Next, Next Door by Andrew (recovered)

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By Andrew


Next! Next Door! School starts again next week, so it came as no surprise that my brother and I had been told to visit a barber and get out haircut. In all honesty I cannot say I was particularly bothered, indeed I was pleased that my mother hadn't left it until the last day of the holiday, as last year I had resented sitting in the busy barbershop, in the sweltering heat completely wasting my last day of freedom!

I was up early as usual to have breakfast with my parents, who handed me some notes to split with my brother to cover our cuts. My brother was as usual in bed, having never been an early riser. My parents left at eight as usual for work. I watched a little TV until becoming bored thought I may as well head off for the haircut before the little shop got busy.

It took under a quarter hour to cycle to the shops, and I arrived not much after nine, mercifully there was no queue, just the barber, sat back in his large red and chrome chair studying the newspaper. The bell on the door rang out announcing my arrival, and I was sat and robed in seconds, my predictable 'just a trim' having been uttered.

The barber then clipped my hair back to its usual short crew-cut with his usual deft efficiency, my head moving instinctively to accommodate the clippers he yielded upon my hair. Together we made an impressive team and in just fifteen minutes I sported a haircut we were both pleased with. I paid, was pleased to see there was plenty of change left from the note I had handed over, and left, the change burning a hole in my pocket.

I spent the day out and about with some of my mates, so didn't return home until late afternoon. As I cycled up our road, my mother's car passed me and she tooted her horn gently. On arriving home I helped her unload some groceries and she commented on how good my hair looked.

As we went inside music was blaring out from my brother's room, so load I figured he'd soon be told to turn it off, he clearly realised too as the noise suddenly abated, and he appeared at the top of the stairs uncharacteristically wearing a baseball cap, grinned at my mother before disappearing back to his room.

Mark, my brother didn't appear again until dinner, not that this was anything unusual, whereas I preferred to be outside, my brother has always been more of a home bird. What was odd was that he was still adorned by a black baseball cap

At the start of the summer Mark and I had been sent for haircuts, and he had just had a modest trim, so his hair had grown quite unruly in comparison to my own. He was always glum whenever we went to the barbers. Sitting across from him I suddenly became intrigued as to why he was hiding his hair.

It wasn't until dessert was served that my father commented on what a smart haircut I had got, and then silence fell as he glanced across at my brother saying 'Well lets take a look at yours son!' Slowly Mark removed his cap. Whilst it was clear from the crisp outline around his ears that he had indeed had his haircut, it was still much longer than usual, and having been tucked up inside his cap all afternoon was as untidy as before. Mum served up some pie, as my father muttered about what a waste of money Mark's haircut had been.

The atmosphere became heavy and as normal for our family we adopted silence as a mechanism to deal with it. I took an early opportunity to leave the table as did my brother.

Around seven, I thought it would be safe to leave my room, thirst being my primary concern, I headed straight for the kitchen, pausing for a brief moment on the stairs as I could hear something strange, possibly a faint sobbing.

As I came into the kitchen, all fell into place, my brother was sat on a chair in the middle of the kitchen, shirtless. A towel was draped over his bare shoulders, and his eyes were clearly wet and read. On seeing me he sniffed deeply and wiped his eyes with the palms of his hand.

'Keep still.' Snapped my father, clearly irritated. As he took a deliberate and decisive decision to cut a strand of Mark's hair that he'd been holding between his finders. It was then I looked down to see that the towel was covered in similar size clumps of Mark's hair, Dad was certainly giving him the haircut he had intended him to get.

Mark had clearly annoyed my father, and I felt quite sorry for poor Mark as I watched him wince as his head was pushed around and his hair combed and pulled with uncharacteristic roughness.

My father had his teeth locked in concentration as he chopped lock after lock of Mark's hair off. Clearly he was cross with himself as it was already evident that as easy as our barber made cutting hair look, it plainly was not so easy. Mark's hair was looking awful, and getting shorter with every snip as my father try to correct his mistakes. Mark really would have cause to sob if he had been able to see what was taking place above him!

I was tactful, and returned back upstairs. After about half an hour I heard my father and brother shouting, quickly followed by my brother running upstairs and slamming his bedroom door. The house fell silent.

