Subtle Glow

There are much worse things you can do when you hear that word.

The other night Kiddo was off doing something and I heard him say in frustration, “Ugh! This won’t stop itching!”

I glanced over to see him scratching the back of his head.

I think my heart stopped for a split second, I threw up a little, and I can’t imagine how wide my eyes got, as I asked, “It itches… on your HEAD?!”

Oh please. Oh please no. Oh please oh please oh please. Where has he been sitting? How will I get that in the washer, with bleach? I have to buy all new furniture and re-carpet this place and oh please no. Oh no no no no no.

After careful scrutiny I felt satisfied that whatever it was causing the itching was NOT lice.

This won’t seem related at first, but the first time I got high I was about 7. My mom got me high, actually. On gasoline fumes.

I’m sure she didn’t *mean* to get us high (yes my brother - I think around 4 or 5 at the time) was there too. And got to have all the fun, too.

The thing is, I guess someone from the school, or the day care - I don’t remember which - sent a note home that someone in the class/day care had a case of lice and they were doing their duty to inform the parents.

I had long long blonde hair - my mother never let me cut it. It was long and blonde and THICK and hung like heavy drapery more than halfway down my back.

I don’t know what went through her mind, but she saw the note and disappeared into the garage.

She returned with a container of gasoline. Which she then mixed with softsoap. And then washed our hair.

I remember leaning over the tub and her warning me to keep my eyes shut very tight so none of it would get in them. I felt funny at first, and then with my eyes squeezed shut I could sort of “see” little shapes dancing around. At one point there was a green background, with a little yellow ‘X’ that ran in a straight line back and forth. It was hard to breathe, all I could smell were fumes. I don’t know how long it took for her to wash and rinse and then re-wash with regular shampoo. But I remember calling her name at one point, “Mom?” and her voice came back from very far away.

My brother, I remember, stood in the bathtub and tipped his head back as far as he possibly could. He screamed in terror the entire time.

My mother told us we would have the cleanest heads in the entire school.

I knew she did this because she knew she couldn’t afford the special shampoo to treat the lice.  Even knowing that, I still can’t help but think - “What the…?” We didn’t even have lice, actually. Just the note, that someone *else* had them.