t young anymore, and I had three grown children, two in college, one married with a baby. I was a grandfather. I was tired, I was loved, and I had a fulfilled life, but always wondered about my lavender haired girl.
She laughed, she laughed at everything, and I imagine she was laughing with friends, and family, and at grandchildren, and together they were laughing, and I imagine she still has lavender hair.
remember when we used to dress up? i don’t think i have ever stopped.
this autumn, the leaves were just beginning to fall, and the air was thick and humid, and filled our lungs as we galavanted across rosewood park, in des moines, iowa.
i look back at this image, taken by the wonderful alyssa smith of meow photography, and i am reminded of the constant beauty i am surrounded by.
sure, i am in a dress from the goodwill, next to a pond a mutant green tone, but there is beauty. the broken dock, the warm sun, the dress we bought for $15 that someone probably wore on their wedding day and the beauty of my incredible daughter.
i am thankful tonight. i am thankful tomorrow. i am thankful for all of you creative, and inspiring friends that i have crossed paths with.
to always wondering, and always growing and learning.
grab your copy of dmjuice this week — and get some new baubles.
i had the joy of shooting a wedding for dear friends of mine, a few weeks ago.
their story is incredible. i was honored to be a part of the day.
best day ever.