I didn’t know about the tiny undead man on the back of my head until I knew how to count. My parents kept having me count to one and I kept adding two. Wasn’t sure why. Turns out that little guy is tapped into my brain and my parents had to break the news.

“You were born with a sycophantic twin attached to the back of your head.”

I didn’t sleep well that night. He kept whispering things to me.

It’s not me, it’s you.

The next morning, my mom showed me why I’d never gotten a haircut. If you tie my hair just right, it covers him up nice and convincing. I thought I was born with a bun. Nope. Just a little guy living in the bun. 

It wasn’t the biggest problem until private school. Rules state your hair can’t touch your collar but the principle knew my situation, so he never gave me gruff about it.

“What about Bunny—” that’s what they called me, the jerks, “—he’s got hair longer than a girl.”

And I did too. All the girls wanted to touch it because they thought it was fake but I’d spasm and they’d not feel so inclined anymore.

They won’t hurt me.

My voice started getting deep and they started making fun of me more. Deep voice and long hair, I might as well have been a three-legged toad. But mom kept assuring me that everything was fine between the doctor visits. In twelve years they hadn’t been able to deduce if it was safe to saw off the man. My vote was yes but my vote was no.

I was the smartest in most of my classes, which earned me more badges of shame. Turns out the little man had an extensive knowledge of literary classics, advanced mathematical concepts, and even Spanish. Tengo una rodilla. But the little genius also lost me my lunch money more times than I’d care to admit. No matter who beat me up, though, they never got through the bun. My mom knew how to tie them. No one ever saw me for what I really was. No one but me.