It took several minutes just to comb through.
As I cut, I noticed Ray kept watching me in the mirror.
Not in an uncomfortable way.
More like someone studying an old photograph.
And every few minutes, his eyes filled with tears.
I assumed he was emotional because someone was finally treating him kindly.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about the bluebird tattoo.
I wanted to ask what it meant.
Instead, I kept cutting.
After a while, I tried to fill the silence.
“My mother used to cut my hair at our kitchen table.”
Ray went still.
“She was terrible at it. My bangs were always crooked.”
I laughed.
“That’s probably why I became a stylist.”
He didn’t respond.
“She used an old bedsheet as a cape.”
Still nothing.
“And she always sang the same song.”
Ray’s chin started trembling.
I continued.
“Something about bluebirds.”
His eyes lifted toward mine in the mirror.
Then tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Over the Rainbow,” he whispered.
My scissors stopped.
That was the song.
Exactly.
“How do you know that?”
He didn’t answer.
I finished the last section of hair.
Then suddenly Ray began crying.
Not quietly.
His whole body shook.
I put down the scissors.
“Ray?”
He turned toward me.
“Your mother asked me never to contact you.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“But I don’t have much time left.”
His voice cracked.
“And I couldn’t leave this world without seeing you once.”
I could barely breathe.
“Do we know each other?”
Ray reached inside his jacket.
His fingers shook as he pulled out an old yellowed envelope.
“I’ve been looking for you for years.”
He held it toward me.
On the front, written in faded blue ink, were words I recognized instantly.
**For Lucy. When he’s earned it.**
It was my mother’s handwriting.
“Where did you get this?”
“She gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Two months before she died.”
I stepped backward.
“No.”
Ray lowered his head.
“She came to see me at the correctional facility in Huntsville.”
I stared at him.
“She told me she was dying.”
