It wasn't for another week or two when the falling out of hair really began in earnest. I would wake up. I would lift my head from my pillow and clumps of hair would stay behind. Sometimes I might roll over in my sleep, hair in my mouth. I'd shampoo in the shower then wash my hands again to get all the hair out from between my fingers. I could shake my head over a trash can and watch the hair rain down.
A few days of this and I'd had enough. More than enough.
Cindy had a set of clippers, too. Or she had access to some that were shared by the entire sixth floor. We set it to low. The lowest setting. What is that? One? Zero? As close to the scalp as you can get, completely eradicating all of Michael's careful craftsmanship (except, of course, in the spots where there were, well, spots).
Gone. Done. Good riddance.
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Thanks, Mie.