“Mampir ke salon dulu yuk, gue mau potong rambut.” I hopped into his car and slammed the door. It wasn’t that hard, but enough to raise his eyebrows.
“Kenapa nih? Berantem lagi?” I said nothing.
We headed to the nearest mall and found a parking spot quite far from the entrance. None of us moved from our seat. One minute felt like an hour when he drilled me with interrogative questions.
“Panjang ceritanya, nanti aja.” I broke eye contact with him quickly. I wasn’t ready to talk but he knew that it would take only five minutes until I blurted out the whole story. So he waited. I let out a long sigh before giving up my silence.
He listened with patience and nodded his head to signal affirmation. I wiped the tears from the corner of my eyes. I couldn’t care less about his reaction. He has known me for more than a decade, from emo-phase to emotional-crisis-phase.
“Oke, paham. Tapi lo tetep mau potong rambut?” I forgot to mention that aside from being a successful architect and a great friend, he also worked as my unpaid fashion consultant.
“Iya. Udah rusak banget ini, kayaknya gak bisa diapa-apain lagi. Mending dibuang.” I touched my frizzy hair lightly.
People say your hair is your crowning glory. Unfortunately, I couldn’t relate. I didn’t hate my hair, but I never particularly liked it either. I wished I had a longer, smoother, easier-to-maintain hair.
“Kalo gitu solusinya ya jangan langsung dipotong, tapi dirawat, dinutrisi.”
I took another look at my hair from the rearview mirror. This is the longest I’ve had in the past three years. I realized that I’ve always chosen an easy way out: once the hair looked too damaged or unhealthy, I would cut it off right away. I didn’t bother trying to repair.
It was just too broken, I murmured.
Then I wondered if my hair-care somehow reflected my relationship-care.
I mastered the art of being stubborn. I had my ideals and strongly stuck to it. I got too caught up in the excitement of doing things my way. I was obsessed to do what I thought to be right even if it could cost harmony in a relationship.
“De?” He startled me. I was disassociating again.
“Gue telfon sebentar ya,” I grabbed my phone from the dashboard and got out of his car.
I replayed a conversation from this morning. I was listening to reply, not to understand. I said things that I shouldn’t have. It hurt to imagine how much hurt it caused. I no longer cared about being right. Our relationship was flawed, far from perfect, but from now on I would do anything to repair and nourish it.
I dialed a number that I remembered by heart. My voice was too shaky to speak.
Five rings later someone picked it up. I could hear nothing but her soft breathing.
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