The Bag Full of Hair

There's a bag full of hair on the street corner. Bright blonde hair. Golden hair. In little chunks in a small brown paper bag. On the corner of 15th and Harrison. They look like the clippings of a haircut, swept up into a lunch sack. There's no blood. Not that I can tell. I laugh because I'm uncomfortable. With a furrowed brow she looks away from me.

"It's not funny. It's creepy. What is wrong with you?"

"I know it's not funny. It's just...bizarre"

"Yeah. It's weird alright. It's like one of those things you tell yourself you will tell your kids about someday"

"I doubt it"

"Why?"

"I doubt I'll live that long"

She laughs and says, "Well, I'll live that long. I don't smoke"

Then she tells me about a tv show she saw that was about the world ending in 2012 and how it made her feel both terrified and at peace. The story is capped with "should we call the police?"

"The police? What are they gonna do about the Mayan calendar ending in 2012?"

She laughs and says "I mean about that bag with the hair in it, dipshit. What if it's evidence or something?"

"I doubt it's that sinister, Charlotte. It's probably just the remains of a prank or a barber shop's trash"

With an unmotivated urgency she says "Do you want to go out to eat tonight? I want to try that sushi place that Dad likes. With the conveyor belt"

"I suppose. Can we invite Chris?"

She sighes. "Why do we have to invite him?"

"He's my friend. He's going through a rough time right now"

"I suppose you can call him. But after you call the police about that bag of hair. I couldn't sleep if I knew it belonged to a little girl or a rape victim or something"

I can't believe that this woman is related to me. She sounds nothing like me. She sounds nothing like Mom, she uncertainly sounds nothing like Dad.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"

A sigh, a pause.

"Alright, alright. I'll call the fucking police. Jesus"

She smiles as she holds her hand up to her eyes to block out the sun. Her lips are chapped and it reminds me that she is imperfect and that makes me relate to her more. I grew up in her shadow, my taller and older and more attractive sister. Now we're equals of sorts, with blemishes and spare tires and matching bags under our eyes. And chapped lips.

"It sure is bright today".

I say this to make her feel less alone. A verbal squint of solidarity, a wordy echo of her uncomfortable stance.

"Damn straight it is. Will you come with me to buy some sunglasses? Mine broke"

I nod as I notice a group of teenagers congregating across the street. 4 girls and 4 boys. They look awkward and frustrating and obnoxious and endearing all at the same time. One boy with shaggy hair wears a t-shirt that says "2 YOUNG 2 DIE" in big block letters and smokes a cigarette like a beginner.

The image of the bag on the corner hits me again.

"You still want me to call the police?"

She looks down at the ground and mumbles "No. I guess you're right. It's probably nothing".

"We can go back and look at it again if you want. See if we see any clues or anything. Signs of a struggle."

"Like detectives?"

"Like detectives"

"Just like when we were kids"

"Like when we were kids"

You are 5AM

You will always be 5AM to me. Weary, tired and anxious. Rising with the sun. A half-smile across your face as you rise from our shared bed and put on your bra and underwear.

In a haze you ask me if I can drop off your key on your lunch break.

"Okay"

You kiss my forehead like a worried Mother and whisper "go back to bed".

I will miss this the most when I miss you.

The Truth

Scrawled on a piece of notebook paper and taped on her mirror:

Rachel,

There's not really an easy way to say this so I suppose I should just say it. I love you. I mean "I'm in love with you". I know that's hard to hear and I know you're happy with Jeff and I'm happy for you. I just had to say it finally and get it off my chest. I think I've always had feelings for you but I never wanted to hurt our friendship. I hope you are ok with this and things don't have to get weird between us. I can't imagine my life without you so please don't be uncomfortable with me. That's why I never really said anything...to protect that. I've just gotten to the age where secrets seem more and more meaningless to keep. If you are truly a friend then I owe you the truth.

Merle Haggard's House

"Over here on the right. This used to be Merle Haggard's house. And it used to be the only thing for miles and miles"

Cows dot the hills in the distance. I run my tounge along the bottom row of my teeth and fret over the crooked ones. He notices and says "too much sugar".

"You know who Merle Haggard is, right?"

