Machinations, Plots and Schemes--Part 3 by Just_Me

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I got up early on the morning Uncle James was going to take me home. After breakfast, I said, "Do you mind if I take a walk? I want to say bye to some of the neighbors."

Uncle James said, "Sure. Just be home by eleven. I want to leave by then."

"No problem. I’ll see you in a little bit."

Ben piped up. "Want some company?"

"Come on."

I stopped at the door. "Would it be ok if I walked to the barbershop too?" I ruffled my deck. "I’m getting a little sloppy looking, and I want to look good when I see Mom."

Uncle James groaned. "You had to mention Marie, didn’t you?" He looked at me. "You’re right. You are getting a little shaggy. Maybe Marie will like it better if your hair looks fresh. Do you need some money?"

"No, sir. I’m good."

"You’d better go to the barbershop first, just in case he’s busy. I don’t wanna be late."

"Yes, sir. On my way now."

I was all grins when Ben and I got outside. He looked at me. "You’re planning something. What gives?"

I burst out laughing. "You’re damned straight I’m planning something!"

"Tell me what it is, asshole!"

"Do you remember the really short buzzes you used to have to wear?"

"Oh, God. How could I forget? I'm the blond one. I always looked like I had a shaved head."

"Uncle James and I are going to be late leaving Houston. He’s going to go to the barbershop and get a haircut that would make your buzz look long. I might even be able to work it out to where he gets his head shaved."

Ben’s eyes bugged. "How the hell are you going to do that?"

I grinned. "You’re about to watch me get a horseshoe. If Uncle James is going to keep his word to Mom, he’s going to have to shave his head."

Ben gave a fist pump. "You, dear sir, are a f-ing genius! I love it! I’ll bet Dad is regretting forcing all those haircuts on us." He whispered in my ear, "Why didn’t you decide to do this last night? I’d love to get my hands on you with a shoe." He took off running, yelling over his shoulder, "Come on! I can’t wait to see this."

I stopped right before we got to the shop, and pulled my shirt out.

Ben grinned, and "Good idea!" as he pulled his shirttail out also.

We walked into the barbershop and Mr. Anderson said, "Hey, it’s the ex-hippy. What was your name again? Wayne? William?"

"Wayne, sir."

"Ready to get the old flattop tightened up again?"

"Well, sir, I think I want a horseshoe this time."

He frowned. "Does James know you’re here?"

"Yes, sir. I’m going home today, and I told him I want to look sharp when I get there. Uncle James told me to come see you early, just in case you were busy." I pointed at Ben. "He can vouch for me."

"That’s exactly what Dad said."

He soon had me caped up, and the clippers going. It seemed he had the back peeled in a matter of seconds, and then he started on the top.

Doubts flooded through my brain when I felt how short he was cutting it. I muttered, "It’s too damned late to change your mind now, Wayne."

Evidently I spoke louder than I had thought. Mr. Anderson grinned and said, "You’re damned right it’s too late."

Feeling the shaving cream applied to my landing strip was a shock. It felt so strange. The razor on the top of my head was bizarre.

I didn’t know how I felt when I saw myself for the first time with a shoe. I thought, "I think the change from flattop to horseshoe was more shocking than the change from long hair to flattop." My first words were, "Wow! That’s a lot of skin!"

Mr Anderson replied, "Yep. I went as short as I could get it. I figured that’s what you wanted." He kept talking. "I’d estimate that 75-85% of your hair has been shaved off. If you wanted it any shorter, I’d have to shave it."

I thought, "Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Uncle James."

I looked at Ben. "What do you think?"

He gave me a big smile, and his eyes told me what he was thinking. "You look a helluva lot better with a shoe than Dad does."

Mr. Anderson spoke up. "Wanna try the same haircut, Ben?"

Ben shook his head. "Not with my blond hair. You wouldn’t know I had any hair if you cut it that short."

The barber nodded. "You may be right about that. Of course, I could just shave it if you didn’t like it."

Ben grinned at me, and then looked at Mr. Anderson. "I think I’ll pass this time. Maybe later."

"You mean, maybe later, as in when hell freezes over?"

Laughter erupted out of Ben. "Yes, sir. Pretty much."

Mr. Anderson shook my hand. "It’s been a pleasure turning you into a handsome young man. Will I see you again next year, and more importantly, will you still have a decent haircut?"

I grinned. "I’ll be back if Uncle James will have me, and to answer your other question, I think hell will freeze over before I have anything but a very short haircut again."

He smiled. "I like the sound of that."

We walked out, and Ben said, "I can’t wait to get my hands on your head. Let’s go down the alley. Maybe there’s somewhere private where I can touch your head without prying eyes seeing us."

We found a space between two dumpsters. The smell was bad, but we didn’t care. Even the flock of crows cawing at us didn’t stop us. Ben turned to face me. His hand reached out…and then stopped. He looked at me. "May I?"

I laughed. "Of course, you buffoon."

His touch was very delicate, softer than a butterfly’s landing. He traced a pattern up the left side of my head. Then he brought his other hand up, and repeated his actions on the right side. He stared into my eyes for a second. The intensity of his look made me close my eyes. Ben tilted my head forward, revealing my almost bald scalp. I sensed, rather than felt the gentle kiss he placed on my bald landing strip.

