Death of an eyebrow...

There isn’t a solitary cyclist I know who can be described as ordinary or average. Something about the sport selects against meek, quiet people and instead, gives us loud, boisterous ones. What I’m getting at is that many of the people I know are definitely well out of the mainstream. There’s nothing wrong with that, and it does provide me with some good stories.

I have a co-worker who’s a gym rat and a cyclist. I’ll call my friend Jules, because he’s a truly nice guy and I wouldn’t want to embarrass him in any way. Jules may have a bit of a problem with impulse control, though. He came to work one day and everyone noticed almost immediately that his eyebrows were missing. This provoked a lot of comments and questions, all of which Jules deflected. He really didn’t want to talk about it.

The questions eventually tapered off. Weeks passed. Months passed. Jules was asked about his eyebrows now and then, but he was still very reluctant to talk about it. Finally one day he relented, and allowed that the eyebrows were ‘bothering him’.

Now, as anyone who reads this can tell you, I’m prone to drinking entirely too much coffee. It cranks up my imagination and makes it possible for me to type very fast. Imagine that. My friend, Rich, sparked this line of thought, and I readily admit that I’ve stolen much of this idea from him. But I’ll blame the embellishments on the caffeine!

Jules was sitting in his apartment one quiet evening, reading a book, when he heard a small voice. “Jules! Hey! Jules! Listen up!”

He looked around, but he was alone. No television or radio disturbed the quiet. But he’d distinctly heard a voice.

“Jules! Hey! Up here! It’s us, Moe and Larry, your eyebrows!”

Jules gave careful consideration to the state of his mental health. He was just possibly having a breakdown.

The eyebrow seemed to anticipate this. “Hey! You’re fine! You’re not going nuts. But you gotta understand, us eyebrows usually don’t talk much. In fact, Larry here rarely talks at all.”

“I’m not going insane?” Jules spoke aloud.

“No! Like I said, you’re fine. But we had an idea we wanted to run by you. Larry and I have been thinking about branching out, opening franchises here and there. You’re getting old enough that it’s time to consider it.”

“Wh-what? Franchises? What are you talking about?” Jules stammered. He still couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with an eyebrow.

“Have you noticed your middle-aged buddy, Ed?” Moe asked. “His eyebrows opened franchises in both ears and one nostril. That guy has hair sprouting out of places that have never seen hair before! He really wanted some on his chest, but he’s not gonna be blessed in that department, if you know what I mean.”

Jules rose from his chair and walked into the bathroom. “You want to make hair grow out of my ears? Why?” He stood before the bathroom mirror, peering at his eyebrows.

“It comes with age, pal. Eventually, all guys start growing hair in odd places.” Moe’s voice changed, becoming slightly alarmed. “What are you doing, Jules?”

Jules had his electric razor in hand.

“Jules, you don’t need that now. You always shave in the morning. Please put it down. You’re frightening me!”

The razor buzzed as Jules switched it on. He raised it toward his face.

“No! No! No! Run, Larry, run!” Moe’s voice was anguished.

The razor quickly removed one eyebrow. Larry never moved, stoically accepting his fate.

“Murderer!” Moe screamed. “Oh you might get us now, but never forget this – we’ll be BACK!”

The razor buzzed, and in an instant, Moe too was gone.

But from somewhere, Jules could hear a faint echo of his voice saying, “We’ll be back!”