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The Accident by Kingfordian22
I wouldn't say I am a vain man, I just care about my appearance. I don't think it's unnatural to give a damn about how I look. I take great pride in my appearance, especially my hair. People say it's my best feature, and I have to agree with them. I do have a great head of hair for sure.
My hair is a shade of chestnut brown infused with caramel highlights. Usually collar length at the back and rather long on top so that I can style the tousled locks as much as I like. My hair is like silk and I love running my hand through it, feeling the thick, silk like tousled locks between my fingers. People have often said I look like a male model with my silk-like locks and fit body and I guess I take pride in that too.
I do enjoy getting my haircut, but being blessed with great hair like this I naturally am particular about who I entrust my locks with. I'm not your type of guy who just gets it clippered short at some barbershop. I don't mind spending large amounts of money on stylists who take time to cut and style my hair. My worst nightmare would be walking out with some hack job that destroys my tousled mane... or having thinning shears applied to my hair. I like it full-bodied and thick, it feels so much better when I run my hand through it.
I had been growing my hair back from what had been the most horrifying haircut of my life in which my thick locks had been reduced to a very short buisnssman's cut. I remember walking into the salon with my thick tousled locks and then watching in horror as the hair on the sides and back of my head was cropped close to my head, the shorn locks sliding onto my lap followed by the stylist lopping off nearly 5 inches of hair on the top and finally giving my hair a session with the dreaded thinning shears. I remember clump after clump of my hair raining down and the sound of the shears was piercing. I walked out with the worst haircut I'd ever had, when I ran my hand through what was left of my hair I felt like crying. That was six months ago and my hair had pretty much grown back to how it usually was thank goodness.
It was a beautiful Saturday morning as I was walking down the streets of the city centre. I liked looking in shop windows and seeing the various shops that populated the street when I came across a newly opened hair salon. I stopped in front of the window and looked inside. A few people were in the chairs including a man who was having his haircut and judging by the amount of hair on the cape... he was only having a trim. I hadn't had a haircut since the bad experience and part of me missed being underneath the cape, having a stylist fuss over my locks and tend to them with care. But I snapped myself out of it reminding myself "you're growing your hair back remember... the tousled hair you love so much, don't you even think about it" . At that point I noticed the stylist had pulled out clippers and had begun clipping the hair on the back and sides quite short and the man in the chair's auburn hair was falling onto the floor and onto the cape in front of him. I shuddered at the sight and ran my hand through my own locks... checking to see if they were still there. Oh, how good that felt... I must be crazy thinking about cutting my thick tousled locks. No way. I wasn't going to do it, I couldn't bare not being able to run my hands through it and feel the silken tousled locks between my fingers and then waiting in agony for it to grow back. I just kept on walking.
After a morning of walking in town, I got in my car to drive home. I looked in my rearview mirror before I started the car. Looking at my reflection my eyes naturally went straight to my hair. That is such good hair... I'm glad I decided not to go inside that salon. I mean, come come on, look at these locks... like a male model. I was still trying to grow it out a bit more anyway. Before starting the engine I fixed the style a bit until it was just perfect. Ok... maybe I am just a little bit vain. A final check of the hair... yep male model... I started the car and began to drive. I drove for about five minutes when suddenly I felt an impact and the car rolling over then I blacked out.
When I came to I remember still being inside the car, but a fire fighter was trying to cut open the car door to pry me out. I must've been trapped. I was taken to the hospital where a doctor found I had a large head wound that needed to be stitched up. That was when I heard the worst part. To do so they'd have to shave off my hair. I was beside myself. I couldn't believe this was happening.
"You've got to be kidding me? shave off my hair? isn't there any other way?" I pleaded
"I'm sorry... there's no other way. It has to go" they told me.
I couldn't believe this. Why I asked myself... why my hair? my tousled chestnut locks with their caramel highlights like a male model. I'd rather lose a leg before I lost my hair. First I have a car accident and now I have to lose my hair too.
I asked for a mirror for a second. I wanted to look at my hair for one last time. I gazed in the mirror, looking at my beloved hair for the last time. The tousled locks that I'd only just grown back from that horrible haircut. I ran my hand through the locks one last time, grazing the wound on my head, but I needed to run it through that final time, who knows how long it'd be until I'd be able to do that again. I didn't even want to think how long it would take to grow it back. The agonizing wait for my hair to grow and return to the tousled style I treasure so much. I handed back the mirror. I didn't want to watch my hair being shaved off, it'd be too painful.
