Attachment
“How’d my hair even get in here?” she asks, scrubbing inside the fridge.
“The same way it gets everywhere,” replies the man who’s found her hair where it could not be, in places she hasn’t been, places she would never go. Caught inside the vent of an airplane she was not on. Folded into a page she’s never read. Pulled from the tangles of his beard an ocean away. High up a rock face, gravity loosening his grip on the world, a strand—hers—wrapped neatly around his wrist.
Delicate, delicious—enough to make him hold on a little longer.
Photo Credit: Dima Pursanov
This reminds me of a Jack Gilbert poem
“Married” by Jack Gilbert
I came back from the funeral and crawled
around the apartment, crying hard,
searching for my wife’s hair.
For two months got them from the drain,
from the vacuum cleaner, under the refrigerator,
and off the clothes in the closet.
But after other Japanese women came,
there was no way to be sure which were
hers, and I stopped. A year later,
repotting Michiko’s avocado, I find
a long black hair tangled in the dirt.
Beautiful piece.
Excellent story. Catch my attention because is very interesting in the way that you always ask where is anything or how this thing stay there.
I love the intimacy in this story!
There is something so true about this story. Those strands of hair seem to just seem apppear from nowhere. Sometimes I find hairs from ex’s, even ex ex’s!
This is beautiful!
Oh, my GOD! This is my first foray into 100-word fiction and I’m hooked!
Excellent. I love micro/flash. Check out the anthology they have put together….it’s wonderful!