I opened my eyes, raised my head and looked into Ben’s beautiful green eyes. The emotion in his eyes was overwhelming. He cupped my face in his hands. He leaned forward, and I thought, "Oh, my god! He’s going to kiss me!"

His face was merely inches from mine when he stopped. The sparkle in his eyes looked like emerald green fire, flashing light and dark —and that fire made me feel like I was melting inside. For the second time in a few minutes he said, "May I?"

I raised a hand, and placed it on his cheek. "Please."

He maintained eye contact while he tilted his head slightly. Very slowly he closed the distance between us, and for the first time in my life I felt a man’s lips delicately touch mine.

He broke contact very quickly, and took a half-step back, still maintaining eye contact. "Are you OK?"

"My god, yes!"

He stepped closer. His hand gently stroked the shaved sides. His deep voice was husky when he whispered, "Sweet Jesus, you are so sexy!"

I took the initiative, and closed the few inches between us. I wrapped my arms around him, and pulled him as close to me as possible. The hardness between his legs proved that he was telling me the truth. He definitely found me attractive. I thought, "I guess I know now which Skipper is gay."

I tilted my head. "Shut up, and kiss me again."

My eyes started to close as he drew closer, but I stopped them, thinking, "You don’t want to miss a second of that look. The passion in Ben’s eyes is too alluring. You may never see it again, Wayne." I distinctly remember thinking, "There’s something in his eyes beside passion. Is it love? Hope? Promise?"

He kissed me again, delicately at first. I got lost in the feel of his lips on mine. The kiss deepened, and I reached up and started feeling his slightly overgrown deck. His passion deepened in response to my touch. My own ardor increased. After what could have been seconds, or minutes, he pulled back.

He was panting when he said, "I’m sorry I did that."

"Are you nuts?! I’m glad you did. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a week."

"Now is not the time or place for this. We have to stop."

I shook my head. "This was the perfect time and place. Thank you."

He grabbed my hand. "Come on. Let’s go before we get in trouble."

Right before we got home, I stopped. "Ben, whether anything else happens between us or not, I’m glad we kissed. I’ve been struggling with the fact that I’m gay. You gave me the confidence to face the fact. I owe you for that."

Ben laughed. "I was about to say the same thing to you."

We walked in the house, and Uncle James said a very dirty word when he saw me. He glared at me a second, and then said, "Wayne Harris, outside. NOW!"

The rage in his voice surprised me, and scared me. I thought, "Oh, crap, Wayne. You might’ve underestimated him." My confidence in myself came to my rescue. "Nah, Wayne. You might have to do some fast talking, but you can weasle your way out of this."

We stepped onto the porch, and I stopped. Uncle James shook his head. "Not here." He pointed. "Down there. I don’t want anyone to hear what I have to say to you."

We walked down to the mailbox. Uncle James leaned on it. "Wayne, I am sick and very damned tired of your antics. What the hell is going on, and what in the name of tarnation possessed you to get a horseshoe, after what your mother said?"

My mind raced for a second, playing out different scenarios. I went with my gut. "Honestly, Uncle James, I’ve been plotting this ever since I heard you and Dad planning to shave my head."

"You little bastard! I ought to beat your ass so hard that you can’t sit down for a month."

My lips quivered with a suppressed grin. He growled, "Don’t you dare grin at me!"

I pulled myself together. "You’re right, Uncle James. I deserve a beating, and I’ll take it. Can I ask if you’ll wait until we get home to beat me? I don’t think I could stand up for the whole drive."

He laughed, despite himself.

I kept talking. "Don’t feel bad. If everything goes according to plan, Dad will be sporting a shoe in about two weeks…that’s if Mom doesn’t make him shave his head."

He shook his head. "I don’t know how you plan on making that happen, but I don’t doubt that you’ll succeed."

I knew I’d won when he said, "Go get your stuff. We’re leaving now. I promised Marie that you wouldn’t come home with short hair. I can’t keep that promise, but I’ll keep my other promise. I swore to her that you’d come home with hair longer than mine. We’ll stop at the barbershop so I can keep my promise."

I said, "Uncle James, you don’t have to get another haircut. Mom will understand."

He shook his head. "I gave Marie my word that I’d have shorter hair than you when we came back. I am a man of my word." Then he glared at me. "You’re paying for my haircut, damn it."

"Yes, sir. Gladly."

On the way to the barbershop, Uncle James said, "I think you were a little unfair to me. I wasn’t the one who wanted you to get a shoe. That was all Curt’s doings."

I got some steel in my voice. "Yes, sir. I know he was the one who had the idea, but you went along with it. In fact, you egged him on. Then you basically said he could use you to carry out his plans. I don’t regret what I did."

He didn’t say a word.

We walked into the barbershop, and Mr. Anderson said, "Don’t yell at me, James Skipper. I asked if you knew Wayne was here."

Uncle James grimaced. "You haven’t been around the boy as much as I have. You’ll learn you have to ask the right question. Yes, I knew he was coming to see you. I just didn’t know he was planning on getting a damned horseshoe flattop."

