Buying the Future

It’s strange what I have deemed fitting to finally break my prolonged silence. 

You’d think it would be when I got asked on my second date after a very impressive and enjoyable first one, when I decided my Spanish teacher was not the devil’s advocate and her class wasn’t intended to rip down all my confidence, when I finally consented to watch the first season of My Hero Acadamia at my roommate’s insistence and have since let it eat away at my nights like a welcome parasite, when I run into my old mission companions on campus, or any number of any such not-so-dull occurrences.

But no, instead it is the moment I agreed to die my hair with a friend. And I think that it will soon become apparent why.

Rachel and I both have schedules far too busy for our own good, but on this particular day we had found a barely-thirty-minute slot to meet for a quick dinner before splitting off to our separate endeavors once more.

We were sharing a piece of strawberry shortcake my roommate had left for me when Rachel commented that it reminded her of our favorite character from the last animae she hooked me on, a rather genuis black-haired detective named L.
"Remember when I did a cosplay of him?"

A little ashamedly I admitted that I just might have been looking at the pictures of it on FB the other night. Not stalkerish or anything, just that last time I talked with her we had gotten to discussing her hair and I mentioned that I had liked it best red, but then I couldn’t really remember what it had looked like black . . . (Within the first year I had known her, Rachel had four different hair colors. That's Rachel). 

Well, anyways, she agrees that she liked it best red too, but then adds that what she really wants is black with cyan tips, so I confide that I’ve always thought darker brown with dark red tips would look cool for myself.

“Do you want to dye our hair together?" She asks.

“Yeah!” I exclaim without a second thought. (I’ve been doing that a lot lately, and I should probably stop, but so far it’s been all good things.) 

The conversation moves on to other topics so that it isn’t till she is about to leave that I ask her, “So when are we dying our hair?”

“Oh, well BYU won't let us do colored tips, so it would have to wait until after graduation.”

At this I’m honestly a little frustrated. I was kinda hoping it would be within the next week or so because otherwise there is no way I’m going to hold through with this.

And then suddenly it clicks.

She had planned me into her future.

Perhaps that’s a dramatic way to view a simple conversation about a crazy idea that may or may not ever even happen, but what did happen in that moment . . .

That alone was worth breaking the piggy bank of silence to invest, with nothing more than promised words and hopeful narratives, in a cheaply bought, yet priceless future.