Relieved I waited for another twenty minutes before daring to go in and see how Mark's haircut had turned out. It was worse than I had feared, he looked around at me his eyes still wet from tears of despair. My face must have confirmed to him what had happened, there was no way he could go to school with a haircut like that, it was obviously a home cut!

What could he do! Trying to be positive I told him that there was only one solution, he'd have to have it buzzed. Trouble was he didn't have the money for the barber. I could give it a try for you I suggested, I knew that the guy next door had a set of hair clippers we could borrow. My brother accepted the sense in my proposal, his long glance at his reflection in the mirror testament to his reluctance, he nodded.

I went around straight away, I knew Bob had all the necessary equipment because he cut his four son's hair - pretty expertly at that. I was invited in to house and ushered into the kitchen by his wife. Bob seemed surprised that I wanted to borrow his clippers, he said my hair was pretty short already, so I recounted the story of Mark's haircut from hell.

'Have you ever used clippers before?' he asked. I shook my head. 'Well why don't you go and fetch him round here, and I'll tidy him up, after all it sounds like the last thing he needs right now if another amateur haircut!'

'Great!' I replied full of relief, probably like my Dad I had not though that a haircut could go wrong, experienced barbers made it look too easy, which was not doubt a curse children everywhere regretted at least once in their life.

I ran back home, and convinced my brother that this was his best option, after all the kids next door always had great haircuts, this way what could go wrong?

On returning, the kitchen had been transformed into a barbershop, a large chair was positioned in front of a free standing mirror, a trolley lay beside bearing at least six sets of clippers, many attachments, combs and scissors. Behind the great chair were six fold-up chairs, one even had a magazine laid across it. It was all quite surreal, and much different to the scene I had witnessed in our own kitchen.

'Haircut night is usually on a Sunday, but seeing as I'm setting up for you I thought I could give the kids a back to school haircut as well.' He said, and almost immediately in trooped his four children, each taking a place on the waiting chairs. Mesmerised Mark and I perched in the two remaining places.

'Who's up first?' Bob asked with enthusiasm. Everyone, including myself turned at looked at Mark, he took the prompt and tentatively took up position in front of the mirror, Bob wrapped him in a professional cape patterned with small scissors and combs.

'The cap will have to come off lad!' he laughed. Mark reached up and slowly displayed my father's handiwork. Bob took a sharp intake of breath, which he released only slowly, taking the time to carefully study the best way to tackle the task he had taken on.

'Hmmm! It's going to be a short haircut lad, your father's hacked it quite short at this bit at the back.' He said his fingers running through the wayward style. 'You ready for that?' he continued.

Mark nodded, his eyes reddening as he fought back tears by biting on his lip. Bob rummaged around for a clipper attachment, eventually finding what he was looking for, clipped it onto a large chrome clipper head and was off.

He started with the short patch at the back, pushing Mark's head forward with his free hand. The clippers were powerful, and their increased power was matched by the volume that now filled the room.

I relaxed as it was evident from the first few sweeps of the clippers that Bob was quite an expert barber, Mark was in good hands. Hair fell in abundance as neatness was restored to Mark's head, quickly covering his shoulders and spilling onto the white ceramic tiles of the kitchen floor. Bob was a strong, heavily muscled guy and had no difficulty in guiding Mark's head around his clippers.

It took a fraction of the time my father had spent, for Bob to create a uniform length back and sides. After the initial shock at the length I had quickly grown used to it, it was shorter than my hair, and his white scalp was clearly visible through the short specks of hair, but it looked smart.

On putting down the clippers, Bob brushed away all the stray hairs to the floor, and then picked up a spray bottle which he directed on the now longer hair on top of Mark's head. The spray was clearly refreshingly cool as Mark smiled slightly as he enjoyed the relief, his embarrassment has made him red and hot.

Mark then had his hair combed up into a kind of spiky style, which removed any remaining doubts (of which there cannot have been many) that my father could pass as a competent hairdresser. Carefully Bob identified the shortest strands, and working much more cautiously now he cut the wet hair to that precise length. Over and over he combed, checking the accuracy of his work. As quickly as Mark's hair was falling to the floor, the atmosphere in the room was rising as Bob's sons starting chatting and joking around.

