Norwood

1.

In December a boy was born. Healthy and beautiful. His father looked up. Smiling until he saw the man waiting by the window. Gaunt in a black suit black hat. White hair. The man looked at the father. Then the boy. Then the father again. Tipped his hat and was gone.

2.

His new bathroom had two mirrors facing each other, and one morning he saw a bald spot. Right on top of his head at the… what was it called. Right at the whorl.

Or maybe it wasn’t. His new bathroom had a bright light. He was going gray. Maybe just a light patch. He leaned in to the front mirror to look at the back mirror, instinctively. His reflection in back leaned away. Fuck.

He walked naked into the dining room, found his phone, walked back into the bathroom with his nuts huddling up in the cold. Leaned into the front mirror. Unlocked his phone with his thumbprint. Opened the camera app. Held the phone behind his head. It showed the ceiling. He brought the phone back down, switched to the reverse facing selfie camera, held it behind his head again. Guiding himself by the reflection of the camera in the front mirror. There. Perfect-with his left index finger he reached up to press the white virtual button to take the picture. His right hand instinctively went to move the camera closer to his left. Got a blurry and unflattering shot of his nose in the back mirror. It looked enormous.

Holding the backwards camera in the backwards mirror with his backwards hands it took ten tries to get it. But this was important. Finally there it was. Pink meat under hair. Was it a bald spot.

It wasn’t not a bald spot.

3.

He looked again. After he’d dried off and got dressed. But he’d put on too much Aesop Parsley Seed Antioxidant Under-Eye Serum. It had got in his eyes and now he couldn’t see. Everything was blurry. The picture was blurry.

It cost $85 for one fluid ounce. Ten eye droppers full. But he’d got a tester from the girl. She worked there. She’d brought him gifts, before she decided to be monogamous with the boyfriend who borrowed rent money and gave her chlamydia.

4.

The Joe Rogan Experience on YouTube played targeted ads on episodes where Joe didn’t advocate drug use. LOSING YOUR HAIR? SKIN? MUSCLE? One said. FIGHT! THERE IS A SOLUTION.

LOS ANGELES AREA. NORWOOD MEN’S CENTER.

He clicked. A pop up said MAKE AN APPOINTMENT NOW. He didn’t.

The ads followed him for nine months.

5.

He liked to take dates birdwatching, in the daylight before he got tired, but she insisted. It will be cool. It’s a great art gallery with a bar and a happy hour. I *never* go on one on one first dates, she said. My friends will be there.

She was 32. They’d matched on Hinge. A Creative Executive for Netflix. He’d hoped to talk to her about The Witcher. Its surprisingly intelligent structural choices. Her profile said she wanted a yard for a dog. Which meant she didn’t have one. Which meant he had a chance. Something red and itchy had been growing on his face under his eye. He’d been smearing ointment on it that got on his clothes but it kept growing. Maybe staying out of daylight was smart.

The bar was dark but a beam from a light sculpture made his ointment shine like a jewel. She didn’t work on The Witcher. Her friends made more money than him designing experiential marketing for documentary series from the Obamas. He tried to say something. Without him even seeing that they moved the girls formed a sort of phalanx. Suddenly he was looking at her back in a cashmere sweater with BLACK LIVES MATTER on the front. She was rapt while a filmmaker for Vice talked about his six months sailing through diminishing Arctic sea ice.

6.

The Norwood Men’s Center was in Glendale by the Forest Lawn cemetery. The graveyard had an art exhibit where he’d taken a date to a famous mural of Golgotha. The office was modern. The receptionist was hot. Maybe Filipina. Her name tag said Sophie. Sheer white shirt. Aqua color bra underneath. The first natural color hair he’d seen in weeks. Welcome to The Men’s Center, she said. You have an appointment-

Hi, yes. He gave his name. Let me give you my Blue Cross–

We don’t take insurance.

OK–like how much will it be

I can’t give information about the cost in advance, sir. The doctor may discuss it with you. She handed him the clipboard. The forms.

OK is it more than ten thousand dollars?

I can’t give information in advance

A hundred thousand?

I can’t–

I’m joking, it’s fine. How is it working here

It’s good, I have time to study. I can write my papers–

Do the old guys hit on you, he said. The pen skipped halfway through writing “44” next to AGE. They’d asked him for his birth date. Why couldn’t they just figure it out.

Sometimes, she said, and almost laughed.

What papers are you writing–

It’s about a book called Dogeaters–about fighting patriarchy in the Philippines–

I’ve been there, he said. Thinking good luck. Picturing the woman with two black eyes wading through rice fields on a water buffalo.

I always wanted to go, she said.

You should. Your family’s from there? Nakaka intindi ka ba ng Tagalog?

Haha, no. Maybe you can tell me about it. She was leading him into a corridor with wine color walls and posters for Semen Cryopreservation. Gestured him into a room. Can you please take off all your clothes, she said. You can fold them on the chair. Your underwear too, everything. As she closed the door behind her and he peeled down his boxer briefs the waistband caught on him; he was half hard.

7.

Norwood didn’t make him wait. As soon as he’d sat down with the weight of his balls crinkling up the cold butcher paper the old man came in. Black suit. Black hat. Long white hair almost like The Witcher. Gaunt face like a greyhound. Not tall but a quality about him. Like a Jewish version of the old man from Phantasm.

