Shorter than I wanted, but hey. by Ken
I've never had short hair. The shortest was maybe about 3 inches. I was currently 8 inches long, longer in spots, but for the most part, 6 inches. It was hot that summer, really, really hot. A sustained heat wave, very humid. It seemed to affect me and I thought of getting a very short haircut. I saw more and more guys with short hair and decided this was the time to get it done.
I went to a salon, confident I wouldn't have to worry about it being too short. I took a seat and waited for them to call my name. A very nice young lady who introduced herself an Sharron. A very pretty blonde, right about my age.
I headed toward the chair I'd seen her working at but she stopped me. "Let's get that hair washed, okay?"
"But I just want a clipper cut."
"Doesn't matter. We have to wash it first, doesn't matter how short it's going to be."
I complied and she washed my hair. It was nice, having someone else wash it. She toweled it off and we went to her chair.
"So a clipper cut? It's kind of long, that's a big step."
"I know, but it's so hot out, and I see so many other guys with it, I thought it was time to give it a try."
"Ever have a clipper cut before?"
"No, first time. A little nervous, but sure this is what I want."
"Well, you're right, there are a lot more guys sporting the look. It looks great. I love the look, even though it means fewer are getting their hair cut. So, the clippers, all over, right? Down to the wood, as they say?"
I nodded, though I wasn't familiar with the term 'down to the wood'. She capped me and turned me away from the mirror. I was looking forward to a nice short brush cut.
She combed my hair and I heard the clipper start up with a soft snap. She pushed my bangs back and started at the top. I felt the clipper, cold at first, heat up as she made pass after pass. I kept my eyes closed, as I didn't want any little hairs in my eyes. She worked at the top very carefully before starting on the sides. I could feel the cold of her hands as she held my head steady while she did her work. She made pass after pass, going over the same area two or three times.
When she was done, she set the clippers down and picked something else up, I couldn't see what. I heard the motor start and she began running it over my head. I heard a constant sound of ticking at first but after a while the noise stopped. I asked her what it was for and she said it made certain everything was the same length. When she was done, she ran a wet towel over my head and dried me off. She took off the cape and turned me to the mirror.
I was bald. To the skin bald. "Um, I just wanted it short."
"What? I'm sorry, you were talking about the short haircuts every guy's getting now. There are a lot of bald guys out there, I thought that's what you wanted."
I felt my head, it was as smooth as skin. No stubble.
"I'm sorry, I really thought that's what you wanted," she said.
I smiled. "I like it, actually."
"Good, because it looks great on you. You should keep it."
"You'll lose a client," I said.
"That's okay. You know, I get off at 7. I'll be hungry then."
"I'll be hungry by then as well."
"And I really like your new haircut. See you at 7?"
It was a date. I caught my reflection going out of my new bald head. And I knew I'd never grow it back again. And I knew this was going to be a new start in my life.