Love From Afar

Troy

Changes

Photo: blog.sfgate.com

      I can’t believe I grew these things for so long, Troy thought to himself as he stood, head cocked to one side, in front the mirror in the downstairs bathroom of his two story apartment. He held a pair of titanium Clauss scissors with his left hand. Every three seconds or so, there would be a thick snip and a long snake of matted hair would fall into the marble sink below the mirror. Troy was cutting five year-old hair. Dreadlocks, or “locks” as he called them, were a symbol. Although he himself was not Rastafarian, he respected his father’s cultural beliefs. If Troy was to be honest, which he usually was, he would say that the religion of his pops was just another excuse to rebel and smoke pot. This day, however, was the beginning of something new.   

      As he rubbed the remaining loose hair from his head, the muffled sound of keys jingled outside the front door of his apartment. “Joy is going to flip her shit,” Troy said as he scooped hair from the sink and began flushing it down the toilet. Joy, Troy’s girlfriend, had always been the biggest endorser of his hairstyle. She even had dreadlocks once, before an incredibly miserable experience at an east-coast music festival during the summer of their initial hookup. 

      The front door flew open and slammed loudly against the door stopper. A large brown and black dog ran into the living room, heading straight for Troy. Paws padded across the carpet as the canine’s long tongue swung from its open mouth, dripping with slaver. With less than a jump, the dog’s front legs were on Troy’s shoulders. “King, sit. King. Sit!” Troy tried to command the dog, but it was useless. King was licking his face vigorously, taking millisecond breaks only to pant and catch its breath.

      “King!” The voice came from the front door. Joy was carrying four dense shopping bags and juggling a fifth between her left arm and chest. Her gaze was sharply locked on her pet. “Go to your bed,” she said with a stern tone. King climbed from Troy and trotted to a huge pillow in the corner of the living room. Its eyes stayed on Joy until it flopped down on the pillow and began gnawing on a Milk-Bone.  

      Joy stood as a silhouette from the blinding sunlight that filled the doorway and spilled into the apartment. When she closed the door, Troy could see that she was sweating. Joy was a mixed girl of Caucasian and African American descent. Her tanned body glistened with sweat as her Nixon Light as a Feather V-neck T-shirt stuck to her supple breasts. A gold chain dipped between her cleavage, the medallion hidden by skin. She fit nicely into Xenia denim mini cutoff jeans that Troy thought were entirely too short for the public. Joy had dyed her short hair a rich ultramarine the night before, and it was now clinging to her forehead and the pair of Tory Burch aviator sunglasses that covered her eyes.

      She sat the bags down and without looking at Troy she said, “Troy, baby, I found some amazing deals today. I’m going to look so damn fine when we go visit your mom’s family in Brazil! I know, I know, I’ll dye my hair a more ‘conservative’ color. Honey, but don’t you think that if they loved…” She had decided to look at Troy. She lifted the sunglasses to her forehead. The sight of his missing hair made her speechless.

      Troy remained silent for a moment in order for his girlfriend to soak it all in. “Anything?” he finally said. He gave her a short shrug. “It’s only hair.”

      “It’s only hair?” Joy murmured. “It’s only hair?! IT’S ONLY HAIR?!” She was now yelling. King’s ears perked up as he stared up at her from his pillow. “Oh, so for you, hair that you grew for half a’ decade is casually chopped of, but if I want a little blue, there’s a fucking press conference held to discuss it!” 

      Troy cupped his hands over his face. “There you go exaggerating, again,” he said. He walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I need a change. I needed a change and the easiest choice was to cut my hair. Yes, I should have talked to you about it, but I know you would have disagreed with me. I’m starting to think that we aren’t right for each other. It’s my fault. I’m changing.”

      “Don’t fucking touch me!” Joy screamed as she jerked away from him. King sat up and barked once. Joy snatched her sunglasses from her forehead and threw them at Troy. He ducked and they shattered on the wall behind him. Joy stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard that a picture fell from a wall in the kitchen. Troy went over to pick it up and noticed that it was a picture of Joy during her twenty-first birthday. It seems like so long ago. He slid the picture out of the newly broken frame and tossed the glass into the trashcan. 

      Bzzzzt! Bzzzzt! Troy’s smart phone was vibrating on the bathroom sink. Troy ran to it, hoping that it was Joy saying how sorry she was for blowing up. She’s always so hot-headed, Troy thought. He picked the phone up without seeing who it was. “Hello?” 

      “Sup, bro? It’s Clark.”

      “I know who it is, dude. No one sounds as retarded as you do,” Troy said.

      “Whatever, dude. Whenever you get through sucking Joy’s dick, I need you to do me a big one,” Clark shot back. “You know you owe me.”

      “Yeah, yeah, okay,” Troy sighed. “What is it?”

      “I need you to be wingman for me this weekend,” Clark said excitedly. “So Kat knows this chick named Laura or Lauren or something that is smokin’. I’m trying to get in that, playa!” Troy figured out that Clark was driving because he heard a series of loud horns coming from the other side of the phone. 

      “Easy killer, focus on the road,” Troy laughed. He began to think about what just happened with Joy. I do need a change. “Okay, dude. I’ll be your wingman. Hopefully, I can give you some advice so that you don’t totally botch this up.”

- Terry