Here
is the Telling Tale,
which is to be told in phrases that are loosely connected to hair:
A woman and a man were standing together in a street. She was expressing
a story about some friends of hers': (His voice is in italics).
She
continued:
He said, don't feel hacked off, it would be shear madness, keep it under
your hat, but it was a hair raising experience, they were pulling their
hair out with grief, he was all cut up about it, looked like she'd been
scalped, the unkindest cut of all, loped off and lopsided as well. Anyway
to cut a long story short, there was a twist in the tale, at length she
explained. .. . .
He was feeling lousy, she tugged his fore-lock, "what?
All right keep your hair on; I was just combing the area for clues. I've
lost my strand of thought now, you're hair brained!
All right, I'll make short work of it and show you how it ends.
Without splitting hairs?
I was just tying up loose ends, your trouble is you don't know how to
let your hair down. "Watch this", she let it all hang out, her locks
tumbled down to her knees.
"I suppose you're now going to shake it all about.
Look, its unbound, hanging loose, flowing behind, I can feel the wind
in it". She felt free and the sun shone upon her cascading tresses.
Leaning forward, with her shadowy glow flowing down all around her, she
parted the curtains of her hair and then continued. . . . . .
He was going to tell her to get knotted, but she had already got him by
the short and curlies and there was something about her, she had the look
of a Titian, she was wild and beautiful, what was her name? Rapunzel?
Or was she an elfin queen, a princess, the Lady of the Lake, someone of
natural places, of myth or legend, naturally native, a hippy? Perhaps,
but not a beatnik, maybe an eco-warrior, a priestess, a witch, an enchanting
temptress, a mermaid, a siren, his Lady Godiva, a lady so fair with her
long locks of hair, her untamed mane, so luxuriant and lustrous in its
exuberant show.
She continued weaving thoughts through her words and his mind became entangled.
As she played with his senses, she ran her fingers through her hair.
His mind was tied up in knots, but he said, off the top of his head, "Haven't
you finished wigging out yet". She misunderstood and said its my own,
you nit. She felt let down and turned away.
A pigeon's droppings came within a hairs breadth of his head.
A close shave, he exclaimed.
What?
That was a bit hairy-scary, almost a bad hair day
Shocked, she said:
"If you so much as harm a hair on my head!
But. . . .
Just get out of my hair" and she started to walk away. He had been given
the brush off and felt like tearing his hair out.
She looked back and saw the truth unveiled in his face, and on his shoulder,
all was forgiven, of course it would all be fine, and they intertwined,
it had all just been growing pains and now they could not be teased apart.
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NEW STORY from Andre