Mike by Moc

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It was one of those nice spring days in early May, when the trees are budding, the lawn is greening up, and the sun is warming everything to a pleasant mid 70's. I'd been out mowing lawn earlier, trying to get a jump on a tan. I was scrubbing a kettle from last nights cooking disaster, when I heard the doorbell intrude into one of those momentary pauses between songs on a CD. I looked around the corner and saw through the window that it was my good friend Mike, so I hollered for him to come on in.

Mike enjoys playing basketball and at 6'6", 215 pounds, he has a ripped torso admired by women and envied by men. He is one of those GenXer's who has a lightened his wavy brown hair by bleaching. Mike has the type of hair that curls as it gets longer, it was already brushing the top of his shoulders. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, blue jeans, moccasins, and his usual beguiling smile. I told him to grab a beer out of the fridge and to open one for me while he was at it. He perched on a counter stool and began to fill me in on results of the pool tournament held at our favorite watering hole. I finished up the dishes, and as I began my beer I noticed he seemed slightly nervous.

Is that offer of a mohawk still good? he asked, flushing slightly and gulping some beer. I'd been giving him grief a few nights previously that he needed to do something radical in his life, like getting a mohawk, as I had done in college.

Hey, anytime . . . anyplace . . . I have clippers and will travel! I answered with just the slightest bit of excitement in my voice. OK, How about now! Mike said as he gulped down the last bit of his beer.

Great! I said as I grabbed a counter stool and headed into the bathroom, where I kept my clippers, shaving supplies, and razor. I looked behind me as Mike peeled off his t-shirt and dropped it in the hallway. He paused at the door and said, I'm not going to do this half-ass, but go all the way. He un-buttoned his Levis and removed them, revealing a buckskin breechcloth. AI figured if I'm getting a mohawk I should dress like a Mohawk! he said, flushing slightly.

The barbershop is open! I said, motioning him to have a seat. Mike perched on the stool which I had placed in front of the mirror. He declined the barbers apron with a shake of his head as he ran his fingers through his curls, and cast a pensive gaze at his reflection.

Ready? I asked as the Osters buzzed to life . . . my hand feeling just a bit un-steady.

Do it! Mike intoned with a sure nod at my reflection in the mirror.

I plowed a swath through the sideburn on the right side of his head, not stopping until I almost reached the crown. The curls tumbled to land on Mike's chest, legs and mocs before they reached the floor. Rapid passes reduced his mop to stubble as I glided the clippers past the ear, and up the right hand side of the neck.

I switched sides and within four minutes Mike's curls were scattered all over my floor, except for a strip, about three inches wide from his forehead to the nape of his neck. I switched off the clippers, and placed them on the counter top.

I grabbed some AGS flat top wax and worked some into his remaining hair, which I combed out. Switching to a scissors, I trimmed the crest to about two inches, but left the hair at the nape full length, about four inches. I grabbed the clippers and straightened out the sides of the mohawk until it was about two inches wide.

As I lathered up the shaving brush, Mike ran his hands across his scalp, gingerly feeling the mohawk. Cool! was all he could say, with a stunned look on his face.

I lathered his head, working the foam into the nubs of hair, then grabbed a new razor from the pack. AHold still! I commanded as I guided his head with my hand as the razor peeled away the brown stubble. With each stroke of the razor, a perfect scalp was revealed. I re-lathered his head, grabbed a new razor and shaved against the grain, in order to leave no trace of stubble. As an after-thought, I lathered his face and stripped away his five o'clock shadow.

Now that's a radical haircut! I said, as I toweled off his shiny scalp and ran a comb through his mohawk, brushing it upright. Mike stood and brushed off stubborn locks that were clinging to his chest as I headed into the kitchen for a broom.

As I returned with the broom and a zip-lock bag, I noted Mike was running his hands over the sides of his head, and fingering his mohawk. A look of pleasure was on his face. I filled the bag with what had been Mike's pride and joy only twenty minutes earlier. When I stood up, Mike had his hands on the clippers, and with a devilish twinkle in his eye, said, Next!

It's time for you to do something radical!Mike said as he motioned towards the stool. I hesitated for a minute, but thought, what the hell, I need a haircut anyway! I stripped off my t-shirt and sat down on the stool. I looked into the mirror to see a smile on Mike's face as he said, This Mohawk feels like razing a little hair!

Placing the clippers at the center of my forehead, Mike plowed a path from the front down the center, not stopping until he reached the nape of my neck. AA reverse mohawk! he exclaimed. I looked at my reflection and laughed. Take it all off! I said. You've got it! he replied.

I watched as six inch strands of hair fluttered by my face on their way to the floor. Within five minutes I didn't have a hair on my head. Now what to do with this beard?! Mike mused. Before I could say anything, the clippers were attacking the sides of my face. Mike left me with a mustache and goatee, which actually compliment my looks. Mike applied shaving lather to my scalp, and with long strokes of a fresh razor, stripped away the stubble leaving a shiny bald head. With a little more lather and a few more strokes of the razor, my cheeks were shaved clean, leaving a tidy goatee.

As Mike swept up the floor, I paused to look at my chrome-dome in the mirror, and was pleased by the reflection. Time for a beer! I told Mike as I ran a hand over my scalp.

As we sat on stools in the kitchen, grinning like a couple of hyenas, I complimented Mike, With the mohawk, moccasins, and breechcloth, you're one radical dude! Thanks! Mike said with a grin, running a hand alongside the ridge of hair on his other-wise bald head, I can hardly wait until Darrin and the other guys check out my mohawk! As we headed off to our favorite bar for a game of pool, I couldn't help but wonder, Which of our friends will be next!

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