Matt and the mistake by Stu

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It was a scorching hot day in the middle of my final summer break from school. I was 17 and bored. I woke up at about 9, as I had done for the past 3 weeks, and had a shower, as I had done for the past 3 weeks. As I was drying off, I noticed that the tip of my fringe had just flopped into my line of sight. The slightly wavy mop on my head was far too long for this weather-it hadn't been cut for 2 months- and as I had nothing better to do, I decided to take the 10 minute walk to the local barber shop.
I strolled through the open door of the shop, and headed for the battered sofa in the room adjacent to the main haircutting area. There was one customer waiting in front of me, a lad staring at his phone in the corner. I did a double take. It was my friend from school, Matt. "Matt! Mate, how are you?" I asked enthusiastically. "Ben! What are the chances of seeing you here?!" We sat down and spoke for the 5 minutes, while the sole barber was clipping away at his elderly client sat in the leather chair. "Next up please" said the middle-aged barber as he walked to his counter to receive payment from the old man. Matt stood up, plonked himself down in the chair, and waited. "Usual please, 2 back and sides and a trim up top" said Matt confidently (I'd be opting for an identical cut). The barber searched through his attachments, prepared his clippers, and flicked them on, filling the humid air with a buzz. Then another buzz filled the air. "Sorry mate, I have to take this call" exclaimed the barber, placing the clippers back down.
"Hiya...Really?... How bad?... Do you want me to come?...OK, five minutes." The barber ended the call. "I'm really sorry lads, I'm going to have to close. My daughter is home alone and feels ill, I need to see if she's alright". He hurriedly uncaped Matt, and ushered us out of the shop. He locked the door, jogged to his car and shouted over his shoulder: "I'm really sorry lads, I don't know how long I'll be, you get yourselves off". With that, he got in, and sped off, leaving me and Matt alone on the pavement. "Brilliant" shouted Matt. "I need a haircut more than food and water to be honest. Looks like you do too" gesturing towards my hair. I laughed in agreement. "You fancy walking to that new hairdressers on West Road?" Asked Matt. "You're having a laugh aren't you? A 40 minute walk to pay £20 for a short back and sides? I don't think so" I replied. Then an idea came to my head. "Tell you what, I've got a haircutting set at home, you fancy going back there and doing each other's hair. I've cut hair before." Matt paused for a moment, and replied with a reluctant shrug and "guess so".
Now, one of my statements was slightly more true than the other. We did indeed have a haircutting set at home. It had been gathering dust since its one and only use last year. My older brother came home with it one day, claiming to be fed up with his blonde curls. He proceeded to give himself a fairly short buzz cut, before realising he hated it and longed for his old style to grow back. The other statement was a bit of a white lie. A few years back I cut a minute lock of hair from my head, before realising cutting my own hair was a stupid idea and dropping the scissors with fear. But how hard can it be?
I could tell Matt was nervous. I offered him a drink. He accepted, and we stood talking in the kitchen for about half an hour. My friend was trying to delay the haircut. He had been too polite to decline, and perhaps too eager to declare his desperation for a haircut. I beckoned him too my bedroom. I grabbed an old towel, covered my carpeted floor with it, and rolled my swivel chair to the centre of the room. "Make yourself at home!" I said, before darting off to find my tools. When I returned, Matt was far more relaxed than I expected. He had already sat down, and taken off his shirt too. I plugged in the clippers, looked at Matt and mimicked the barber's accent when asking "what can I do for you today sir?" "Well, a 2 back and sides and trim on top would be wonderful". "Very well sir". The 1/4 inch guard was attached, and the clippers whirred into action. I placed the buzzing machine on the side of Matt's head, and drove them upwards, sending dark clumps onto the floor, chair, and down Matt's sculpted, shaved chest onto his lap. The pile of hair was building as I moved to the back of my friend's head, before he commented "you seem to know what you're doing, why did I doubt you!?" I laughed along with him. The next 10 minutes would probably answer his question.
I'd completed the back and sides with ease. Spiky 6mm hairs surrounded his head, whilst the untouched hair on top flopped into the shaved region. I picked up my scissors, confident with how the haircut had gone so far, and began chopping away. His hair on the left hand side soon looked uniform with a dozen snips of the scissors. As did the right. Now onto the fringe. I brushed it forwards, until it almost reached his eyebrows and began to cut. The hair retreated up his forehead. A little off the left. SNIP. But it wasn't even. I chopped away on the other side to compensate. SNIP. SNIP. His fringe was a bit on the short side, but was noticeably not level. SNIP. SNIP. SNIP. OH.
