Larry the Baghead

Larry the Baghead thought about Mary the Doglady every day. Lately she’d filled his head as much as his head filled the burlap sack resting on his shoulders. And as he stood beside his grill sizzling the hell out of some cheeseburgers for a couple of teenagers skipping school, he quietly wished to hear her girlish laugh ring throughout his restaurant. She usually came in on Tuesdays chatting incessantly with some friends or co-workers. He knew everything about her by just listening to her stories from the comfort of his grill as the burgers crackled and popped before him. He would close his eyes behind the burlap and slow down his breathing and simply concentrate on her musical voice as it recounted story after story of her previous life.

Larry had always been the quiet type. He’d existed in his own little world ever since he was ten-years-old. For Larry, everything before that was a just hazy blur. He remembered looking up at his mom laid out in a hospital bed, cancer eating away at her brain having freshly arrived there from the lungs. The only way she could talk to him was by burping words at him through a hole in her throat. And he remembered her last words she ever said to him, “Larry, I always thought you were an ugly baby.”

He never really liked his mom too much.

His dad, on the other hand, was a much better person. His dad owned the best burger shop in two counties. Melvin’s Burgers made one type of food, and only one, but it excelled at it. During the lunch hour the line was known to go out onto the street and around the corner. Larry was fascinated by his father’s business. While it was busy he watched his father work from a distance feverishly piling burger after burger on the grill and making every order fresh and customized. During the off hours he would follow his dad around learning everything he could straight from the source. His father called Larry his own little sizzle monkey. And soon enough, the sizzle monkey was as good at making burgers as his predecessor.

Larry’s last memory of his father was seeing him lying on the couch with a beer in one hand and a half eaten burger in the other. The doctors said he had a genetic predisposition to heart disease, and that would go a long way to explain it, that and the diet consisting exclusively of burgers, french fries, and, for some reason, cantaloupe. He was sixteen when his father died and at seventeen he had dropped out of school emancipated himself from his foster parents and taken over  as owner and operator of his father’s business, the newly named Monkey Burgers. He perfected his skills and had a dream of seeing that line reach around the corner once again. And it was at about this time that he developed the Way of the Bag.

One day, Larry had been peeling potatoes to make more fries when he noticed an empty burlap potato bag on the floor. He picked it up, grabbed some scissors, and went into the bathroom. He looked into the mirror at his eighteen-year-old, ugly mug and started snipping eye holes into the bag. And, as he slipped it on for the very first time, he mumbled to himself, “I always thought you were an ugly baby.”

That night, he stayed up and wrote in his notebook about The Way of the Bag. He he wrote about how everyone existed in their own unique world and nobody really liked to think about it. People looked at each other through giant windows and pretended the glass wasn’t there. The Way of the Bag was an active way of acknowledging this separation. With a bag over your head you can, in effect, live a completely separate life from everyone and still interact with people. Your life becomes consumed by an uncomfortable itch on your face, the smell of dirty potatoes, and the sound of your own hot breathing. For you, the whole world becomes a muffled, far way place. And you become an enigmatic stranger to them. Without the benefit of seeing your face they have no idea what you are truly feeling. Your emotions and facial expressions become pure because you have no fear of people ever seeing them. The Way of the Bag, at its heart, is a way of getting to know yourself, being yourself… and keeping it secret.

At first people didn’t understand. Monkey Burgers became a freak show where people showed up just to see the guy who always wore a bag over his head. Soon that faded into kids ridiculing him for being different as they are always wont do. Eventually, even that went away, and everybody recognized Larry as just another weird little part of their weird little town. You go to Monkey Burgers; you get served by a Baghead. No big deal.
And so went Larry’s life for another ten years. And he was completely satisfied with it. He lived on his own, he cut his own hair, and nobody who had seen his face could remember who he was. Larry had achieved perfect solitude, and he was happy. Happy, that is, until Mary showed up.

Mary caught his eye because, at first, she always ate alone. Not only that, she ate alone happily. Most people who ate alone in Larry’s shop always looked to be on the brink of breaking down and weeping, but not Mary. Mary seemed to be totally absorbed in enjoying her Monkey Burger. She ate with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. She even laughed to herself occasionally. It was all Larry could do to keep on working when she was in the restaurant; he just wanted to watch her eat all day. Then she began appearing with co-workers, and that upset him, until he heard her angelic voice and listened to her fascinating stories.

