Love Hurts

My newly cut hair looks great in this shot from the beginning of October. I didn't get it cut again until mid February. Fifteen years ago I met a beautiful woman, Vivette, the owner of the shop. She loved to fish and her younger son Craig, then nine, loved fishing as well. After several months we started living together, but the older boy never quite accepted me. Finally about 5 years ago, at her suggestion, I moved out. The older boy won. I'd always expected that he'd grow up and be the one to move out. Didn't happen that way. Early in our relationship she used to tell me that she'd gone to see the Obeah (similar to voodoo, but as practiced in Jamaica) man to get me to fall in love with her. I thought she was kidding, but sometimes I'm not so sure. She certainly never went back to the Obeah man to release me from the spell. She'd call every few days to see how I was doing, remind me that I was due for a haircut, refused to take money for the haircuts, "Just bring me some fish next time you go", and I did bring her fresh fish. About a year ago I mentioned to a mutual friend that Vivette still had loads of pictures of me in her shop, fishing pictures and pictures of her in evening gown and me in a tux, and everything in between. Pictures of my kids too. Small prints and 8x10's alike. It was obvious that any man coming into the shop would assume that she was in a relationship. It hurt every time I went in there and saw the photos displayed like that. The friend got her to take down the framed 8x10's, but still it bothered me. Finally, after the October visit, I decided that I just had to stop going there. My hair grew for four months. I was considering a pony tail when a last minute call to shoot a wedding had me trying a different shop. Now a heavy burden has been lifted, and I finally feel free to move on with my life, to love another woman, to be happy for a change. It feels good.