Bald

To my sister, the only reader of this blog and the one who requested a sweet and romantic short story (against my better judgement) to entertain her. 

She exited from the bathroom humming. Her wet hair created a line of squiggly drops as she made her way from the bathroom to the bedroom. She could hear the sound of a keyboard's buttons being gently struck in the other room, and there was an intense smell of coffee. 

"He's working," she thought.

She sat before the credenza and proceeded to brush her hair in long sweeping motions. Her arm soon grew tired. She noticed the clumps of hair falling all round her. She was surrounded by wavy strands of long black hair on the floor. They formed a half circle, like guards protecting her from an unknown danger, A thought came to her. It was of such urgency that she had to rush to the study to divulge the contents of her mind.

"My hair is falling," she announced, standing in the doorway, her hair still dripping.

He looked up from the computer, his glasses on the tip of his nose and looked at her. He laughed.

"You should cut it, you know that," he said with a smile as he took off his glasses and laid them gently on the table. He stretched and yawned like a cat. His hair was flecked with white and his unshaven beard has turned slightly silver. 

"I thought you liked long hair," she paused, "not that I care what you like. I am a strong, independent woman."

"I know," he said.

"Will you still find me attractive when I am bald?" she asked as she twisted a strand of hair on her index finger. There was now a tiny puddle of water next to her feet. The strand of hair soon became a clump that dislocated itself from the rest of its brethren. As she noticed that, she sighed.

"Honey, you are tripping and dripping at the same time."

She glanced down and sighed again. At that, he left his desk, took her hand and led her back to the desk.

"Sit down, please madam," he said in a pleasant tone like a salesman at the beginning of a sales-pitch.

"What are you doing?" 

"Trust me," he whispered in her ear and kissed her neck.

He turned on his computer and after fiddling with the mouse, some tunes started playing. It was swing music of the 30s. Soon, the whole house bounced and swayed to the gentle rhythm of the old songs.

"Oh, I love this music," she gushed.

He went to the cupboard where he kept the coffee machine and started to make a coffee. 

"You need another one, huh?" she said, "you should consider cutting down on your coffee intake."

He then brought the cup and laid it down before her. 

"You know I am not a fan of coffee," she said.

"Trust me," he reiterated.

She took a sip. Her eyes opened wide as she realized the exact type of coffee she was drinking.

"Is that the coffee that I drank in Peru? How did you find it? I searched for days after..." she interrupted her own speech as she took another hurried sip. "Yum," she added. 

"Just close your eyes now and think of nothing but Peru's high mountains and a cool gust of wind tickling your pretty cheeks," he said.

She did just that.

She imagined herself trekking through the lush, green mountains of Peru, but soon her fantasy lulled her into dozing off. The comfortable, leather chair only exacerbated the case and soon she struggled to keep her eyes open. Every now and then, she would resist and open her eyes to see him holding a pair of scissors or a small comb or snipping a strand of hair. 

"Wake up, honey," he said as he shook her awake.

She opened her eyes. "Did you douse my coffee with something?"

"What? No."

He took her hand and led her back to the bedroom. She saw her reflection in the mirror as they walked in and gasped. 

"What? How?" she screamed. Instead of her long, black hair, she now sported a short 1930s bob, one that would could be imagined on a character of a Fitzgerald novel. 

"Remember when we were watching The Great Gatsby? You said that if you were ever brave enough, you would cut your hair like Daisy? I figured now was the opportune moment to do so," he explained.

"But how did you manage it?"

"I took some lessons at that fancy hairdresser's near our building. I showed him the haircut and told him I wanted to be able to cut only this style. I spent weeks practicing on dolls. It was kind of creepy, really," he said scratching his head, "Anyway, he also gave me some products that he told me you would need to manage it."

She remained silent. Something to which he was not accustomed. 

"If you hate it, we can go to the hairdresser's right now," he added.

She still remained silent.

"Honey, you're scaring me. Say something," he said.

She turned around and kissed him. 

"It's lovely," she said with a tear in her eye, "I love it."

They stayed silent for a while, hugging one another.

"But you still haven't answered my initial question, you know," she said, smiling.