Larry listened and learned that Mary suffered from a rare disease, Congenital hypertrichosis universalis, which means that she grows excessive, thick, wiry hair all over her body. Her horrified parents didn’t know what to do so they had her carted off by local carnies so that they could make money off of her being a weirdo. When she was old enough, she quit and went to college. She learned how to shave and use removal products so that she could keep her hair growth under control. And she came to work in Larry’s town, because she remembered that Larry’s town was the only town that never really regarded her as a freak. It was as if they were used to weird people living there.
Larry felt she was the perfect woman. He could listen to her and get to know her and she never had to know he even existed. She’d never be disappointed in him, she’d never get tired of him, and she’d never judge him. It should have been the perfect relationship. But he wanted more. For the first time in his life, Larry actually wanted to interact with another human being.

When he discovered this, he stared, bagless, into the mirror for an entire day. He didn’t really know why. He guessed he was just practicing. After that, whenever Mary was in his store he would fight a grueling and intense internal battle trying to convince himself to go over there and talk to her. And every day the battle was won by the bagged side of him. He would remain, forever, behind the counter.

Then one Tuesday he found himself half heartedly sizzling burgers on his grill and half heartedly listening to yet another carnie story being told by Mary. She was with some random bald guy with glasses who seemed to be immensely bored with her story. He kept yawning and checking his watch and annoying the crap out of Larry. Larry gritted his teeth under his bag and gripped the spatula tighter than usual. Every yawn, every sigh, every lackadaisical look issued by Baldy with Glasses caused an uncontrollable grunt to flow out of Larry’s bagged throat.

“So you’re a Lycanthrope, right?” Baldy blurted out, right in the middle of Mary’s story. Larry noticed that she was even in mid-sentence, talking about eating Funnel Cakes.

She looked confused. “A what?”

“You know, a Lycanthrope. A werewolf. Somebody who grows hair all over their body and prances around like an animal at night.”

“No…” She narrowed her eyes. “No, I don’t believe I’m one of those. All I do is grow a little extra hair. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s night or day; full moon or new moon.” Larry’s burger-laden spatula hovered in the air. Her nerves had been struck.

“Well, me myself… I’m an Ergot.” Baldy, nonplussed, continued on. “We’re a lot like Lycanthropes, but we grow our hair on the inside. So you can’t see it. But when that full moon comes we lose all our inhibitions and roam the night, stark naked and animal-like. The world doesn’t understand you. They called you Doglady. Well, the world doesn’t understand me either. I’m a ferocious animal. I’m dangerous, just like you. We’re two of a kind.”

Mary twisted her face. Larry couldn’t tell if it was a look of disgust or pity. She patted Baldy’s hand. “Marty,” she said, “I really doubt it. I don’t think you’re a werewolf, and I know for sure I’m not. In fact, I’m pretty sure they don’t exist.”

“Oh come on, Mary! You shave every day! I can see the stubble even now!” Mary touched her face an expression Larry had never seen before cast over it. “You’re a wolf and you know it. You aren’t like normal people. You belong with someone like me. I understand you.”

“Marty…” Mary closed her eyes. “I really don’t think you do.”

“Geez Mary, can’t you see that you’re different? Everybody thinks you’re ugly. You can’t hide your hair. You’re a weirdo carnie freak. Why can’t you just admit it. I can pass as normal. I’m giving you the chance of a lifetime here!”

“Stop it, Marty.” Mary said quietly.

“Stop what?! Mary, you can’t reject me. I’m all you’ve got! Nobody’s ever going to love a Doglady! I mean, look at y—” Marty’s eyes bulged out as Larry grabbed him and dragged him toward the door.

“I don’t like that kind of disrespect in my store.” Larry’s voice was gruff; he hadn’t used it in years, but he tried to sound as clear and menacing as he could. Marty made gargling sounds as Larry pulled him along by the collar of his shirt. He struggled violently, but Larry was just too strong. He walked steadily to the door and threw him bodily outside. Larry let Marty catch his breath and yell some obscenity at him before slamming the door in his face and locking it. The Way of the Bag always let the loser of a fight get the last word in if not the last action.  Adjusting himself, he turned to a stunned Mary.

“You really didn’t have to do that.” Mary said. “He was harmless, he really was.”

“I…I didn’t like the way he was talking to you.” Suddenly, Larry’s gruff voice gave out even easier than before. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Well, none the less, you got rid of a perfectly good lunch date. Now I’ll have nobody to talk to.”

Larry swallowed, desperately wanting to say something, but the internal battle was waging again so all he could muster was some wheezy sounds.

