Source of All Hair
On a dull Monday morning in Massachusetts, a Black woman awoke to find she had grown a person out of her hair.
This annoyed her greatly. Her coworkers barely understood shrinkage, let alone a spontaneous life force.
“Care to go away for a whhhile?” the hair whispered.
“You know a place?”
“I doo,” it said emphatically. “One made up of just you and all you bring in.”
“Just me, huh?” Between a pandemic, a burning planet, and her Pilates instructor learning that racism was still a thing, she was so done with other people.
“A clean ssllate,” the hair said, pointing toward her fridge, which now opened to a gaping white void. “What will you take with you?”
The woman looked down at her oversized nightdress and striped socks.
“Just me,” she decided. “Less chance of messing things up.”
And with that, she stepped out.
Leaving all this behind.
