Rock Star Hair
Rock Star Hair
My Father, once an energetic lead singer and guitarist for a rock band, had been cut loose when the alcohol abuse kicked in. After going through a divorce with my Mother, his days were spent watching the tube with a six pack within reach. He may have been soulless and inebriated most of the time, but I still cared for him, so I stayed at his place a few times a month to keep him company.
One night that we were watching TV together, an informercial grabbed his attention. A man in a cheap suit was on stage talking into a microphone as a fake-looking, almost animatronic-like band of guitarists and a drummer were swaying back and forth, playing music behind him.
“Do you miss your rock star hair? Do you want to impress the girl of your dreams? We can help! A seed a day keeps the hair from turning gray. But wait, there’s more! Has the top of your head been feeling a little bare lately? Our seeds are guaranteed to grow out those golden luscious locks. Just call the number on the screen to place your order!”
My Father was dialing the number before I could finish laughing.
“Dad, I know you hate being bald, but do you really believe this shit? It’s a scam,” I said, hoping he wasn’t really buying into this nonsense.
“Jeremy, I have to win her back. I miss your Mom,” he responded.
“You know she didn’t leave you because you lost your hair, right?”
“Maybe this will help me get better, build my confidence.”
A packet of seeds arrived the next morning. My Father popped them open and downed the bag.
“How long does it take until it works?” I asked him.
“It says on the package to expect results within a day,” he replied.
Around two in the morning, something tickling my face woke me up. I opened my eyes and froze when I saw that the room had been filled from floor to ceiling with a golden bristle-like object. Every inch of space around me, wavy, tingling hairs.
“Jeremy, help me,” my Father’s voice murmured.
I trudged through the hair, gagging as locks tried to nestle their way into my mouth. It felt like it took an hour to maneuver my way from the bedroom to the living room. And then I saw his face amongst the sea of hair. It reminded me of what chewed gum looks like when you pull it apart with your fingers. My Father wailed while the thousands of hairs around him stretched his face and removed it from the bone beneath.
The room of hair shrank down to the size of a tumbleweed and rolled out the front door. I was at a loss for words. A skeleton was all that remained of my Father. Weeks later, I stumbled upon that infomercial. And behind the main in the suit, I recognized the guitarist. He had my Father’s face.## TLDR Summary: