Chapter 2: Hair
“I want it long, straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty, oily, greasy, fleecy, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen, knotted, polka-dotted, twisted, beaded, braided, powdered, flowered, and confettied, bangled, tangled, spangled, and spaghettied!”
- Hair, The American Tribal Love Rock Musical
About an hour after I started cuddling my body pillow, I got bored. Really bored. The night was still young as far as I was concerned, I wasn’t really that tired, and the pillow was no closer to touching me back than it had ever been. Besides, I had no classes the next day.
I rolled out of bed, grabbed something that approximated an undershirt, and slipped my robe back on. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed pants too, so I forced myself into some jeans (nice and tight, designed to show off the legs and butt. Has had no noticeable effect on good men so far), put on my shoes, and left, making no effort at all to close the door quietly. Janine can’t be assed to wake up by anything except her cell phone’s alarm clock.
The hallways were quiet and empty, as they always were. People in this dorm kept to themselves so much that it hurt. In my old dorm last year I quite literally knew every girl on my floor by name, and some of the guys too (not any cute ones, for some reason). Here I was aware we had neighbors, but I had never seen them. I didn’t even know what the RA looked like, even though he was two doors down.
I left down the stairwell and descended to the ground floor, taking note of the smell of trash coming from somewhere, before stepping out into the courtyard.
“It’s raining,” I said aloud. But not too badly. Just a good old drizzle, not enough to get through my mass of hair. And thinking of hair, I reached into the pocket of the robe and pulled out the tie which I always left in there. No one was around, so I quickly did up the back of my hair into a ponytail.
Now, I feel like I should clarify something here. I really hate to think about how much I can value my appearance, because it’s such a damn vain thing to do, and girly at that. And usually I don’t care about how I look, since it only matters when I leave my room. But I did tell you that I bothered to do up my hair, so to illustrate my point, I’ll have to concede describing another aspect of my physicality to you, friend reader. I apologize if you don’t like reading these kinds of things in your stories.
My hair. I’ll keep it a secret what color it is (hopefully I won’t have to tell you. You can put your own preference in), but I like it long. A lot of girls don’t. I’m not sure of all the specifics as I’ve never mutilated my hair before, but from what I can gather, some do it to be rebellious and get away from the feminine connotations of flowing hair, some do it because more hair is hard to manage, and some do it, most probably, because it gets their boyfriends harder than longer hair would.
I should hope that last group is a safe minority.
My hair goes down my back and stops just about an inch over where it would no longer be safe to let one’s pants ride in public. It’s pretty straight naturally, which is good for where it flows, but I hate it that way on top. I think that’s because every popular girl in high school had uniformly straight hair, so I like to grow a big mass of it on top, and keep it as comfortably messy as possible. I also like to tie it off in the ponytail I’ve got now, but rather high up (and not too tight. Got to avoid traction alopecia you know). This way I leave my bangs intact, have a rather large ponytail, and still have a bunch of hair that gets to flow behind me.
And why go to all the trouble? Well, the only answer I can give you is that I think it looks badass. Can you imagine how cool it would be if I could charge into battle or something with hair like that? Tribal shit.
There. I just spent three paragraphs and then some talking about my hair. Literary elitists may now brand my God a bad author and strike me down. And if you don’t want to go read something else by now, let’s continue on, how about?
Striding out of the courtyard, I passed under the arch that led out of the building and crossed the slick street, already feeling gravity choose my destination for me. The dorm was built right on the slant of a hill, although that wasn’t out of place on the campus. It had been built about two hundred years ago, and whoever had chosen the location apparently figured the sight of the pristine forests of the area was entirely worth the tremendous amount of leg work it required to get to and from class, although I would tend to agree. Still, this was not a school that the exercise fearing enrolled at. I wasn’t in any mood to fight the downward pull, but that was fine. I liked what was in this direction.
