Coon Hill - Part Five - "Very Fine Hair"

Coon Hill

Part Five

"Very Fine Hair"

            This... I folded back up and slipped into my shirt pocket that, in hindsight, was pretty much over my heart (the pocket with the folded paper) but I did not... bother myself with a “that’s stupid” and turned back to... completing my rummaging of the... old dead woman’s bedroom while flickering back and forth around the bedroom door... way... leaving that door open and ‘the death chair’ out there in sight beyond and... (turned back to) my self-antiquarian infatuation over the two ‘stands’ and:

            OK so I thought a little bit about folded piece of paper I found on the floor by the ‘death chair’ and how I had ...stone skipping on the pond surface of my JOB... picked it up there by giving ORDER to my antiquarian universe of ‘total clean out’ professionalism.  So that runs out pretty fast for I do actually take every single piece of paper (and anything-everything) ‘out’ of estates I’m cleaning out... all the time.  So it’s in my shirt pocket.  “Big deal”.  Right?

            Well... I mean... I had the advantage of my antiquarian ‘quick scan’ operating in this setting and at that time it being on ‘full throttle’ so... like... I did... even in the micro seconds... ‘look at it’ and ‘get the (it’s) gist’ meaning I landed on the antiquarian beachhead OF IT and scampered ashore and into ‘safety’ (protective antiquarian cover by technical deference) of:

            The paper was way older than the old dead woman.  Like... two hundred years old.  Not 1840’s old.  Not 1830’s old.  Maybe 1825 old... but... ‘two hundred years old’  (1814) (as of 2014).  I know about old paper... making; paper making... the industry... in ‘early America’ (old New England) and that whole... very serious... ‘subject’ with its product being... ‘old paper’.  So that took care of that by ‘gut’.

            Then there’s the ink note; its ink... its cursive... its ‘says’... its... OK:  Who wrote that when why to whom when why and ...ok... ‘you pick one’:  Male or female?  Can’t tell?  So... ah... wait a minute:  The hair.

            Ok.

            It’s ‘fine’ ‘hair’.  And not old gray rotten hair but a young youth curling chunk of... fine hair of ...what color?  So I get it out of the shirt pocket and look at it; the hair, again.  And its... folded in the paper yeah cool.  So... what color is it?  Well... the hair is really, really fine hair that is sort of... ‘brown’ but with that “brown” color word not at all catching the obvious to the eye depth and hue changes in this ‘chunk’ of clipped... ‘it’s VERY FINE’ hair that runs to ‘red’, to ‘auburn’, to light brown, to curling brown running to light brown with red highlights with all this being over... over... the ‘it’s very... very... fine hair.”

            I know that stuff; very, very fine hair... in old New England.  I ...have... very, very fine hair in old New England.  I have that and have always had that... and known that too... with my mother... my aunts... my grandmother... everyone touching it always after combing it “very fine hair” (“you have”).  And it too is colored this same as the folded-in-old-paper... hair.

            “Male or female?”

            It... could be

            Me

            That ‘clipped that’.  Could be that; old New England very fine... ‘light colored’ hair... clipped... into a paper folded with a penned hand ink note of ‘for ever’.  Did she (the old dead woman) know who?  Did she die knowing whose hair was folded in the paper?  Was I ever finding out?  If she died holding that hair with that note in that folded paper did it be too... a part of ‘the death chair’?

            “No... someone just CHUCKED IT THERE.”

            In an old New England home with very little old paper in it and an old dead woman who ...I already said... ‘when alive... was well settled of things’ (Part Three):

            So she had fine hair.  I mean ...very fine hair.  Yes.  I saw it... a long time ago.  Did he have very fine hair?  Whose ‘he’?  Did... does... old New England have very fine hair... and everyone knows it?  Has always ‘knows it’?  When the... eye of an English man... in Colonial New England... ‘stone skipping on the pond surface’ of ...looking over the bandied scalp locks displayed as totem before his eyes.  And the Colonial French man too... (the French girls... did not like... the English girl’s... hair):  They ‘knew’ ‘fine hair’ with just the littlest pond skip on the surface.  “That hair”... came from a certain kind of someone ‘there’... now dead and scalped ...in old Colonial New England.  “You have very fine hair.”  She... had very fine hair.  “I’d know it anywhere; her hair.  Or:  He had very fine hair.

            Take your pick.

            Follow your gut.

            It’s folded in a piece of paper... “for ever”.

            I mean; they just TOLD HER whose hair they... thought it was.  Or... just told her.  Anyway.  No one is going to prove anything about that piece of ...old hair.  Dig up the graveyard and sample the DNA... of old New England... scalp locks?  If one has no ‘very fine hair’ of ‘old New England’ how can one know what’s going on here?  But I am not confused.  I have very... very... fine hair ...in old New England.

            The hair (in the folded paper) can be anyone’s hair.  OR... everyone’s hair... or.  As long as it is what it is; very fine hair... folded in an old slip of paper.  Maybe it’s an old slip of paper with some... new... hair folded into it.  Oh no... old New England grandmothers... never do a ‘something like that’.  Would they?

            “Grandmother... would you?”

            I... put the folded piece of paper back in my pocket and I ... still have it... now years later.  What am I going to do ‘with that?”.  Aside from the ‘remember’ ‘for ever’.  Like who am I gonna sell that to... and for what.  And, you know, toss it in with ‘the death chair’ like it’s some sort of package deal... for someone to BUY and TRY to get at what’s going on here.  No:  “You have to be there”.  And:  Have very... very... fine hair... in old New England.  Always.

            Sit up and look around:  It’s GONE.  I cleaned it out.  She gave me the damn hair paper as a ‘go ahead’.  This was like ‘that was like’ and this then; folded with the ...very, very fine hair... was a “that is it that it was here folded and I died in that chair.  Too.  I know you understand this I don’t know what to do about it either don’t forget to take the old Coon Hill sign down it's up on the tree on the road.”

            “Ok.  No problem.”

            “You have very fine hair.  Do you know that?”

            “Yes I do.  So do you.”

            “We all did.”