comb down artist

“Oh my god Julie, you should have seen it the other day!

“She looked like a rooster!”

Picturing Grandma with a gleaming silver mohawk makes me grin, but I’m also a little distressed. 

Ten minutes ago my phone rang and “Trudis” flashed on the screen.   I said hello to silence.  Then coughing. 

“Grandma!  It’s Julie, are you there?

“Grandma!  — Grandma!”

Silence.  Faint breathing.  Another cough.  Slighter this time. 

I’m afraid to hang up.  I don’t want to break my connection with her.  But she’s not responding —

So I call my sister.

“I’m serious,” she continues, “they’re down staff and a mad man’s got the comb —

“Yesterday, Alli and I were there and it was combed straight down.   One long sweep from the back of her neck to her forehead.”

Premeditated, I think.  Some kind of signature?

“And then, I go out into the TV area where they’re all lined up,” she stops to take a breath, “and you are never going to believe this —”

Oh, yeah?

“Every last one of ’em — heads hangin’ down — with the same hair!”

I’m roaring now, imagining this joker armed with spray bottle and comb going down the assembly line.  Just doin’ his job. 

Efficient little devil.

 

Author: Julie Ann Stevens

My art flows from the patterns & paths of my lived experience which ⏤ like yours ⏤ are at once deeply personal and entirely universal.

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