"Of course I do", with mild irritation.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe you don't"

More silence passes by as do random palm trees and orange groves. A sign greets us with "Welcome to Bakersfield".

Eric

"What?"

"What do you mean what?"

"I mean...what? What are you doing?"

"You heard what I said, Greg"

"O.k. I suppose I mean why? Why are you doing this?"

"Cause. It felt good. Ok. It feels good. I...need a change"

"But I can forgive you. We can fix this. You don't have to leave on top of everything else you've done"

"I want to leave"

Silence passes.

"I'm sorry"

"What is his name?"

"Oh, come on, Greg. Don't do this"

"It's just a simple question. What's his name?"

"Eric. Ok. His name is Eric"

"Where did you meet him?"

"I'm not doing this with you. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. Goodbye"

And with that she was gone.

I sat on the couch and slowly started going through the various stages of grief. I cried til I threw up. I rolled the name "Eric" around in my head until it lost all meaning. I repeated the name outloud. Slowly at first and then over and over like a mantra. I got up and said it louder into the living room. I shouted it to the ceiling. It quickly grew from a name to a primitive grunt. I hurled it into the air as I started pounding the wall with my fist. As the days went on it eventually became the only word I could say. People would say "hello" and I would reply "Eric".

"How are you?"

"Eric"

"Where are you from?"

"Eric"

"Eric...what state is that in?"

It grew until people thought that was my name and began calling me Eric. I embodied the spirit of Eric. I became the type of man that would break-up a marriage. I became Eric.

Cloud Cover

The sky was dark grey. Like ash. It was night.

James was standing over Heather's body.

He was thinking about something else. Once on the bus he watched 2 strangers kiss each other. The woman didn't have enough money to pay the fare and promised a kiss to somebody who would help her. An overweight man paid her fare and she kissed him on the lips. He smiled at this thought and Heather thought he was smiling because of her. He wished Heather was a stranger again. He wanted to feel that thrilling discomfort.

She was laid out underneath him, her arms were akimbo and her eyes were closed. She held a pucker with her lips. He leaned down over her until her bare breasts touched his chest. He kissed her once softly and pulled away.

"Goodnight, Heather"

"Where are you going?"

"Home"

Heather laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Wham. Bam. Thank you, ma'am. Is that how it is?", she said teasingly.

"Heather. Come on. You know it's not like that. I'm tired. I want to get some stuff done tomorrow"

Heather laughed again, covering her mouth this time.

"What's funny now?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking of that time you flipped off that guy in the truck and how he followed us home and how silly you looked trying to get him to not kick your ass"

James smiled.

"That scared the shit outta me"

"What's so great about home anyway? Why do you always leave me for it? You gotta secret girl up there?"

James laughed.

"Of course not. I just like my alone time"

Heather playfully grabbed his crotch.

"You mean jack off time"

James batted her hand away, smiling.

"Knock it off! I'm gonna go home, ok? I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Ok"

James thought about tomorrow and the next day and the day after that...all filled with Heather and her same body and same stories. There was a time that gave him comfort but it started to scare him.

James started to drive to his apartment but decided he needed to clear his head. He drove east, he drove west. He flipped the cassette in his tape deck 4 times, listening to each side twice. He drove until the sky was no longer dark grey but light grey. He looked up at the sky and wished it would clear.

Snow Angels

Outside, it snowed. Inside, the family ate supper.

“The potatoes are too salty, Marjorie. Did you add a lot of salt to them?”

Marjorie shook her head and then leaned down to tie her shoe.

“Where’s Greg?”

“Who?”

“Cousin Greg”

“Oh. Gregory. He’s away. In New York City, if you can believe it. With his girlfriend”

“Fiancé, Barbara. It’s his Fiancé.”

“Well…I’ll believe it when I see it, Marjorie”

“Pop, can we go out after dinner and make a snowman?”

“Maybe, son. For now let’s finish eating. Eat your vegetables and your potatoes. They’ll get cold”

“You don’t have to eat them if their too salty, Tim”

“Barbara, please”

They sat in silence again. Finally, Peter, the Father, said, “I think the potatoes are great, Marjorie". Barbara furrowed her brow slightly and looked over at Peter. “I suppose”, she said.

