I stood in front of the mirror, holding the
clippers out in front of me, and stared at my reflection. I hated it.
I hated what I saw. What I saw
every time I passed a mirror or a glass door.
Patches of hair, patches of baldness, a shock of dark brown in the front
and back and pale white skin on the sides.
People thought I cut my hair like that on purpose, I knew, thinking I
was some sort of skinhead who couldn’t shave in a straight line. I angled my chin down and tried to catch a
glimpse of my crown. I saw it just for a
second. Splotchy. Shaggy and then bumpy spots of irritated
skin. I looked like a circus freak, a
scary clown. Or a prisoner in a
concentration camp. I didn’t want to see
this anymore. I didn’t want anyone to
see this anymore.
I turned on the clippers that I held in
front of my chest. I felt the buzz
throughout my whole body. It felt like
reassurance. Like I could do something
to make my life better. I brought the
clippers up to my forehead and look at my reflection once more.
I looked like a unicorn. Ha. A
smirk played out along my lips. Just as
soon as the moment of levity had appeared, it was replaced by that overpowering
sadness that I felt was taking over my life.
No more. No more. I thought back to last week, back to Friday’s
math test, the one I’d stressed out about the whole week. I didn’t realize it as it was happening. I was filling in the scantron with one hand,
and my other hand crept up to the side of my head. Unconsciously, reflexively, I started to pick
at the few bristly hairs that still remained above my ear. Yanking out one, then the next. Digging into the skin with the fingernails to
really grip that short little wire and yanking it out with quick jerks. I let each one fall onto my desk as I got it
free. I didn’t notice. I think I was just sort of staring off into
space. That is, until Chad, who was
sitting beside me, decided to make a scene.
“Why do you do that to yourself?” he
bellowed, and all heads in the class, mine included, whipped toward him to find
out who he was yelling at. I thought
maybe it was someone sitting on my other side and turned my head to look the
other way when suddenly I was realized that Chad was staring at me.
And so was everybody else. And I
instantly became aware of my hand on the side of my head and my eyes flashed
down and saw the little hairs covering my test paper and then the hotness
burned across my cheeks. I shoved my
hand into my other armpit and looked intently down, not wanting to show anyone
my shame. But I could feel myself being
betrayed by the blushing of my face.
I took a deep breath and pushed the buzzing clippers
onto my head. I felt the vibration
rattling throughout my whole skull.
Clenching my teeth, I closed my eyes and pushed it back, toward my
crown. I opened my eyes just in time to
see a whole lock of hair fall in front of my face and into the sink. It made me catch my breath in anxiety. No! What was I doing? Why was I shaving what little hair I had
left?!
But I knew I had to do it. As much as I didn’t want to be bald, I knew
that if I had no more hair, I couldn’t pick it out anymore. And that would be that. That would pretty much bring an end to all of
my problems. This was the only thing to do.
So I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth
again and finished the job. I got rid of
it all. And when I’d finished, I opened
my eyes and looked at my handiwork and then sunk to the floor and cried.
That was last month. It wasn’t quite the end. With no hair left on my scalp, I’d taken to pulling
out my eyelashes as I fell asleep each night.
I didn’t know it was happening until one eye was naked. And then a few days later, the other one. But then
it was finally done. Sure, it looked
weird – people probably thought I was one of those people who couldn’t grow
hair - , but it was done. Finally. It had been weeks already since I’d pulled
out any hair. It was great. I felt great.
I was sitting on the couch in my basement
talking to Becky. Becky was cool. We were pretty close friends. I don’t really know how it happened. We’d just started hanging out a lot around
the time that I shaved my head and we were still hanging out a lot. She was cool.
I wouldn’t say there was anything going on between us. We were just friends. But then, we were sitting alone in my
parents’ basement, just talking, just the two of us. We seemed to do that a lot lately. Maybe there was something there. I don’t know.
I don’t remember what we were talking
about. Probably school. Or music, probably music. I was kind of tired. It had felt like a long day, and we were just
relaxing, sitting pretty close together on the couch. I think at the time I was daydreaming a bit. Talking, but my mind wandered a little. Maybe thinking about us. Maybe wondering why I couldn’t seem to get a
girlfriend. Maybe thinking that this
could turn into something more.
“What... are you doing?!” Becky’s voice shocked me out of my thoughts. It was annoyed, maybe even afraid. I looked at her, confused. What was going on? And then I saw it. My hand.
At her face. At her eyes. I was pulling at her eyelashes. I jerked my hand away and tried to hide it
behind me. I felt that burning in my
cheeks again. Ow, it was so hot. I looked back into Becky’s eyes. She looked offended. But she looked scared. No. No
no no. I didn’t want her to be afraid of
me. No, no, please, no. Please no.
“I, uhh, sorry, I’m sorry. Sorry.”
I stammered and she said it was okay but neither of us believed it. I tried to go back to talking, but she found
a reason to excuse herself quickly. She
went home. I think I stared at the door
for five minutes after she left. And
then, suddenly realizing I was alone again, I sunk down to the floor. And I cried.
That was the day I finally decided I was
going to talk to my doctor about this. I
can’t do this anymore.
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