�You desperately need some new clothes,� his mother remarked. �None of your old ones fit you anymore.�

He shrugged, munching on a bowl of Cheerios. It was true, though; in the week or so since he�d been home, it had become very evident that his skinny chest and shoulders swam in old polo shirts that had once fit a muscular, athletic young man. Despite the fact that he had shrunk horizontally, he had hit a last minute growth spurt and had grown vertically another inch or so, so his pants were now too short.

Also, upon closer inspection, many of his old shirts and pants were splotched with bloodstains, but neither of the two felt like mentioning that.

�How does a trip to the mall sound? Maybe a new wardrobe will make you feel better about rejoining the world. A fresh start, you know? That is, if you�re not too old to go shopping with your silly mother.�

�I don�t care,� he murmured in the apathetic tone he�d adopted for almost all conversation. It might be nice to leave the house, though. He�d been home for more than a week, and he still wasn�t sure if there was anyone left on Earth besides himself and his mother.

�You need a haircut, too,� she added. �I don�t like it long and messy like that.�

He shrugged again. It wasn�t his fault he�d never been taught how to brush his hair; he�d been raised a shorthaired boy.

�Why don�t you put it in a ponytail while we�re out? That�ll keep it out of your way, and it�ll look neater,� she suggested.

�How do I do that?�

She rummaged through her pocketbook and produced a hair elastic. She gathered her hair in her fist and looped the elastic around it to demonstrate. �Like that, silly. It�s very easy, especially if you make it low. I think men only wear ponytails low on their necks, anyway.� She pulled her hair out and gave the elastic to him. �Okay, go get cleaned up so we can get going.�

He walked upstairs�an improvement from the heavy trudge of a few days ago, but still a far cry from the energetic jog he used to use, the one that made every creaky step holler in agony and his father bellow, �Easy on those stairs, kid!�

In the bathroom, he shaved, washed his face, and brushed his teeth, then set about attempting to harness his hair. It would have been slightly below his shoulders if it didn�t flip up strangely at the bottom. It had more or less parted itself down the center, and he combed it to approximately equal lengths on both sides with his fingers. Watching his pale, puzzled expression in the mirror and trying not to feel completely stupid, he gathered his hair in one hand like his mother had done. It was harder to do than he�d imagined, however, as he had an awful lot of hairs, and few of them felt like cooperating. Rogue locks kept escaping his fingers, and it took him three tries to get a decent grip. He held it tightly behind his head, determined not to let any more strands come unloosed.

The elastic proved to be a more terrible challenge. He wasn�t sure exactly how the elastic was supposed to transfer itself from his right hand to the clump of hair held in his left, and several awkward attempts resulted in nearly losing the elastic down the drain of the sink. Finally, (trying not to look at his idiotic reflection) he decided to hold the elastic open with his fingers and poke the clump through the hole. This almost worked; most went through obediently, but the rest fell out of his grip, and when he tried to retrieve them, the elastic slipped and his hair tumbled to his shoulders again.

He grunted, annoyed. Five-year-old girls could do this in their sleep.

After several more minutes� attempt, he managed to get the elastic looped around most of his hair twice. However, defiant strands hung freely from behind his right ear, and others seemed to be caught in the elastic and were painfully tight. Not to mention the fact that the ponytail was horrendously off-center, knotted directly behind his left ear.

His mother knocked. �My goodness, what on earth is taking so long?� She took one look at the state of her son�s hair and let out a snort.

�I can�t get it, okay? I�ve never done this before! It�s hard!� he snapped, cheeks burning.

His mother giggled. �Oh, for Pete�s sake. Sit down on the edge of the tub, I�ll do it.�

He sat down and she went to work, her deft fingers undoing the haphazard loops. His hair was caught in the elastics, and when she pulled it, he screeched. She took a hairbrush from a drawer by the sink and slowly dragged it through his tangled locks. He whimpered.

�Oh, please! Don�t be such a baby!�

�You�re pulling my hair!�

�It�s full of knots,� she replied indignantly. �And at any rate, you�d think a 20 year-old man would have a better pain tolerance!�

Especially one who was in the habit of taking kitchen knives to his arms, he thought, sulking.

His mother continued to brush his hair until almost every snarl was gone. It didn�t hurt anymore, so he figured the knots were out, at least, though it could have just been that his scalp was too sore to feel any more tugs.

�You know what, honey?� his mother remarked, breaking the silence. �You have absolutely gorgeous hair. It was always nice when it was short, but I never realized just how thick and soft it is! Such a rich, dark color, too! A woman would kill for hair like this.�

She fiddled with his hair for several minutes more, snipping at him if he moved. After what seemed like an hour, she allowed him to stand up. His head felt strangely lopsided, and when he looked in the mirror, he yelped. His mother had put his hair up nearly on top of his head and wrapped it in a pink scrunchie!

His mother was choking with hysterics. �I�m sorry, honey! I couldn�t help myself!�

�Mooom!� he yelped. �Fix it! I look like a girl!�

Still chuckling, his mother pressed him down to the side of the tub again. She undid his hair and teased it back to normal. �Forgive me, I always wanted a little girl whose hair I could play with.�

In a few minutes she had finished, and when he stood up, his head felt much more balanced. He tossed his head and was pleased to feel air on his ears and neck. He glanced in the mirror. The ponytail was tight on the nape of his neck, neatly restraining all his hair behind him, save a few unimportant strands that had fallen out already.

�Not too bad, if I do say so myself! Not even any bumps! And I haven�t done another person�s hair since my sisters and I were girls. So, are you ready? Good, good, let�s go.�

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