The Fault in my Fro

Chapter Two

From the moment I laid eyes on Hazel Grease I knew she was diffroent from the rest. The way her small afro moved. The way the light hit the greasy coating.

For the next few weeks Hazel and I had dates, movie nights and afro styling competitions.

Tonight was a big night. I was meeting Hazel's family. I decided that it was crucial to look my best. I opened my closet doors and was greeted by my signature moth ball scent. Refreshing.

I peered into the box that held the mothy goodness. I took a ball out and popped it into my afro. For good luck, I thought.

After freshening up, I grabbed my brown trousers- bell bottom and my forest green sweater vest. To finish off the signature look, I opted for my leather sandals- a must have.

I looked in my full length mirror. My afro hung low; concealing my eyes. I blinked, getting the grease out of them.

The sweater vest rolled and bunched in all the right places. And the bell bottom's made my thighs look great.

After half an hour of standing in front of my mirror, applying extra grease to my afro, I felt ready to go.

I hop in the car. I have a 20 minute drive ahead of me, so I decide to crank the radio. I blast Afrodeus Mozart.

About 10 minutes into the drive I start to feel my afro droop. Unacceptable. I roll down the window and stick my afro outside the car. The wind acted as a natural adhesive. Problem solved.

I pulled up on the Grease's driveway. There house is little and fragile looking. Similar to Hazels afro. In my head I chuckle.

I visit with Mr and Mrs. Grease. They tell me stories of Hazels past. We eat a toothsome dinner. After a bit more socializing, Hazel and I go downstairs.

We sit on two bean bag chairs, shaped like afro's. She then advances on to my bean bag. She gets awfully close. The moth ball scent must be working.

She runs her hands through my afro. It sends shivers up my spin. No one has ever touched my Afro before. Well, not like that. I could feel her fingers grip my fro, hungrily pulling and tugging at it. Slowly, she pulls her hand back into reality. Examining the grease residue on her hands, she grins. I smile back. She licks her fingers, getting every bit of greasy goodness off. She re-obtains her place in my afro.

After another 10 minutes or so of the afro touching, I say my farewells.

"Goodbye, Hazel Grease." I wink

"Goodbye, Afrogustus."