|
|
|
Why I Shaved My Head |
| Written by Nathan Bittel | |
| Monday, 03 March 2008 | |
People often wish that they had some kind of super power. How cool would it be to be able to jump over a tall building? Wouldn't it be fun to be able to bench press a bulldozer? All of that would be great, but no one ever mentions the side effects, or the problems with such abilities. What about the guy who can read people's minds? Let's think about that for a minute. I know what runs through my mind, usually sex or something pertaining to sex, but even when I'm not thinking of mounting the cutie on the bicycle, my thoughts are either incredibly boring or incredibly disturbing. I would consider myself pretty down to earth; the same can't be said for a large portion of the population. I sure as hell wouldn't want to know what they're thinking.
That's the problem with so called super powers. The world in which people exist in isn't meant to accommodate someone who can turn invisible, or the girl who can turn into a man. I won't even discuss the person who has the super powered sense of smell. Let your own imagination run with that one.
I used to have the same crazy fantasies about having the ability to fly; even had a couple of dreams. People always wish that they'd somehow be different. Look around, men who dress like women and people who have enough ink under their skin to put Bic out of business. Every single one of them thinks they're different in some way. The truth is; they're not. There are millions of people with some kind of tattoo on their body, millions of people with piercings in wacky places, and every single one of them thinks that they have somehow set themselves apart from everyone else.
To truly be different, to walk through a crowd and know that you are the only person like you is a terrifying thing. It kills your sense of belonging; it can make you bitter if you let it. Everyone has secrets that they feel makes them different but even those secrets, the ones we are ashamed of and don't even tell our loved ones, aren't all that different. Deep down, everyone knows this.
I grew up like any normal kid, wishing I had powers, wishing that I were somehow different. I prayed to God to make me different, somehow better. I used to think God hated me for not listening. I don't think that anymore. God actually did listen, and now I'm sure he hates me.
You always hear "Be careful what you wish for" your entire life. Very few people can truly grasp the truth in it though. If I could go back and make everything go away, I would. In a heartbeat. The truth is, normality is far under rated.
I bounced the tiny little flame I'd conjured on top of my fingertips as I continued to feel sorry for myself. It didn't burn like it used to.
My back was starting to hurt from where I'd been leaning it against my wall so I slid towards the end of my bed and slouched down extinguishing the flame between my middle and forefinger. The alarm was still screaming at me to wake up, I supposed I should get moving otherwise I'll be late for class. I went to run my fingers through my hair, an old habit I'd developed when it used to be long. I stopped halfway remembering my decision to shave it as short as the electric shears could get it. Setting my own hair on fire should be one of those funny stories I tell my friends about, but considering how I did it, I keep it to myself.
I was sitting in the back yard one afternoon after getting home from work. I often head to there to let off some steam, literally. It's fenced in completely with one of those six foot wooden fences that every American home has. It makes the yard nice and private. No one was home so I figured I'd go out there and screw around with the fire pit my Dad built into our stoned patio. I loaded the pit with a few logs, nothing serious since I wasn't trying to burn any witches. I took a couple steps back and started drawing the heat out of the air. I live in Florida, so that's not exactly a difficult task, especially since it was in the middle of June. I'm careful not to draw too much, I mean, I certainly don't want to make anything explode. It was just enough to ignite the small stick I held in my hand. I'd done this a bazillion times, draw enough heat and focus it on the wood in my hand. Simple right? Wrong. Once the stick caught fire I coaxed it with a little more heat I sucked out of the air. The fire burned a nice deep orange, not quite red. Once I had it hot enough I tossed the stick into the fire pit and sent the rest of the heat I gathered, plus a little extra I absorbed, to the same place. The fire came alive with a nice loud WOOSH.
I smiled to myself and felt a sense of pride. And why shouldn't I? How many people in the world could have accomplished that? I ran my fingers through my hair and made my way towards the hose to put the fire out. Do you have any idea what burning hair smells like? No, not arm hair, that's not enough of it to give you the full experience. It's over powering beyond belief. Go and test it, borrow some hair from someone, or take it, I don't care. Set it on fire and take a good whiff. It's enough to make you want to gag. So that's what started happening to me, I smelled the overpowering stench of burning hair and I began to gag a little. It was a manly gag though, nothing girly. Since there weren't any furry critters around me running around in flames, I assumed it was me. I brought my hands up to my head and sure enough, my hair was on fire. So I did the only thing any sane person would do, I ran around in circles smacking my head with my hands.
Stop drop and roll they always tell you. But they have probably never actually been on fire before. The last thing that went through my mind was standing still, lying on the ground, and rolling in the dirt. Thankfully though, we have a swimming pool. I bolted to the swimming pool and jumped in. Perhaps jumped in is a little bit of an overstatement. Maybe ‘I ran at the pool smacking my head until my feet were no longer supported by solid ground, at which point I splashed into the water'.
The water put out the fire with no problem, at least there was that. I climbed out of the pool in what probably looked like a drunken stupor and made my way towards the house. I thought about grabbing a towel and drying off but **** it, I wasn't in the mood. So I stomped through the house getting the floors wet with little droplets of water. I went to the bathroom and closed my eyes as I walked through the door.
I mentally told myself "Come on, how bad can it be?"
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes looking at the mirror. I looked like someone had attacked me with a lawnmower. A vicious, flaming lawnmower from hell. I had a few bald spots here and there and most of my hair was burned down to around an inch. My face had some soot, the ashes from my now cremated hair, and even my eyebrows were a little singed. I stared at myself for a couple of minutes assessing the damage. I didn't cry, I did the next best thing. I laughed. Hysterically. So here I am with a head full of burned hair, soaking wet, standing in the bathroom and laughing. It was either laugh or cry and I'm way too much of a man to cry.
So that's why I decided to shave my head. Granted, I haven't had an accident like that since. I always make my hands aren't on fire before I touch anything but it's probably for the best. Washing my hair all the time was getting old. Copyright 2008 Nathan Bittel |
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|
via Email