i was the one to discover my father's body in his study. an aneurysm at the age of thirty nine. there was no tell tale sign, no heads up, no warning. i had just turned thirteen.

i remember the spring air was unusually warm that night. i had begged my mum not to cut my hair that year so it would grow all throughout the summer. she swore up and down i would regret it and told me not to come crying to her when i got too hot but i was determined to grow out a beautiful, long, blonde ponytail.

it had been my turn for dish duty. i hated that chore more than any other, it always made me feel queasy. maybe the feeling of sticky hair on the back of my sweaty neck, or the slippery squeaking as i scrubbed the plates wearing those huge yellow gloves, or the sight of soggy food floaties in the dirty sink water, or my father's contorted face as he lay slumped over his desk was enough to make my stomach complete its final backflip and empty itself directly in the study doorway. i flung my hands over my mouth to try and stop myself but it sprayed out in every direction. it was on the carpet, on the door, on my dad and in my ponytail.

i will never grow out my hair again.