the horse whose hair grew back
"Write about an experience that you still have no explanation for."
Holiday was a Tan Horse with Strong Plastic Legs and a Golden Mane. Holiday’s Golden Mane was so Beautiful, so Long, and she Loved it so much. Holiday was at the mercy of a Twelve Year Old Girl. The Girl and Holiday were friends at first, but the Girl had no other friends besides Holiday, and even if she did, none of them would have had Hair as Beautiful as the Horse’s.
The Girl had a dad whose hair was coarse and thick like a pig’s, and long like Holiday’s. Her dad’s hair was fluffy and brushed out and unconditioned, but sometimes would tease it’s true texture at the tips to those who cared to look carefully. Her dad’s hair hinted at perfect corkscrew curls in the places where he missed to brush, so the Girl knew that her hair could be beautiful and curled too, if she could figure out how to do it.
So the Girl and Holiday played together, and the Girl practiced and brushed Holiday’s hair the way she’d seen her dad do his own. She dunked Holiday in water, washed Holiday’s hair with Head and Shoulders, baptizing her with 2-in-1 solutions.
One day, the Girl Cut Holiday’s Mane.
It was just a trim at first. A half inch, an inch. The Girl was careful not to Cut too much. The Girl regretted it a bit, and then she tried to clean it up to make it look better, and then she felt quite awful for what She had Done to Holiday.
The girl cried quietly and put her Horse away on the shelf. She tucked in her other stuffed animals who had avoided Follicular Maneslaughter due to their short locks. She laid in bed and gave up on Holiday.
The next morning, life went on as usual. The girl felt tired and small as she got herself ready for school. Her hair was fluffy and brushed out and unconditioned. Her hair had no secret corkscrew curls. So she dunked herself in water, shampooed herself with Head and Shoulders, baptized by 2-in-1 solutions. She wandered down the tall stairs and through the room where Holiday had been put down. She stopped — pulled inexplicably to the left.
Holiday looked different.
It was a Quiet sort of Realization. The Girl had to Wonder if she had Cut Holiday’s Hair at all. Holiday’s painted plastic eyes looked at the Girl, with long two dimensional eyelashes, as if to say, “Don’t worry about it. It’s all better now. I’ve fixed what you’ve done, and we can forget you even did it.”
Shaken and confused but apathetic enough to accept it, the Girl hurried out the door to deal with things more Real than whatever had just happened.
When She arrived home, she went straight to Holiday. She grabbed the Horse, flipping it over in her hands, fingering the plastic, gauging its temperature, its pliability. Her nails met the Mane in disbelief. It was long, it was even, it was untouched. It was as if it had Grown Back.
She didn’t stop to ask how or why this had happened. Instead, she grabbed the scissors and decided to Try Again.
Her technique had improved but the result was the same. Holiday was once again Mutilated. The girl brushed back Holiday’s disheveled mane, but there was no remorse this time. “Show me again,” demanded the girl. If Holiday’s mane grew back, perhaps the girl would drown her for witchcraft. If Holiday’s mane did not grow back, perhaps she’d drown her anyways for contumacy.
The following morning, the Girl did not even bother to check on Holiday before leaving. “Give her time,” the Girl thought. It felt like watching water boil.
But when she returned in the afternoon, she went straight to Her. It was not shocking — it was as though she had placed and paid for an order to which she knew would arrive without fail. Holiday was Just a Plastic Horse, but Holiday’s hair was lustrous, exquisite, and almost seemed to be longer than when it had been virgin.
The girl rinsed and repeated. Cut, leave, return, cut, leave, return. Every day, Holiday’s Mane grew back. So the girl started trying new cuts. Zig zags, bangs, layers. Cut, leave, return. The Girl got better, and Holiday looked better, but Holiday wasn’t sure that what she and the Girl were doing was Playing anymore.
The days between growth grew longer. The girl noticed that sometimes it would take Holiday two or three days before her hair came back. Then it was four or five days. Still — cut, leave, return. The Girl was curious and Holiday was complacent. After all, she was Just a Plastic Horse.
It was a week before the Girl’s 13th birthday, and it had been seven days since Holiday’s hair had changed. The Girl snipped still, and took Holiday’s bob and transformed it to a buzz. Seven more days passed, and the girl grew older, and Holiday’s hair grew not at all.
The Girl started telling people about Holiday. She explained that the hair had grown back no matter how much she had Cut it. Of course, people didn’t believe her, because Holiday was virtually hairless. The Girl bathed and baptized Holiday once more.
The Girl missed Holiday, and though she was still in her hands — neutral in temperature, impressionable by fingernail, filled with endless thread and energy — she looked at the Horse and didn’t feel like She knew her anymore. This Horse had no Hair, and Holiday had a Long Beautiful Golden Mane. So, she supposed it couldn’t be Holiday at all.
The thing in her hands was just a plastic horse.
Thank you for reading this very short story based on an experience I had as a child. Of course, it is embellished a bit, but I truly did have a toy horse whose mane grew back!
This story is inspired by a prompt from the (@bodyparts)
19 Prompt Challenge. This one is based on prompt 5.Check out the challenge here and subscribe for more! I’m trying to write all 19 prompts over the course of a month.