Lynette’s Hair Is Missing, by Davis Horner
George liked Lynette. He thought she was a nice girl. But he loved her hair. He loved it with a fever. He thought about Lynette’s hair day and night. It robbed him of sleep. So obsessed did George become about Lynette’s hair that he decided he must do something about it. He called Lynette’s number.
“Hi, Lynette. It’s George.
“I was wondering, Lynette. Do you think your hair would like to go out with me?”
“Just my hair?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I like you Lynette. You’re a nice girl. But I was hoping to spend some time with your hair.”
“Let me check.”
A few seconds passed, then Lynette returned. “Yes, I think that would be okay,” she said. “I want you to bring my hair home by twelve midnight, though.”
“I will, Lynette. I’ll come by and get your hair at seven.”
Lynette’s hair was indeed beautiful, and it had personality. It was thick, lustrous, with a full wave. It bounced gingerly when she walked. When she turned her head it shimmered. George had seen Lynette’s hair as a brilliant copper red, and with bright blue streaks, and as raven black, and as neon green, and as sunshine yellow. He couldn’t have said with certainty what Lynette’s hair’s natural color was. It didn’t matter. It was beautiful in any form.
Lynette had consented for her hair to go out on a date with George, but after they left she had a hard time being relaxed. She watched TV. She listened to her Ipod. She did some yoga. She took a walk around the block. She felt strange without her hair. “This must be how a parent feels,” she said out loud.
At midnight Lynette listened for George and her hair to arrive. By twelve thirty they still were not home. By one o’clock she was feeling very anxious. She reached for the pack of cigarettes she had on the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard. She had quit smoking three months ago, but kept a pack for times of crisis.
By the time the sun came up that morning Lynette had smoked the entire pack of cigarettes. She decided to call the police. They said they would send an officer right over. Ten minutes later there was a knock on Lynette’s door. It was Bob the policeman.
“Hello Lynette. They told me your hair is missing?”
“Yes. It was supposed to return at twelve midnight.”
“It’s a little too early to file an official missing hair report, but I’ll do what I can. Was your hair by itself or with somebody?”
“It went on a date with George. I told him to bring my hair back by midnight, but I haven’t heard a thing.”
“Did George say where they planned to go?”
“To a movie, I think. And he mentioned they might go by Starbuck’s.”
“Lynette, I’ll ask around. I know you’re concerned. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
Bob the policeman stopped by Starbuck’s. He could ask them if anyone had seen the missing couple and also order a Frappacino. He walked up to the counter.
“Hi. I’d like a Frappacino,” he said.
“You bet!” said Felicity the barista.
“Also, I was wondering if anybody here had seen Lynette’s hair. Or George.”
“They came in last night,” said Felicity. “It was about seven fifteen. George got a latte. Lynette’s hair didn’t get anything.”
“About how long did they stay?”
“Did anyone mention where they might be going next?”
“Do you know where George lives, by any chance?”
“Sure. Go down the street for two blocks. Take a left. George is the third door on the right.”
“Thanks,” said Bob. “Hey, how come you know all this stuff?”
“I’m the neighborhood barista,” said Felicity. “People tell me everything.”
Bob the policeman found George’s house and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He knocked again. There was still no answer. He heard computer sounds from inside. He tried the door knob and it opened. He found George sitting in his den playing “Legend of Zelda: The Wind Walker”. He was wearing ear phones. Bob tapped George on the shoulder.
“Are you George?”
“Where is Lynette’s hair?”
George didn’t say anything. His eyes darted back and forth.
“I know you were with Lynette’s hair last night. Where is Lynette’s hair, George?”
“I ate it,” said George, and looked at the floor.
Bob pulled out his handcuffs. “George, I’m placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”
“Wait!” said George. “How can you arrest me? What law have I broken? What law is it and where is it in the Code of Laws?”
“George, you can’t go around eating people’s hair. It’s wrong. You just can’t.” As he continued telling George his Miranda rights, he handcuffed him and led him to the car.
When they arrived at the police station Bob took George into the interrogation room. “You’re going to have to cough the hair up,” said the policeman.
“No, I will not,” said George, crossing his arms defiantly.
