The First Visit. With PCP. (Part 1)

Her hair looked like this, sort of. But, oh, so much better. My first visit to this office, and the eyes, as they do, scan the room, its occupants, and then lock in on the hair. “How smart and understanding nature is, always leading us to the most beautiful!” (P. Highsmith)

I’m sitting on the examination table. Anxious. The paper, Crepe I think they call it, so very thin, so very smooth as the hand glides over its surface, crinkles as I shift. For protection, I’m sure, from bacteria of others. I lift my hands from the unprotected edges of the table, and put them in my lap.

I wait.

There’s a double tap on the door, and Hair walks in.

She’s masked. I’m masked. Breath flows up my mask, fogs up my glasses. Is that claustrophobia or vertigo? My head spins. I remove my glasses. Get a grip Man.

Locs? Dreadlocks? Dreads?  Come to think of it, I’ve never been this close to Hair like this.

“Sir? Are you OK?”

“I’m sorry. My mind drifted for a moment.” Please God, tell me that I didn’t try to touch her Hair. [Read more…]

%d bloggers like this: