Gray
Dave still couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw his reflection in the mirror above the row of faucets in his office building’s men’s room. He looked at his almost-full head of brown hair and cringed. Though his hairline had receded in recent years, its progress had been slow and inconspicuous to the naked eye, unlike the frightful onslaught of gray hair that peppered the sides of his head.
At first, the gray hairs came only in single strands and he easily removed them with a pair of tweezers before anyone took notice of their presence. However, over the past few weeks, an insurmountable multitude of the lighter wisps sprouted and clumped together just above his ears in such a fashion that simple tweezing no longer worked and casual passersby noted their prominence with prolonged stares.
Dave sighed in dismay. He continuously brainstormed for any methods of subterfuge but so far had only come up with artificial hair coloring. He knew about the many products on the hair care market for his specific condition but never seriously considered using them, imagining that he’d grow old naturally and gracefully and not try to recapture his youth, like some silly old man unable to cope with getting on in years. However, there he stood, a guy in his late twenties with a tall, slightly muscular body in tip-top health, dealing with the abrupt appearance of one of the most immediate and abjectly visual signs of aging.
Suddenly, the sound of a flushing toilet shook Dave out of his reverie. He turned on the faucet and placed his hands under the running tap. The stall door behind him opened and Vaughn, a co-worker and a friend, stepped up to the faucet next to Dave. Vaughn was tall with a stocky build and a full head of jet-black hair, which he gently patted down before washing his hands.
“Hey, Dave,” Vaughn said. “What’s goin’ on?”
“You know, same stuff, different day.”
Dave reached over to the tin towel dispenser on the wall next to the mirror. He pulled out a few brown paper towels and dried his hands off.
Vaughn gave Dave a long glance before bellowing, “Old Man River,” and laughing.
“What’s so funny, chucklehead?” Dave asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just wondering when you decided to go with the dual-color hair style.”
“Shut up, okay? I don’t feel like discussing it.”
“Whoa, man, chill, chill,” Vaughn said, responding calmly to his friend’s touchiness. “I’m just commenting that lately, your hair’s been…grayer than usual.”
“Trust me. It hadn’t escaped my attention.”
Vaughn turned off the faucet, walked around Dave, and pulled out a few paper towels for himself. “Well, you know, it happens to everyone.”
“I know, but I never imagined this happening to me until I was at least in my mid-thirties or even my forties. I’m still in my twenties. I’m still a young guy.”
“True, but you’ve also been married for a few years, and in three months, you’ll be adding ‘father’ to your ever-growing list of personal titles. How is Melinda, by the way?”
“She’s fine,” Dave responded.
Thinking of his pretty wife comforted him a little bit. Melinda was only a year and a half older than him but didn’t look it. She still got carded whenever they went out to clubs or bars (though less frequently now that she was expecting), while, last weekend, a box office attendant at a movie theater jokingly offered Dave a senior citizen discount.
“I get what you’re saying, though, man. I can sympathize,” Vaughn said as he crumpled up the used paper towels and tossed them into the nearest trashcan.
“How can you sympathize?” Dave retorted sarcastically. “You still have the same looks and vitality that you had back in college. Me? I’m looking more and more like my old man every day and half the time, I don’t even make it up to see the ten o’clock news.”
“It’s all just a part of getting older,” Vaughn consoled. “I have my own ‘getting older’ demons to contend with.”
“Like what?”
“As fun as my lifestyle looks, it’s been taking a hell of a lot out of me as of late. I just can’t hang like I used to. I’m thinking about cutting back on my partying schedule.”
“Oh no. The end of an era,” Dave mocked.
“Quiet, you. But seriously, man, if it’s bothering you that much, then do something about it.”
“Like what?”
“Shave your head.”
“Too drastic.”
“Then get some of that men’s hair-coloring stuff.”
“I don’t know…”
“Then answer me this: When you look in the mirror, would you rather see the old you or an old you?”
Dave considered this for a moment. “The old me.”
“Then swallow your pride, stop at Rite Aid on the way home, and pick up some ‘Just For Men.’ I’ve heard it works great. What can you lose?”
Dave thought it over and responded, “I guess you’re right.”
“I am right. Always have been and always will be.”
With that, Vaughn swung the door open and glided out of the lavatory.
Dave soon followed Vaughn back out into the office. Thankfully, the workday was almost over, so he didn’t have much longer to ponder his situation.
He shifted back and forth in his mind about whether or not to purchase the hair coloring. He felt silly in a way, letting such a superficial matter get the best of his self-esteem. It was only his hair color that was changing, not himself entirely. Yet the longer stares that people gave him quickly grew bothersome. He also knew that every time he’d look in a mirror, his eyes would instantly gravitate toward his gray hair.
The more he thought about it, the more antsy and self-conscious he became. Action needed to be taken.
An hour later, he found himself aimlessly strolling the aisles of his neighborhood Rite Aid. He stopped at the magazine rack and thumbed through a few periodicals. He also checked out a few of the new displays, recently erected to promote items for upcoming holidays.
Eventually and reservedly, he decided to quit stalling and walked over to the hair-care section. After some searching, he found the boxes of “Just For Men” hair coloring. He stared at them for several minutes in quiet contemplation. He picked up one of the packages, one that was specifically made for his shade of brown, and scanned the information on the front and back. It seemed simple enough to use and the smiling gent on the front of the box, conspicuously lacking in gray hair, obviously had no complaints. Dave held the box in his hand a few moments longer, then started for the checkout register with a quiet, if shaky, confidence.
As he approached the register, he saw a guy standing behind the counter who, Dave thought to himself, was nothing to write home about with regards to outward appearances. Just a homely, unspectacular man of middle age. In other words, Dave saw him as the perfect candidate to ring up this purchase.
Just as he reached the register, the man was called away by his supervisor. Dave put the box on the counter and decided to wait for him to return.
“Excuse me, sir, I can take you down here.”
Dave looked a few registers down and saw an attractive young woman with shiny auburn hair and a cute face beckoning him to her station. Usually, he wouldn’t have minded having someone like her ring him up, but considering the product he intended to purchase, she unknowingly added leagues of awkwardness to the situation.
She motioned with her hand for him to come on down. He deeply inhaled before walking himself and the box to her register.
He put the box in front of her and she ran the UPC code on its bottom past the electronic scanner on the side of the register. The tiny monitor at the top automatically displayed the item along with its adjusted-for-sales-tax price. She read this off to him in a light, airy voice. He pulled his wallet out and produced the appropriate payment. When he looked at her again, he noticed her eyes keenly examining the box and then slyly scrutinizing him. His insides quivered.
“It’s…for a friend,” he said as he handed her the money.
“I see,” she responded with a nod. She took his money and punched in the corresponding digits on the register’s keypad. The drawer shot out and the receipt printed.
“It really is,” Dave added, suspecting (rightly so) that she didn’t believe him.
“I’m sure of it,” she muttered as she fished his change out of the money drawer. “Tell your friend that he’s making a wise decision.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. From what I’ve heard this is the best product for his condition.” She handed Dave his change. “Besides, gray hair’s a major turn-off. The less gray on a man’s head, the more attractive he is. At least I think so, and I know a lot of other girls who think so too.”
He shoved his change into his wallet as she placed the box into a white plastic bag and handed it to him. “But my friend’s married and has a kid on the way,” he added, “so he wouldn’t really be interested in, you know…”
“I hear ya,” she said, “but still…I bet if you ask most kids, they’d rather have a dad who looks young and hip than old and gray.”
Dave nodded and smiled before exiting the store.
He pulled his car into the driveway of his twin home located in a bucolic cul-de-sac. He transferred his black suitcase from the back seat to the passenger seat and opened it up. Next, he reached underneath his seat and pulled out the bagged box of hair dye. He held it in his hand, considering the possibilities once more. He checked his look in the rearview mirror and, as he suspected, his line of sight instantly settled on the ever-present wisps of gray on the sides of his head. He groaned as he placed the bagged box into his suitcase.
Sitting at the dinner table in his modest but nicely decorated house, he lackadaisically gazed at Melinda as she ate her dinner. To him, she did everything, even the most mundane tasks, with quiet elegance. Strands of her black hair, done up in a style reminiscent of Jackie Kennedy’s, fell into her face as she twirled spaghetti around her fork. Dave dangled his fork over his plate, a few strings of pasta hanging from its slender metal prongs.
She looked at him and smiled with a hint of subtle embarrassment and surprise. “What? What is it?” Melinda asked.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Dave said, snapping out of his trance.
“I know that look. What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t know…” Dave strained his voice as he spoke. He knew he couldn’t hide anything from her. “I guess I’ve just been feeling really old lately.”
“Is it because of the gray hairs?”
He sighed and she knew.
“Don’t worry about it,” she consoled.
“If you saw the looks people have been giving me lately…”
“So what? So what if people notice?”
“How many guys in their late-twenties do you see with tons of gray hair? As far as the outside world is concerned, I’m an old man.”
“Honey,” she said softly as she reached across the table and took his hand, “don’t be so dramatic.”
“I know. It just bothers me.”
“Then do something about it so you can feel better.”
As she said this, she placed her utensils on her plate and carried them to the sink. Dave gathered his dinnerware and joined her. They cleaned their plates under the running water as they continued their conversation.
“Actually, I did do something about it,” he said. “On the way home, I stopped at Rite Aid and picked up some ‘Just For Men.’”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I might give it a try tonight.”
“Think it’ll work?”
“I hope so.”
“Wanna know my opinion?”
“Shoot.”
She set her plate on the plastic drying rack next to the sink and then turned her body to look him directly in his eyes.
“I don’t think you need it,” she stated. “If you ask me, you’ve only gotten more attractive with age. I quite like those wisps of gray in your hair. Gives you a more mature look, like you’re someone with actual knowledge of the world and not just some wily, overgrown kid like Vaughn. And if the rest of the world thinks you’re an old fogy, then, who cares? Me, I think it adds more character to you.
“Besides, over the next few years, we’re going to go through a lot of changes, in appearance, in mindset, and in lifestyle, especially when little Michelle comes along,” she patted her belly, “and I don’t see any reason why we should resist it. You never know, change might even bring some good things with it.”
Dave smiled at her, amazed at her innate ability to always say the right thing. “There’s only one thing about your speech that I disagree with.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s little Michael, not little Michelle.”
“Uh, excuse me, we’re having a girl.”
“No, we’re having a boy.”
“Well, we’ll see about that.”
They shared a kiss.
Later that night, in the bathroom, just before his shower, Dave held the box of hair dye in his hand one final time. He stared at it for a few moments and then tossed the box into the trash, unopened and unused.
(c)2009, Christopher Tait
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