Even Mark was managing to raise a smile at the antics of the two younger kids, now his ordeal was reaching a conclusion. Bob at last seemed to be happy with the haircut, and having applied a touch of wax, was close to releasing Mark from his chair. After one more thorough combing he released the cape, only to notice a small imperfection which resulted in a fresh set of clippers coming to hand, which if they were cutting any hair it had be very short as I could see nothing of it falling to the cape.

At last with aplomb, he raised a hand mirror keen to display his art to his customer. Mark smiled and nodded approvingly, not that I'm sure what else he could have done in the circumstance, and stood up from the chair, immediately running his hand across the short pile on the back of his neck, his fingers lingering at the nape as it blended to the skin. Although he was no fan of short hair, he knew it looked good, and the confidence that a good haircut can give you was already showing in his demeanour. Politely he thanked his barber and in reply Bob joked it would grow back, but not to let my father near him until it was much longer, as to salvage his haircut again would mean a baldie!

We rose to go, as the youngest of Bob's clan sat down in the chair, I guess he was around seven. 'Well lads what's it to be?' he asked, and the little lad said he wanted it as short as Mark's. As we were leaving the kitchen his wishes were coming true as the clippers clicked back into their audible life.

When we got home, my father marvelled at how good Mark looked, and glancing at me commented that I could use a haircut! I grinned and told him ' No offence Dad, but I'll give your barbershop a miss!'

'Don't blame you son' he laughed, handing me a crisp note, 'take this next door for me to pay Bob for Mark's haircut will you?'

'Sure' I replied, delighted to be asked as I was intrigued to find out how the haircutting was progressing next door. As I entered the kitchen once more the eldest son Jed was just taking the chair, his three brothers all uniformly clipped clones of Mark.

'Same for you son?' Bob asked assertively, I couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement. Yielding the heavy clippers, Bob turned and saw me at the door proffering the money. Although obviously uncomfortable, he graciously accepted the money. I turned to go, then froze as he shouted after me 'Hey - you've paid for two haircuts here, sit yourself down and I'll be with you in a tick.'

There was something about his authoritative tone, that made me sit as instructed.

I watched as Jed, whose hair had been a lot longer than the other boys received a haircut shorter than I had ever seen him with before, but what surprised me was that he was clearly enjoying watching his have all but shaved off, indeed the laughing and joking with his siblings had not abated. He had complete trust in his father, he wouldn't leave that chair looking stupid. Oddly enough after seeing him cut Mark's hair I had held the same faith.

The twilight was settling in as the haircut, like the day came to a close. The kitchen floor was now carpeted with an abundance of brown hair, but the regular lengths made the scene appear fair less brutal than that which my own kitchen had witnessed a few hours earlier.

And now it was my turn, and I was excited at the prospect of getting my haircut again.

'Leave this one to me' Bob decreed. 'I think I know what you appreciate' and those clippers sprang into life, his hand pressing the blades hard into my scalp. It wasn't painful though, more kind of soothing and relaxing. It was only when me head was released from his heavy grip that I was able to assess what he'd done, I was stunned to see the cape covered in short tufts of my light sandy hair, there was so much of it. I looked in the mirror, and could struggled to see any hair around my ears. Unlike with the others though, the clippers then began to work their way across the top of my head, removing the last traces of my recently smartened crew-cut. He left me with the merest hint of hair shaped into a discernable flat-top. This was truly radical, and never would I have dared to ask for such a haircut, but Bob was right I did appreciate it, it made me look much older, more mature, so smart. I loved it.

I ran my fingers over the remaining stubble, savouring the tickling sensation it gave.

'Next time we can shave the back and sides smooth - if you'd like!' he commented, seeming to take as much pleasure in me at my haircut.

I thanked him, and began to leave as one of the lads began sweeping up the hair, another appeared with the vacuum, and the eldest lad began removing the barbershop equipment to the cupboard to await another haircut night.

I went home, and came face to face with my brother, who's jaw dropped at my transformation. He immediately touched his own haircut, possibly fearing that this fate could befall him! My father appeared and his face beamed with delight as he studied my hair. I grinned back, and as we looked at one another it was clear that we had found a new barber. Mark looked on in horror - already dreading being sent next door!

The End

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