Change Your Hair! Change Your Life!” She snorted. I knew that Sally loved her job as a writer, but these days, she was increasingly bored by it all. Last week, she vented that she wanted to cover something that mattered— hard news —she said, but I told her not to underestimate the powers of Cosmo on the masses. She sighed and said that there’s only so many times you can write about the anatomy of an orgasm without wondering if you’re fak-ing it yourself.
In my bathroom, I poked my head through a garbage bag and stared myself down in the mirror. As a kid, my hair was always 98
a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
flying in my face. My mother would push it away or clip it back with barrettes. “You look so unkempt,” she would say, over and over again, as if tangled hair led to vagabond ways, but within minutes, it was in my eyes again, offering a safe layer between me and the world. Now, I wondered, what was left to protect me?
I took a deep breath and told Sally that I was ready. She started in the back, where I couldn’t see the damage. I felt the vibration of the razor and heard the hum of its motor, but for those first few minutes, it didn’t seem so bad. And once you’ve shaved the back of your head, you really don’t have much of a choice but to continue.
Even if you wanted to stop, which I did when I saw the horsetail-like chunks falling to the ground, you realize that you’ll look too much like a freak to not press on. I mean, you simply can’t get by with a half-shaved head. Even in New York, where trust me, just about anything goes, including a man who wears only skintight polka-dotted spandex and bright green Converse high-tops just about every day of the year. I walk past him most mornings, and no one even turns to notice.
Sally moved on to the sides, and we both agreed that if I’d sported said mohawk while Ned was still around, he wouldn’t have had the balls to leave. I considered stopping there—I’d never have had the guts to pull off a mohawk in my former life, and I reveled in the fact that I looked like an ultimate badass—but I knew that the look was only temporary. Within weeks, those strands, too, would be clogging the drain, serving as a reminder of how much I’d already lost. So I told her to keep going, and not ten minutes later, it was gone.
Sally and I sat silently for five minutes and just stared into the mirror. And then she wrapped her arms around me and held me until I stopped crying.
“I think you’re very brave, you know,” she said.
The Department of Lost & Found
99
“I don’t feel like I am. I’d like to be, but I don’t feel that way at all.”
“You are. Without even knowing it.”
I thought about what she said long after she left. Manny curled up in bed with me, and I watched his breathing grow heavy and his eyes flicker from his deep doggie sleep. I’d read once that brave men aren’t those who never sense fear. The brave men are the ones who sense fear and keep walking toward it. I wondered if it counted if you didn’t have a choice in the first place.
a w e e k l at e r , on an overcast Saturday that had me staring out the window watching the planes soar past on their way to JFK, Dr. Zach called. I’d been contemplating how to move forward when the only place I felt like moving was into a burrowed hole in the ground. So when he offered to help me run errands or come over to keep me company, I declined, sticking my feet on top of the radiator and wiggling my toes. The solitude of myself would be just fine for today, thanks very much.
But when Manny went to the door and whined, I realized that an errand boy might come in handy. Look for small gifts, I heard Janice’s voice in my ear. Zach was at my place in fifteen minutes.
“Are you planning on leaving the apartment at all today?” he asked, as he latched Manny’s leash to his collar.
“Not if I can help it.” I pulled my red chenille blanket over my chest and reached for the
In my bathroom, I poked my head through a garbage bag and stared myself down in the mirror. As a kid, my hair was always 98
a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
flying in my face. My mother would push it away or clip it back with barrettes. “You look so unkempt,” she would say, over and over again, as if tangled hair led to vagabond ways, but within minutes, it was in my eyes again, offering a safe layer between me and the world. Now, I wondered, what was left to protect me?
I took a deep breath and told Sally that I was ready. She started in the back, where I couldn’t see the damage. I felt the vibration of the razor and heard the hum of its motor, but for those first few minutes, it didn’t seem so bad. And once you’ve shaved the back of your head, you really don’t have much of a choice but to continue.
Even if you wanted to stop, which I did when I saw the horsetail-like chunks falling to the ground, you realize that you’ll look too much like a freak to not press on. I mean, you simply can’t get by with a half-shaved head. Even in New York, where trust me, just about anything goes, including a man who wears only skintight polka-dotted spandex and bright green Converse high-tops just about every day of the year. I walk past him most mornings, and no one even turns to notice.
Sally moved on to the sides, and we both agreed that if I’d sported said mohawk while Ned was still around, he wouldn’t have had the balls to leave. I considered stopping there—I’d never have had the guts to pull off a mohawk in my former life, and I reveled in the fact that I looked like an ultimate badass—but I knew that the look was only temporary. Within weeks, those strands, too, would be clogging the drain, serving as a reminder of how much I’d already lost. So I told her to keep going, and not ten minutes later, it was gone.
Sally and I sat silently for five minutes and just stared into the mirror. And then she wrapped her arms around me and held me until I stopped crying.
“I think you’re very brave, you know,” she said.
The Department of Lost & Found
99
“I don’t feel like I am. I’d like to be, but I don’t feel that way at all.”
“You are. Without even knowing it.”
I thought about what she said long after she left. Manny curled up in bed with me, and I watched his breathing grow heavy and his eyes flicker from his deep doggie sleep. I’d read once that brave men aren’t those who never sense fear. The brave men are the ones who sense fear and keep walking toward it. I wondered if it counted if you didn’t have a choice in the first place.
a w e e k l at e r , on an overcast Saturday that had me staring out the window watching the planes soar past on their way to JFK, Dr. Zach called. I’d been contemplating how to move forward when the only place I felt like moving was into a burrowed hole in the ground. So when he offered to help me run errands or come over to keep me company, I declined, sticking my feet on top of the radiator and wiggling my toes. The solitude of myself would be just fine for today, thanks very much.
But when Manny went to the door and whined, I realized that an errand boy might come in handy. Look for small gifts, I heard Janice’s voice in my ear. Zach was at my place in fifteen minutes.
“Are you planning on leaving the apartment at all today?” he asked, as he latched Manny’s leash to his collar.
“Not if I can help it.” I pulled my red chenille blanket over my chest and reached for the
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