Alex Caruso stood in front of the mirror in the visitor’s locker room. He sighed heavily. He knew he should be happy, but…
Running has hand over the top of his head, he cursed his genetics for what had to be the fiftieth time that day. Sure, he could hang up thirty points on a rival team, get dapped up by LeBron James himself multiple times, and be the hero of a fanbase, but none of that could restore the hair to his head. Also for the fiftieth time that day, he thought about taking shears to it and just going for the cue-ball look.
“You don’t want that hair back and you don’t want to shave it. Trust me,” came a voice from behind him.
Alex spun around to see who was addressing him, but saw nobody. Hearing that voice disconcerted him, because the locker room was empty and had been for some time. His teammates had gone out to celebrate, and Alex was eventually going to follow them to wherever they had gone, but he had wanted some alone time to think about…what, exactly? His balding head for the millionth time since he had first noticed the thinning over five years ago?
He took a quick lap around the locker room to see if maybe a janitor had snuck in, but there was nobody. So where had the voice come from?
“It’s coming from up here,” said the voice, again, and Alex jumped, because he was sure he was alone. Was he going insane? Schizophrenic, perhaps? And what did ‘up here’ mean, anyway?
The voice spoke again, and this time, it sounded impatient. “From your bald spot, you idiot.”
Alex’s hands immediately went to the top of his head where the hair was the thinnest. But it didn’t feel any different. And why would his bald spot be talking to him, anyway? Wasn’t his bald spot a part of him? Why was it talking like it was a separate entity? For the second time, Alex seriously questioned whether his sanity was still in one piece.
“You need me, Alex,” said Alex’s bald spot. “Much more than I need you.”
“I could just shave you off,” Alex responded out loud, figuring that if his bald spot was going to audibly talk to him, then he might as well audibly talk back to it. “Then nobody would make fun of me.”
“That would be a very bad idea,” his bald spot replied. “I help you, Alex. I lend you power, and I possess powers of communication that you haven’t even begun to fathom.”
Alex snorted. “What powers? You’re just the absence of hair.”
“On the contrary, Alex. I am more than just the absence of hair. I am your bald spot!” Now his bald spot sounded triumphant, as if drunk on its own power. “And by virtue of my nature as a patch of skin where no hair will ever grow again, I am inextricably linked to others of my kind. Why do you think that idiot Walton is giving you minutes? Why do you think that roid monster LeBron is so fond of you?”
Alex thought about this question. Coach Walton was giving him minutes because of all the injuries. And why wouldn’t LeBron like him? He was playing well, he was a nice guy, and he had just lead the Lakers to a win over the heavily-favored Clippers.
“It’s because I communicate directly with the bald spots of those men,” Alex’s bald spot explained. “Those bald spots in turn will influence the thoughts of their ‘owners’, whether by voice command or by subtle modifications to their synaptic activity.
At this, Alex wondered if his own synaptic activity had been tampered with. How would he know if it had? Could one even detect if one’s own mind had turned treasonous, had turned into a betrayer? Was that happening right now, given that he was conversing with what was obviously a splintered-off shard of his superego?
“Anyway, you really don’t want to shave your head,” his bald spot said. “Trust me. I’ve got your best interests at heart here.”
“Best interests? What about my ugly balding head?” Alex asked, but he received no response. Even after repeating the question, his bald spot was silent. Turning to the mirror one more time, Alex closely examined the top of his head, where the hair was sparsest. Was it true? Did he really have an unknown mental connection to other balding men? Or had his relentless worrying about the state of his hair, combined with the stress of the season, finally caused him to lose his mind?