I had finally levelled the fringe. By totally removing it. Matt's bangs had been decimated. They were laying in his lap on top of the surplus hair. My friend was oblivious. How could I explain? Perhaps I wouldn't have to. I moved on to the main body of uncut hair. I fed a little of his hair through my fingers and cut it away. SNIP. SNIP. But it looked ridiculous. Far too long compared to his fringe. I pressed my fingers down, allowing more hair to push through the gaps. SNIP. SNIP. SNIP. But still it was too long. I had no other option. I opened the scissors, placed them flat on his scalp, and closed them. SNIP. Hair rained down. A lot of hair. At this point Matt noticed. "Ben, are you OK? You seem subdued". I was silent. I just gestured to a mirror. Matt jumped up, sending hair flying. He looked at his reflection, open mouthed. The lad who walked in with a respectable hairstyle was now looking at a lad with a style too ridiculous for anyone to choose. Tears filled his eyes, but he held them in. "I trusted you." He whispered. "I know. I've let you down, I'm sorry." I said looking, down. He slammed back into the chair, covered in the hair recently divorced from his head. Silence filled the room. I looked at what I'd done. Some areas had escaped my butchery altogether, whilst other patches on the top of his head had been shorn down shorter than the quarter of an inch consistently covering the side of his head. It was a mess.
Matt broke the silence. "You seemed OK with the clippers, you better get hold of them again. I think a number one all over is the only real fix" he said flatly, arms folded. "You sure" I asked. He snapped. "No Ben, I'm not sure. I want you to trim it to shoulder length. OF COURSE I'M SURE". He was emotional to say the least. I found the shortest attachment and got to work. I took one swipe and sent varying lengths of hair raining down once more. I went in for the second pass when he calmly said "stop". "I don't want a number one" he said, almost at a whisper. 'Bit late for that' I thought to myself. He continued. "I want a zero. I've never had any sort of buzzcut before, and I'm not one to do things by half". I obeyed. I pulled off the plastic guard and carried on shaving. Hair rained down. It felt so empowering. In no time at all, I'd removed the mess on top of Matt's head and began shaving off the neat number 2 on the sides. Above his left ear was bare. Then so was the back of his head. And finally the right hand side. I stopped the clippers dead. I marvelled at the brown hair covering the floor, and could hardly believe one head could produce so much hair.
Matt stood in front of the mirror, again open mouthed. He moved his trembling hand to the top of his head and pushed it back. He grinned when he felt the rough sandpaper now covering his scalp. He could hardly stop. "Like it?" I asked. He turned to me: "it's alright I suppose", and smiled knowingly . "Now. Sit down" he said looking at me. I pulled off my t-shirt and obeyed. I knew what was coming. I'd never had a buzz cut before, my older brother's experience had put me off. I took one last look in the mirror.
"Could I have a 2 back and sides and trim on top?" I asked innocently. "What do you think?" Replied Matt, clippers in hand. Guardless, they jumped into life. Without a word of warning, he drove the cold metal blades through my scruffy hair, ruthlessly reducing it to the shortest stubble possible. The buzzing felt amazing. I could see my hair tumbling down in front of my eyes. Feel it slide down my back and pile up on my shoulders. My locks were getting tangled up in my thick chest hair, which was noticed by the makeshift barber. He paused for a moment and drove the clippers through the mat of hair on my torso, sending even more hair onto my bulging lap. Matt was enjoying this far too much. As was I. The sandy blonde hair recently severed from my head began stacking up on top of Matt's. Onto my sideburns. BUZZZ. Gone within seconds. A few swipes later, and we resembled twins. The clippers silenced for the last time that day. I reached up and felt my head, feeling the same sense of excitement Matt had minutes earlier. "Wow" is all I could say. I stood and looked at my friend. "Mate, I'm still so sorry". "Sorry for what!?" He replied. "Giving me the best haircut of my life?" He grinned. So did I. "Honestly, you've unintentionally taken me from an average haircut to a terrible haircut and then an amazing one in minutes. Thank you". With that, he grabbed his top and walked to the door. "See you back at school, I guess". "Yeah, see you Ben". With that he left.
We did see each other back at school. Neither of us had had our hair cut since that morning, and both of us had started to reach the awkward, fluffy stage post-head shave. Our hair was far shorter than friends could remember. It was also too short to style, but too long to be a buzzcut. "You up to much tonight?" Matt asked, as we walked to our first lesson. "No, not really. Why?" I replied. "Well, I could do with a trim, didn't know if you were up for one as well." I paused. I knew what he meant by trim. I was beginning to miss my hair, much like my brother missed his last summer. But I remembered the excitement of shaving my head, and shaving the head of Matt. "Sure. Why not?"
Matt arrived at my house that afternoon, and we repeated the haircuts, the only difference being the efficiency on my part and happiness on Matt's. We couldn't get enough. He returned next week, and the week after. In the end, we agreed to make it a regular appointment. I would shave him bald. He would then shave me bald. And we have been repeating that, every week, for the past 6 months.

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