Clopping down the hill and passing through a shadowy parking lot, I reached Glen Park. Probably the most beautiful place on a very beautiful campus. Barely an acre in size and dominated by a pond gilded with blooming trees, it served as a brilliant place for me to go when I was feeling very myself. A covered wooden deck was built right at the edge of the pond, perfect for viewing the mossy, flowering water. I repeated my usual routine of scanning the park to see if there was anyone else around, and when my scan turned up negative, I went up to the railing of the deck and took a look at the world.
It was the right time of year for frogs, and although I couldn’t hear any of them, I knew if I walked around the grass at the water’s edge I would hear at least twenty one small plops as they tried to get away. Funny little guys only knew how to fear bigger creatures.
Speaking of bigger creatures, a couple of them were passing on behind me. When I heard the shuffling of feet on the sidewalk I turned my head around just enough to see two guys go walking by. One of them was more or less obese, wearing a studded collar and a dark shirt labeled with the logo of a particularly shitty band I had heard of.
He failed phase one of the test.
The guy next to him was much more fit looking, with a distinctly V-shaped torso and a mop of blonde hair. Nice face on him, giving the world a smile, and it wasn’t a half bad smile. He also impressed me with the lack of any visible logo on his clothes.
Eh, blondes aren’t really my thing, but he passed phase one anyway.
Both turned to glance at me, and the blonde guy waved. I raised my hand back, and then the guy did a funny thing. He slapped his buddy on the back and broke off from him. The big guy shrugged and went on as Blondie approached me. Slowly, because something deep inside him knew I would bite his head off and drain the blood if I felt threatened.
“Hey,” he said, casting his eyes downward for just a brief second. “I never see anyone else come out here.”
“Don’t you?” I said, and while I would be lying if I said my insides weren’t prepping themselves to melt, on the outside I projected just the hint of a pleased aura. “How often do you come?”
“’Bout once a week.”
You have more self control than I do, man.
He kept his distance, not sure if I was interested or not. The guy was trying desperately to attempt phase two of the test, and damn it he was attractive enough to qualify, so what was wrong with me?
“What’s your name?” I asked, scooting just an inch down the rail. So signaled, Blondie inched closer and joined my side. Not too close, either. That’s crucial.
“Rocky,” he said, letting out a little chuckle. “Yours?”
I told him mine.
“Neat name,” he said. “Foreign?”
“This is America, all our names are foreign.”
“True, true,” he laughed again. He wasn’t faking it at least, but it wasn’t a laugh said in reaction to something funny. This guy was pleased for the even more obvious reason. “So, you can’t sleep either?”
“’Zat why you were out with your friend?”
“Yeah. He’s my roomie, actually. We don’t usually fall asleep until around three or so.”
“Same here.”
Nodding, he stared down at the calm murk and let his shoulders sink. I took another chance to examine him, even if it meant him seeing me do it in his peripheral. His nose was kind of hooked, but that was fine on guys. Cool looking blue eyes. Darker skin for a white guy, too. He belonged on a beach, not out in the Midwest. And if that was the case, it was probable he was incapable of passing phase two.
Test time.
“So, if you come to this park all the time, what’s the reason?” I asked, looking back down at the water.
“Well, it’s quiet,” Rocky said, stretching his words to try and cover the pause that followed. “And, it’s… well, pretty. You know. Park stuff.”
“Yeah. I come out here usually because my roommate is fucking her boyfriend right about now.”
He laughed again. Relief that I don’t mind swearing, likely.
“Seriously? This late?”
“Yep,” I said, nodding. “And even if he doesn’t come over, she usually kicks me out so she can masturbate.”
Shaking his head, he licked the corner of his mouth, focusing on the water. Confused eyes. The guy’s already thinking of some girl touching herself, I can tell. But I’m not offended or anything like that. What am I, a prude?
“Wow,” he said, and he kept shaking his head, slowly, to try and focus on the conversation. What does one say to that when you barely know the girl who said it? That was his job to figure out.
“Well, I mean, everybody does it,” he said, suddenly staring off into the distance. I had my response ready, but I waited seven seconds because I wanted to see his reaction to an awkward silence.