So you want to keep your hair, he said. Voice like fall leaves rasping on asphalt.

We’ll I’m not sure I’m losing it–

Anything else?

My face. You can see there’s this red on my skin–

Mm hmm. Let’s look at the hair first. Can you pull it back please.

Like this?

Yes, good.

Dr. Norwood snapped on toothpaste color gloves. Pulled open a high cabinet. Took down a black briefcase. Unlatched it. Inside, on a black cushion, a sickle-shaped knife. I’ll just need a sample, he said. Hold still please. And pull the hair back, all the way back. Dr. Norwood was holding his cheek. The skin of his palm only as warm as the air. I’ll just take a little bit.

The knife swished by his temple and it felt like a bird was pulling him with sharp claws. Dr. Norwood held up a lock of hair. Salt and pepper with a little blood at one end.

Sorry but we need to analyze close to the root. Lean forward please–

What do you think so far.

Male pattern baldness is rated 1 to 7. 1 is a full head of hair. 7 is–well, we’ve all seen. All men are on a journey to 7. Some die before they get there. Can you lean forward please.

Norwood pivoted to the other side of the exam table. He felt fingers rooting by his whorl like a chimp looking for an insect. Yes, said Norwood. Yes, there’s some loss of density here. I’ll take a sample–

The sickle knife snicked. Felt like a squirrel bit him–how much loss of density, he said.

The scale is 1 to 7. You’re on the verge of “3 Vertex”. You can lean back.

Is 3 Vertex bad?

Well your wife won’t be happy–

I don’t have a wife.

Mmm hmm, said Norwood. Lean to the left please.

Are you gonna cut off more hair?

Just a little sample. How long have you had the psoriasis–

Is that what it is? It’s–OW–it was like this for a year but only my forehead, now it’s my cheeks and eyelids, it’s starting to hurt–

Well I’m sorry to hear that. No cure I’m afraid.

Is there treatment?

​There are creams, said Norwood. But that’s at the surface level. The root cause is not clearly understood. It’s thought to be an overzealous immune response to the body’s own cells. Lean back please–

The knife. AHH! So my immune system is eating my face–

“Eating” isn’t the right word, the action is additive. It’s building painful lesions on to your face. It’s taking over.

OK but–

As I said, not much we can do. But it does sometimes fade.

It does?

Yes, and then comes back; the overall pattern gets worse over time of course. But you may have some good days. Can you lean to the right please.

Are you going to–

Just a small sample. Most men have no problem with it. Please just relax. Have you had decreased libido, loss of physical strength–

No-

When we see inflammation like yours, it’s sometimes secondary to a decline in testosterone. It can be comorbid with impotence–

I mean, my sex drive is normal. It’s powerful in fact–AHH! The knife like a snakebite.

You may find your experience changing.

Can I stop chasing women?

Desire never goes, said Norwood. Only what we desire goes. Open your mouth please.

Why?

I’m assessing the situation, be patient. I’ll check the nose as well– Norwood’s thumb began furiously bruising his gums– as men age our noses and ears never stop growing. You can see for example, older members of the British Royal Family, it’s quite hideous. And yours is abnormally large, disjointed– I’ll take a look, but first–

The knife again. Back of his head. Like a cigarette put out on his skin.

How much hair do you need–

I need to make a full diagnosis. Now the nose please– tilt your head back–

His neck didn’t want to move. He flinched like Norwood might cut his throat. But he leaned back. Norwood produced what looked like a small chrome drain snake. Try to relax, he said.

Norwood jammed the cold marble-size metal end into his nostril and began jerking the steel into his sinus. It felt like drowning. Thin fingers grated hard on his psoriasis patches. Made them sting. The bones in his face creaked like an old house in the wind. NNMMMPPH, he said.

It’s as expected, said Norwood. Now for your testicles–

No–

It’s for your own good, I need to understand your endocrine function.

He looked as Norwood brushed aside his paper gown, to where his nuts lay in their hideous pool of skin.

Quite distended, said Norwood. Are they always like this?

I guess.

At your age the gonads will have lost some function. Your sperm– what’s left– may be… less than ideal. And the decline will of course continue. No wife no children?

No, guess I better get married quick.

To whom, said Norwood.

Is Sophie single?

I don’t think she’d be interested in someone like you.

I was joking–

We joke when we’re afraid of the truth, said Norwood. One more–

Before he could duck the sickle knife scraped halfway across his crown. It felt like being scalped by a tomahawk. Norwood dropped hair into what looked like a biohazardous waste bag.

What can you do about my hair–

What can we do about anything, said Norwood. Chuckled a little as he latched his knife case closed. Tucked it under his arm and reached for the door handle. But you’ll be hearing from us. We’ll see you again. Soon.

His scalp burned as he struggled into his pants. Stumbled into the hall. Lurching past the FREEZE YOUR SPERM poster he saw his reflection in the black letters. The dome of his skull naked and white. A few sickly spikes of bleeding gray hair. Huge nose purple and jagged. Lakes of beet red wrinkling beneath his eyes. Sophie at the desk, startled, then breathing as if to calm herself. Something in her eyes like pity for a second. Then nothing.

I’ll take your payment, she said.