"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Yes." He said, "We might as well get it done."
Hands shaking.
"I'm scared. I can't believe I'm doing this."
"You just got to get in there." He assures me.
I dip the razor into the coffee cup filled with water, still hesitant, I ask him if I should trim it with scissors first. He shakes his head 'No'.
He curls his top lip tightly down and tilts his chin up towards me.
And I say, "Okay, here goes...."
I press the blade of the razor to the top his mustache and make small motions downward.
"You can press harder if you want."
"Well, I don't want to cut you."
My eyes shade over in a misty way, the way they do when tears are about to come. He then changes his lips into an exaggerated kiss pout. It looks funny with all the soap. I lean forward and plant a big one on him, soap and all.
He, then goes back into the shaving position. I take a deep breath and firmly press the razor against his mustache and draw downward. Making small motions and taking more of his mustache off. Dipping the razor back into the coffee cup, I walk to the bathroom for a change of water. Pouring the cup into the sink, I watch the remains of carmel-colored hair slip down the drain.
"Oh, C'mon, you know you have been wanting this for a long time." He teases.
His mustache had long been a source of teasing between us and there were moments that I really, really, did want to shave that thing off. He had his mustache when I met him and it was nice and trim and grew down the sides of his mouth and stopped at his chin. A few years into our marriage, apparently he decided (without me) that he wanted a full Sam Elliot type mustache. The kind that grew all in one length and would cover his entire front lip.
I would make jokes, like- When it gets long enough are you gonna braid it? I would complain that in order to go in for a kiss I had to go 'under and up' just to find his lips. When he drank his chocolate milk the whole front of his mustache would become soaked and separate into two dripping points and I would say, "Ummmmm, you have a little something on your lip." There were times I suggested he get some wax and twist his mustache upward. It went on and on.
Every year, on my birthday, he would walk out of the bathroom cleanly shaven and the sight would nearly cause me to faint from shock! It was kind of like his birthday present to me. I actually loved when he did that because he had the faintest scar on the right corner of his upper lip. I found it so sexy. The rest of the time, the mustache was there to stay.
As I leaned across him, removing more, I knew he was right. The mustache was getting in the way now. Especially since he had to wear a cannula for his Oxygen.
We both knew we would never see him again with that mustache and we also knew that from here on -I would be the one to shave him.
"Well, Honey, I never really meant all that and now I wish we could keep it."
While making the last stroke,
revealing that little scar I liked so much.
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