I took a deep breath, "Ok... just get it over with" I told the nurse.
The nurse then grabbed a sheet and draped it over me as a makeshift cape. It was real now. It was happening.
She looked at me with pity. "Such beautiful hair you have too... such a shame" she said with a frown.
Then she fired up what was the noisiest clippers I'd ever heard. The sound was like torture. There was no guard on them, leaving the bare teeth of the clipper visible. I braced myself as I saw them come closer and closer to my forehead. I clinched my fists in anticipation.
Then I heard the sound of the clippers chewing through my hair as the nurse pushed the clippers backwards. Then I felt my stomach churn with dread as a mound of my hair fell into my lap. I was fighting back the tears as much as I could. The sight of my hair on the sheet was worse than during that last horrible haircut. Then I felt another swipe of the clippers and another mound falling into my lap. I felt my eyes welling up with tears as I watched yet another mound fall onto the sheet. My hair really was being shaved off. My treasured locks were going to be gone soon.
The sound of the clippers approaching my left temple was deafening. It drilled into my head and I just wanted it to stop. As I saw a large mound of my locks fall onto my shoulders and slide down into my lap I cringed and I felt more and more of my hair being stripped away. It was a nightmare I just wanted to wake up from, yet I knew that would not happen.
"I gather you are attached to your hair aren't you?" the nurse asked me
I nodded. "Yes... it's my pride and joy" I replied.
She smiled sympathetically, but it was of little comfort to me. I was still going lose my hair.
She stripped the hair on my right side just as quickly and the pile hair on the sheet was huge. I had never seen so much hair come off before and It was torture watching it pile up in front of me.
Then she moved to do the back. I felt the teeth at my nape and gliding up the back of my head. As the locks tumbled onto my shoulders and into my lap I could feel the cold air on the back of my neck. I hadn't felt that in years. I didn't like the feeling. As the last locks were stripped away I felt a tear slide down my cheek. And then I heard the clippers being turned off. The torturing sound was gone.
I looked down into my lap where my hair now lay lifeless. The tousled chestnut locks with their caramel highlights that I treasured so much were gone. I had just gotten my hair back and now it was gone again. When would I be able to run my hand through my hair again and feel the locks between my fingers?
The nurse then stitched up my wound and offered me a glass of water, which I gladly took.
When she finished I asked her if I could have the mirror again. She handed me the mirror.
I was beside myself with what I saw.
Instead of the tousled locks that usually sat perfectly on top of my head were gone. My head was practically bald. The clippers cut the hair so short that there was barely stubble.I definatly didn't look like a male model anymore. In addition to my exposed white skin I now had 5 stitches on my head. I hoped the hair would grow back on that area. I couldn't bare the thought of it not growing back. The tears began to flow as I observed my new look. I felt my head. No locks to run my hand through anymore... My hair meant so much to me, I felt like a part of me had died in that car accident. That beautiful hair I was so proud of was gone and to add to the embarassment of my shaven head, there was the stitches on my head which were so noticable without any hair around them to cover it up. I was just greatful the wound was a small one. But I was dreading leaving the hospital and going out in public looking like this. A proud man like me used to sporting such beautiful hair... walking around bald with a huge wound on my head! I had to buy I hat for sure.
The nurse removed the sheet and I watched in sadness as I saw the shorn locks shower onto the floor. They really were gone.... I was miserable without them. I hated my own reflection at the moment... I pined for my tousled locks that made me look like a male model.
"It'll grow back eventually" the nurse said reassuringly, sensing my despair. But it was of little comfort to me.
"Even where the stitches went?" I asked
"Um... it can sometimes.... but the hair around it would cover it anyway once it grows back. But because it is such a small wound it might grow back on the area where it was stitched" she told me.
I sighed and thanked her. I rubbed my head again and winced. I hated not being able to feel my hair between my fingers. I caught a taxi home and went straight to the mirror in the bathroom. I stared at my reflection and wept for a while. I let it all out, I needed to. When I had let it all out I just stared into the mirror saying "grow hair... grow..." I knew it would take a long time though, the last haircut took 6 months and I actually had some hair then... it'd take even longer for this to grow back. I know I'm lucky to have survived the car accident though and at least my hair will grow back eventually.
It's now 3 months since my accident and my hair has grown a little. I can run my hands through it but I don't feel the same tousled locks I used to feel and it still makes me sick to look at my own reflection. But I am happy to be alive and am just waiting for it to grow back.