Me and Mustache

I realize that I've been sort of absent this summer and I felt that you . . . all of you . . . all of my faithful readers . . . all of my hundreds of faithful readers deserved an honest explanation. Since I've not been spending that much time with you I felt that you deserved an explanation of WHO I've been spending my time with. Even better, let me show you who I've been busy frolicking around with this summer:


That's my mustache. Ain't he cute. Sigh. I can honestly say that this summer has been something out of a dream. When I shaved off my beard so that I had just a mustache I thought my face would change not my LIFE. But LET ME TELL YOU I was wrong. I had no idea what was in store for me. The late night gossip fests. Drinking a couple of brews at minor league baseball games. Frisbee on the Cape. Picnics under the shade of bushy willow trees. I had written off willow trees friends. Written them off many a day ago. But my mustache taught me so many lessons about the world around me. Nature. The air. I'm talking spiritual lessons. Lessons of things beyond taste and touch. But my mustache also made me laugh. His jokes. His hilarious anecdotes of barbershops past and present. Most times I couldn't believe that he wasn't just pulling these stories out of thin air but he insisted they were true. I would try to retell them here but I know they would fall flat without my mustache's flair for the dramatic and perfect comic timing. My mustache also protected me. The way he spoke to those street toughs that one late night. I didn't know he had it in him. They must not have either and how we laughed and laughed at them as they scattered like frightened Eskimos. Yes. Me and mustache have been as thick as thieves this summer. But alas just as a good piece of pie has to be finished so too do some friendships. For oh so many reasons I have begun to grow my full beard back. And, as is to be expected, mustache took it quite hard. Here's a picture of us right after I told him:
We're both sad, as is quite obvious. And things aren't the same between us. We went out for one last picnic under a bushy willow tree. But it felt more like a chore than a pleasant evening outdoors. When he wasn't staring off into the distance in cold silence he was sneaking dagger-like glances at the stubble slowly creeping in on my boyish chin. I asked him to tell me about the Handle Bar Mustache Incident of '46 again. And he did. But the story fell flat. There was no drama. There was no comedy timing. It was just your average, run of the mill, everyday story about handle bar mustaches. And as I packed up the basket I saw out of the corner of my eye my mustache looking up at the bushy willow tree its branches slowly waving this way and that in the wind. "Whatca lookin' at mustache?"
"Oh . . . oh nothing . . ."
"No. What is it? Is it some sort of bird?"
"No. It's just the leaves. The way . . . the way they . . . move . . . you think you can predict . . . this one'll go this way and that one that way but then you watch and you couldn't guess if you were the luckiest man this side of The Mississippi . . . it's so . . . oh . . .well . . . Thoreau he was . . . he was such a smart man. He . . . well . . . it's nothing."
"Oh . . . okay. Well you want to head back mustache? We might be able to catch the end of Ice Road Truckers. You know how much you delight in that show."
"You know. I don't think I'm up for TV tonight. I think I'm just going to wash up and turn in."
"Oh. . . Well. Okay."
And as we walked away I swear I saw him strain to see the willow tree disappear into the horizon.
We got into the car and before I turned it over I looked at Mustache and said to him, "You know Mustache no matter what happens you'll always be with me. You'll always be with me Mustache . . . on my lip and in my heart. Always."
He didn't say anything. His silence spoke for him. I turned the key and we drove away.

Jason and Mustache
June, 2008-July, 2008