“If you’re going to be difficult, we may have to take different measures. Will you voluntarily cough up Lynette’s hair?”
“No,” said George. “You don’t understand. I love Lynette’s hair. You can’t make me give it up.”
Bob the policeman picked up a telephone and punched two buttons. “Yes, it’s Bob. Could you come down to interrogation room one please?” He returned the receiver. “We’ll see whether we can make you give it up or not.”
Two officers entered the room, and a man in a lab coat. Bob and the two officers picked George up and laid him on the table holding him down. George protested loudly, but they held his arms and legs on the table.
The doctor produced an apparatus with a long rubber tube and a cylindrical device with a handle. “Please swallow this tube,” said the doctor.
“No! I won’t!” shouted George. “You’re going to pump my stomach out? You’re crazy!”
Bob leaned over and almost touched George’s nose with his nose. “Listen here. Either you swallow this tube or we’re going to knock you out, cut your stomach open, and empty the contents that way. Which one will it be?”
George began swallowing the tube, gagging and coughing. Finally it reached into his esophagus. The doctor slowly drew up the handle of the cylinder. George coughed, gagged, spit, retched, gurgled while the pump did its work. The doctor paused after two minutes and pulled the tubing out.
“There are a few strands of hair at the back of his mouth,” said the doctor. “I’ll try to pull them out with these foreceps.”
The doctor pulled out a thin thread of hairs at first, until it grew into a thick rope. He pulled and pulled. More and more hair came out. Bob could hardly believe how much hair George had eaten. Finally the entire rope of hair was removed. It looked to be seven or eight feet long. George was bent double at the edge of the table, holding his middle, coughing and gasping for breath.
Lynette’s hair, once so gorgeous, lay limp on the table at the police station. It still had streaks of blue, though the color was dulled. It was tangled and dreaded, follicles were split, and it was coated with George’s saliva, mucus, bile, digestive enzymes, and other half-digested food particles.
“I’m going to release you George,” said Bob. “I hope you’ve learned a lesson. Don’t go anywhere. Lynette may want to sue for damages, plus you have to pay for any expenses. I’ll be watching you.”
Five minutes after George had left Lynette arrived at the station. She saw her hair on the table and began sobbing. “My beautiful hair!” she cried.
“I’m sorry,” said Bob, putting his arm around Lynette’s shoulder. “Is there anybody you know that could rehabilitate your hair?”
“I know someone I could call,” she sniffled.
“George is liable for the cost,” said Bob. “After all, he’s the one that ate your hair.”
Lynette called her stylist, Veronique, and described her predicament. Veronique insisted that yes, she could bring Lynette’s hair back to life and she would be more than happy to do it. “I have always adored your hair! I’ll be right over.”
Lynette’s hair was put into a sealed container for Veronique to carry it. By the time she left with the hair she had spoken to Lynette about what her plan was and Lynette was very relieved. “I’ll be so glad when this nightmare is over,” she said. “I’ll never let my hair out of my sight again.”
It took Veronique a few days to complete the hair rehabilitation. George had already decided to swear off of hair for good, but if he had any lingering doubts, he let them go the day he received the statement from Veronique for services rendered, including a note from Bob the policeman that said: “Remit full amount by return mail, or expect to see me at your front door the day after tomorrow.”
George looked at the statement.
Redken Diamond Oil Shampoo – $60
Philip B. Oud Royal Conditioner – $60
Shu Uemura Full Shimmer Illuminating Treatment Masque – $136
Oribe Thick Dry Finishing Spray – $74
Kerastase Initialiste – $120
Frederic Fekkai Ageless Overnight Hair Repair – $380
One months prescription of Ativan – $35
Hair Love by Veronique’s skilled and tender hands – $785
Total – $1650
George stared at the statement for ten minutes, sighed, and pulled out his checkbook. “I’m through with hair,” he said.
Davis Horner studied elves at Furman University. He became a writer as a young man, quit in disgust to become a musician, and now is writing again. He has had stories placed recently at Scrutiny, Foliate Oak, Gravel, and Furious Gazelle. He lives in Greenville SC with his wife and two cats. His wife and one of the cats are internationally famous. He is not.
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Tags: dating, Davis Horner, food, misunderstandings, romance