“Can we call him at least?”

“Who?”

“Whom”

“What?”

“Call whom, Mom”

“Oh, jeez. OK, Professor. Call whom?”

“GREG!”

“Again with Greg!”

Greg was Marjorie’s son, Barbara’s Nephew.

“Honey, there’s a time difference. It’s late where your Cousin Greg is”, said Marjorie.

“What time is it there?”

“Oh, let’s see…” Marjorie checked her watch. “Well, it’s almost 8 here so…almost 11. 11pm”

“Oh, boy. I can’t even stay up til 11!”

“That’s right! It’s past your bedtime there! So let’s let Greg be for tonight. OK, Tim?”

“OK, Aunt Marjorie”

Barbara stood up and scratched her thigh. She announced, “I’m going into the kitchen to fix a drink and take dessert out of the oven. Does anyone need anything?”

“Some milk, Mom”

“I’ll have a scotch, Barb. On the rocks”

“Marjorie?”

“No, thank you. I’m…I’m going to go outside and get some air”

Marjorie stood up and looked at Barbara for a moment before turning and walking to the door.

“Is Aunt Marjorie OK, Pop?”

“She’ll be fine, Tim. She…she….just misses your Cousin Greg a lot”

“I miss him too”

“Not like she does, son. It’s…different when…you’ll understand when you have kids”

“Eww. I do NOT want to have kids. You have to put your pee-pee in a girl’s butthole to have a baby”

Peter laughed in spite of himself.

“Tim! Watch your mouth!”, Barbara yelled from the kitchen.

“Tim. You don’t…son, who told you that?”

“Bobby Jenkins. He said that’s how you make a baby”

“That’s not how it works”

“He lied? But he never lies. His parents go to church and everything”

“I’m sure he thinks he’s right, Tim. That’s not how it works though”

“How do you make a baby then?”

Peter sat speechless for a moment. He grabbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh.

“Um…I don’t…how old are you now, son?”

“Eight. Pop! My birthday was just last month!”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m not…well…” Peter leaned closer to Tim. “I’ll tell you later, OK? When your Mother isn’t around”, he whispered.

“Is it a secret?” Tim whispered back.

“No…but I don’t know if your Mother wants you to know quite yet. Alright?”

“Alright”

Outside, Marjorie sat on the cold ground smoking a cigarette. She looked up at the stars in the dark, cloudless sky.

“Pop, I’m done with my supper. Can I go outside and play with Aunt Marjorie?”

Peter let out another sigh. “I suppose. I need to talk with your Mother anyway. But, Tim…if your Aunt says she wants to be alone…leave her alone, OK?”

“OK, Pop”

Tim put on his hat and gloves and went outside to sit next to Marjorie who was now lying on the cold ground.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothing, Tim. Just…thinking”

“About what?”

“Oh…nothing. Your Cousin Greg. Your Mother. Lots of things”. She flicked her cigarette over the hill, into the darkness.

Marjorie turned to Tim and smiled.

“Why you sitting on the cold, wet ground like that? You’re gonna get cold, Aunt Marjorie”

“No reason, Tim.”

“You want to make a snow angel?”

Marjorie laughed.

“Ha. I haven't made a snow angel in...sure. You and me, kiddo. Let's make us a whole army of snow angels”

“OK!”

Marjorie and Tim lay in the snow for some time, making snow angels and laughing.

Inside, Barbara and Peter got drunk in the kitchen and ate blackberry pie.

“Let’s go see what the kids are up to, Peter”

“Your Sister isn’t a kid, Barb. She’s a grown woman”

“Oh, hush. You know what I mean”

Peter and Barbara laughed when they found Tim and Marjorie in the snow like that.

“You wanna help make snow angels, Ma?”

“Oh, what the hell. Peter?”

“Shit. Why the hell not?”

“Pop! You said the s word!”

“It’s OK, Tim. You can say that word when you’re an adult”

“I can’t wait to be an adult!”

The family spent the long winter night outside like that. The smoke from their breath hovered in the air above them; it drifted up above their heads and then over the house until it became invisible.