“At least everyone I know,” he tacked on, a wide smile stuck to his face. “I mean, you know, right?”
“I know, right.” I turned around and leaned back on the railing with my elbows, letting my hair hang out in the wind. I noticed Rocky’s eyes snap to it.
“I like your hair,” he muttered.
“Thanks,” I said, and I meant it because usually only girls ever said anything. “My ego doesn’t need any extra stroking, though.”
“Sorry, but it’s really pretty,” he said. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Well, we just met.”
“I mean on anyone else.”
“Of course.”
He chuckled again, but that time it felt forced. I noticed him tapping his fingers on the rail, and he was bobbing his head along with it.
“Am I that intimidating?” I asked, frowning.
“Huh? No.” He stopped the tapping, backed away from the rail, exhaled loudly. He wasn’t giving me what I needed. There was no way to tell if he was going to pass the second test or not. He wasn’t answering the questions the right way.
“Oh crap,” I said, making a show of rummaging through my pockets.
“What is it?” Rocky asked, a glimmer in his eyes.
“I need to call my roommate and ask if she’s done yet. She always forgets to call me even after she’s kicked her boyfriend out, you see.”
Rocky’s smile came back with a vengeance, as he dug into his pocket and handed me his little black phone. I smiled back, took it, and walked off behind a tree. If Rocky was confused, it didn’t matter. I knew he wouldn’t follow. No hopeful guy would be dumb enough to breach seduction tact that easily.
Opening his phone I started looking for the clues I needed. I found them all in fifty-nine seconds.
Number one: His contacts list was almost half girls. And he was most certainly not gay.
Number two: His pictures had numerous photos of him with the same girl over and over. He looked younger, maybe by about two years. It was probably a high school girlfriend, and if he hadn’t deleted the photos, that meant he was staying on with her. In the loosest sense possible, of course.
Number three: He had more than a few texts saved. A lot of them seemed to follow a theme, so I’ll just read one and you’ll get the basic gist: ‘sexy boy your cock felt so good n me. Cant w8 4 tomorow nite- Sexy Butt Roxanne.’ It was dated three days ago.
Way to go, Blondie. That’s an automatic failure right there. No retaking allowed, I’m afraid.
Closing the phone, I made sure to fake a quick phone call with Janine just in case he was listening for sounds, and then I stepped back out from the tree. Blondie was waiting for me with all the patience of frisky puppy.
“How’s it look?” he asked.
“Bad,” I said, handing him back the phone. “She’s freaking out because her boyfriend called out another girl’s name in bed.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Apparently he’s been cheating on her with some girl named Roxanne.”
It was hard to read, but Blondie’s features flickered into distaste for a flash. “Really?”
“That’s a name you don’t see around often anymore,” I said, shrugging. “Hey, who cares, right? Janine’s kind of a bitch, so she deserves it. I just hope her boyfriend hasn’t picked anything up from that Roxanne chick. I mean, him and Janine don’t use condoms. I don’t think he would with anyone he did it with. He’s kind of a brick, you know?”
“Yeah… yeah, that’s pretty fucking stupid.” Blondie’s foot tapped on the ground, his face crumbling away slowly but sweetly.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I just… well, hey, I think I need to be getting back. Gotta let my roommate in and all.”
He gave a shaky wave and started jogging off, in the opposite direction that the
obese guy left in, I might add. As I stood there watching him disappear down the street, part of me really wanted to smile, and it did. It was pretty funny, after all, and I was proud of myself for having pulled that off. Hats off to Roxanne for having such a rare name.
But then my smile slid down into a frown, shielding bared teeth.
“Fuck you for giving me false hope,” I whispered. “Asshole.”
The rain that I had forgotten about started to pick up, ruining the dark calm of the pond, so I turned back towards the dorm and began the upward climb home. I had no idea why I had even bothered to go on the walk. Even though something had finally happened, it had just been another damn reminder that all the men who were ever interested in me couldn’t even compare to my fucking body pillow.
Let's move on.
