In Memory, Yet Green

In Memory, Yet Green

Isaac was turning eighteen today. His girl-friend Matilda had promised him a "rave" evening. While brushing his teeth, he had some crazy ideas: What if I change my hair style from long, curly, to medium, straight? What if I part it on the right instead of the left? What if I wear a nose-ring today?

Now, Isaac was not a "loose person", but an astronomy student in his final year. His forte was knowing about nebulas, galaxies, pulsars and quasars. Tall and sturdy, Isaac's only concession to the wild fancies of youth was going steady with a fun-loving, happy-go-lucky astronomy lab assistant.

Isaac looked again at the mirror and reached a decision. Humming an old Beatles tune (Yellow Submarine), he quickly finished his bath, and, dressing in his pair of newly-bought jeans and a white shirt, he left his hostel room with cash in his pocket. Arriving at the "Marlington Salon", he plopped into an available chair and signalled to Mike, his usual dresser, to approach him.

"Hi Mike! I want my hair cut to just under the chin level ... make no mistake, it's a special day for me ..."

Mike put an apron on Isaac and mumbled "Okay". He collected Isaac's hair from below the shoulder and lovingly caressed them. The distress on his face was obvious as he gently released the tresses and allowed them to fall back.

Isaac sensed this and raised his head. "Is there a problem, Mike?"

"Yes, indeed. May I know," said the dresser, a bit perturbed. "Why do you wish to cut off such lovely hair?"

Isaac was, by nature, a private person, and not one to share his confidences with anyone.

"It's personal, okay?" he said gruffly.

Mike nodded and began to cut the hair to the required length. Like many others, Isaac was soon lost in the harmony and rhythm of an expert cut and closed his eyes for a brief nap.

"Wake up, Isaac, the cut is over," he heard through the veil of his drowsy mind. He opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. The cut was good, as usual, and it pleased him to see that Mike had indeed done well.

He placed the money and the tip in Mike's hands, and left the salon to ride back home.

He went into the bathroom for a quick shampoo. The bath was steaming hot, and it took him just a few minutes to wash his hair. He did not even look at the mirror. Draping a towel over his head, he stepped into the bed room where he had laid out his stuff to wear for his evening date. He picked up the nose-ring from the dressing table and looked up to insert it through the hole in the right nostril. It was then that he noticed a greenish wisp of something poking through the towel. Puzzled by this, he yanked it off, and was greeted by a shocking mop of curly green hair.

"AAAAAArgh!" he shouted, staring in disbelief. His first thought was that he was hallucinating! He switched on the dressing-table light and thrust his head forward; the hair WAS green; there was no doubt about it. He remembered dozing off during the hair-cut, but he also recalled seeing himself in the mirror after the cut. So what could have caused this?

Pushing things into his pocket, he wore a cap and rode his bike back to the hair salon.

"Mike! Mike!" he shouted repeatedly as he pushed open the smoked-glass doors with some violence.

The salon's owner Ricky came to meet him and glared at him.

"Why are you banging open my doors, er, Mr. ..."

"Banging open? Banging open?" shouted Isaac, as he removed his cap to expose his hair. "Look at what Mike did to my hair! Just look at this, you ... just look at the hair!"

Ricky kept on looking, and asked, "Sir, did you colour your hair green?"

"Why would I ... look, just tell Mike to come here and straighten out the mess he has created ... I just came in for a cut, and see what he has done!" By now, Isaac was fuming.

Ricky spluttered and looked sheepishly at Isaac, trying hard at the same time to keep a straight face. "I am afraid that's not possible, sir." He took a step back to avoid a possible attack.

"What do you mean, not possible?" said Isaac, his manner now on the verge of aggression.

"I mean, sir," said Ricky, rubbing his hands with nervousness and fidgeting on both his feet, "that Mike has left for the day."

"Left for the day? How can he ...? I mean ... well, what am I going to do now?"

"Please sit down, er .. in this chair," said Ricky, pointing to an empty salon chair, "and I will see what I can do."

Isaac grumbled, but sat down, and allowed Ricky to tie an apron around him.

"Do you want me to er ... wash off the colour?

Isaac nodded and waited for Ricky to begin his hair wash. Warm water and shampoo suds began rolling down his neck and back into the sink as the wash progressed. Surprisingly, ten minutes later, Ricky was still at it, and it seemed as though the other customers and hair dressers were all gathered around Isaac's chair. Some of them were talking among themselves. He heard snatches like "poor guy" "what's he gonna do" and even a spell of collective laughter. He tore himself off the uncomfortable position and looked at the people around him. The others all politely retreated while Ricky stood there, not daring to look at him.

"What's the matter?" Isaac thundered.

"Er ... ah ... it's difficult to explain," said Ricky, his voice almost inaudible.

"What? What is it?" Isaac screamed, water droplets flying in all directions as he stepped off the chair and took a long look at himself in the mirror. The hair was still an abominable shade of green. He put his hands through his hair and pulled at them. Turning to Ricky, he brought his eyebrows together and said -"WHAT THE HELL? WHY ISN'T THE COLOUR WASHING OFF?"

Ricky shook his head and said, "I don't know ...Perhaps I can call Mike and ..."

"Yeah, well, do it!"

Mike could not be reached. Hurling choice invectives at Ricky, Isaac rushed out of the salon. Two opinions, both at other salons, proved to be useless, and finally, he realised that it wouldn't be until the next day that he could meet Mike and get the whole thing straightened out.

He called Matilda to cancel the date, but she denied him that privilege, threatening to come to his hostel if he did not meet her. All his excuses fell flat, and when he finally met her, she laughed and laughed till her sides hurt.

"It is St. Patrick's Day, for God's sakes, yes, but did you have to do THIS to celebrate it?" she said between loud chortles.

It was all Isaac could do to keep his composure. Ultimately, his sense of humour did improve, and Matilda and he did have a rip-rollicking time that ended up in his room back at the hostel. Tomorrow was another day, he thought to himself, and he fell to bed with Matilda for a night to remember.