“You okay, Mr… uhh…” She looked at his name tag. “Baghead? Is that really what your name is?”

“Larry.” It took every ounce of strength for him to say that. “You can call me Larry.”

“Larry, huh? Hm… You never really struck me as a Larry. Would you like to sit down with me? I’ve gotten too used to eating with people to stop now.”

Larry held up one finger to try and signify to her that he’d like her to wait just one second. He walked over to the door and flipped the open sign to “closed.” And then he walked over to her table. Mustering up as much will power he could, he sat down.

Mary smiled and took a bite out of her burger. “This is very good,” she said. “Are you the only one who works here? You’re the only one I see.”

Larry took a deep breath and mumbled out “Yeah…”

“Not very talkitive, are you Larry?”

“No…”

“I am. I talk a lot, and loudly. I would guess you know all about me.” said Mary.

“Uhhh…” Larry knew it wasn’t exactly kosher to admit he really did know all about her when she didn’t even know his name until just now.

“I can imagine sitting behind that counter everyday, you’ve learned a lot about me. I can talk and talk and talk. I think it’s because I was the quiet type for most of my life. Ashamed of who I was. I guess I’m trying to make up for it.”

“Being quiet’s not all that bad.”

“Yeah, you’re right. People like to talk themselves and they don’t usually like someone who never shuts up. I just love talking, but I know I really need to learn how to be quieter.”

“No!” She jumped at his sudden change in tone.  “I mean… I mean that I’m quiet. And that I don’t really mind it too much.”

“Oh. Well, can I ask you a question that’s been burning my mind ever since I started eating here?”

“I think I know what you’re going to ask.”

“Probably. I was just going to ask—”

“How I make my burgers so good?” She paused and Larry continued “It’s sort of a secret recipe. My dad came up with it in the sixties and he taught it to me. He used to say, ‘Son, most people fry burgers or grill burgers or even flame broil burgers. We sizzle burgers and that’s important. Also, fresh ingredients. Nobody likes soggy lettuce or a squishy tomato.’”

Mary looked at him oddly and then chuckled to herself.  “No. Actually, I was going to ask why you wear a bag over your head.”

“Oh…That… Well, it’s kinda complicated.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought so. Is it because you think you’re ugly or something?”

“Uhh…” Larry wanted to get out his notebook. He kept it in the back. He could describe The Way of the Bag to her. He could show her his burlap sacks and maybe even philosophize with her about better ways of exploring his inner self.

“Just as I thought. I don’t think you have to wear a bag over your head if you think you’re ugly. Trust me, I know a thing or two about ugly. I see it in the mirror ever day” She laughed a little to herself.

Larry mumbled something unintelligible even to himself. He knew what he wanted to say, but it was just so hard to say it.

“What was that Larry?” She looked at him with her brown eyes and he swallowed. He had to say it. He couldn’t live with himself without saying it.

“I said… I said that I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I think you’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman who’s ever walked into my store.”

She looked at him closely, closer than anybody’s looked at him in years. To Larry, her eyes seemed to get a little extra watery. “You don’t really mean that. I mean, I’m the only girl I know who can grow sideburns.”

“Of course I mean it! There’s more to beauty than sideburns or what you think you look like. That’s why I wear the bag. The Way of the Bag teaches that true beauty is different from all that.”

“That’s a pretty worn saying, Larry.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

She sat there quietly some more. Larry had never seen her so quiet.  “What do you look like under there Larry?”

“Under my Bag? I… I’m sorry Mary I can’t show you what’s under my bag.”

“Why not? Are you ashamed?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… complicated.”

“I don’t understand how you can tell me all that stuff about how beauty is more than just what you look like when you’re too afraid to show the world your own face.”

“It’s not fear it’s… it’s…” He trailed off. He wished he had his notebook so that he could show her. He just found it too hard to explain The Way of the Bag vocally. It always sounded a little funny when you said it out loud.

“Look Larry, I can’t talk to a potato sack. And I certainly can’t have a … a Baghead tell me I’m beautiful without me seeing his face. How do I know you aren’t laughing at me from behind there?”

“I’m not!”

“Then why can’t you show me? You’ve got to let somebody in Larry. We can’t be friends if there’s always going to be a bag in the way. We just can’t.”

Larry sat there for a while, his fingers twitching and his mind in turmoil. Then he felt her hand touching his and her soft voice cut through the battle raging within him.

“Larry? Please…”

“…okay.” He said it so softly even he could barely hear it.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.” And with that he closed his eyes and slowly took off his bag.

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