I was quick to defend my honor. "Uncle James is right. I didn’t lie to you. I was perfectly honest with you."

Mr. Anderson glared at me. "Like hell you were. The lie of omission is still a lie." He shook his head. "That was might sneaky of you, and I’m disappointed in you, son. I oughta beat your ass."

I pointed at Uncle James. "I think you’ll have to get in line. He’s got first dibs on ass beating."

Uncle James plopped in the chair. "My hair’s gotta be shorter than his. Take it all off."

"Are you sure? Maybe if I just buzzed it…"

James shook his head. "I thought about that, but Wayne probably has some trick up his sleeve, that would have me back in a barber chair within the hour. Just shave it." He glared at me again. "I meant it. You’re paying for my haircut."

I pulled my wallet out, and grinned. "Gladly."

We got in the van, to start the drive home. Uncle James looked at me. "Ready?"

"Yes, sir"

"God, I’m not. I’m dreading taking you home. Marie is going to kill me!"

I laughed. "No, sir. I promise you. You’re going to be the hero in this drama before it’s all played. I have a plan to protect you."

"Why the hell didn’t you tell me this earlier? I’ve been worried sick."

I shot back. "Why didn’t you have some faith in me?"

He ignored me. "What’s the plan?"

I put my finger to my mouth. "Shhh! It’s a secret, but I’m going to need a little help from you."

"I’ll do whatever I can to keep Marie from…". He laughed. "I almost said to keep Marie from scalping me, but you’ve already taken care of that." He rubbed his head. "I’ll say I'll do anything to keep Marie from killing me." He looked at me. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just stall for five minutes when we get home. Check under the hood, kick the tires, whatever. I just need a few minutes alone with Mom. I promise you, she’ll come out and hug you, while singing your praises."

He looked dubious. "I think the Pope will convert to Mormonism before that happens."

I grinned. "I know Mom. Don’t worry."

He shook his head. "I’ll try not to worry, but I don’t think I’ll succeed."

I grinned. "My plan worked on you, didn’t it?"

He touched his shiny, bald head. "Obviously."

"I’m equally sure my plan will work on Mom. Have faith."

He laughed. "Strangely, that makes me feel better."

I ran in the house when we got there. "MOM! I’m home!"

She came out of the kitchen, looked at me and screamed. "Where’s James Skipper? I’m going to kill the bastard!"

I grabbed her arm. "Mom! Wait! He had nothing to do with this."

She glared at me. "Wayne Harris, do you think I’m stupid? He had everything to do with it!"

"Honestly, Mom, Uncle James is as mad at me as you are. This is really all Dad’s fault."

Her frown deepened. "Explain yourself, young man."

"I told you how Dad plotted to get Uncle James to give me a horseshoe. Well, I just couldn’t get the idea out of my mind. I kept hearing Dad’s voice saying, ‘Give the boy a horseshoe flattop.’ Then it would just echo in my head. ‘Horseshoe flattop. Horseshoe flattop.’ Well, this morning I told Uncle James I was going for a walk, and I passed the barbershop. Dad’s voice started bouncing around in my head, like he was yelling, ‘Horseshoe flattop.’ I walked in and got my hair cut. Uncle James was furious when I walked in their house."

"He has every right to be furious. I’m furious with you, and with your father too!"

Not smiling when she said that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

I kept laying out my plans. "Mom, I feel really bad for poor Uncle James. After he yelled at me for a while, he said, ‘ I promised Marie that you wouldn’t come home with short hair. I can’t keep that promise, but I’ll keep my other promise. I swore to her that you’d come home with hair longer than mine. You’re going to the barbershop with me so I can keep my promise, and you’re going to pay for the haircut’."

"Good for him. You deserve to pay for it, but I can guarantee your father is going to pay even more dearly!"

I looked down, as if I was ashamed, but I was really hiding a huge smile, and thinking, "This is going better than I hoped!"

"Mom, I feel really bad. Uncle James had his head shaved. He said that’s the only way he could have hair shorter than mine."

"He did what?! Oh, that poor man. That dear man."

She looked at me. "I hope someday you’ll have that much integrity." She looked around. "Where is he?"

"He’s still outside. He said something about checking the oil, but I honestly think he’s ashamed to come in. Maybe he’s afraid too."

Without a word, Mom ran out the door, with me right behind her. I’ll never forget the look on his face when she yelled, "James Skipper, you wonderful, lovely man, get in this house!"

He looked perplexed and relieved at the same time. I wondered if he’d pass out.

Mom met him halfway and gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then she rubbed his head. "James, you were so foolish. You didn’t have to shave your head on my account. Wayne told me all about what happened."

Uncle James gave me a look that clearly said, "What the hell did you say to her?"

I just smiled at him.

Mom never stopped talking. "James, I can’t believe you shaved your head, just to keep a promise you made to me. That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard of. Come on in. You must be exhausted. Let me get you a glass of tea, and a snack. I’ll have supper ready pretty soon."

She looked at me. "Can you believe my heathen son did that to his hair? You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I first saw him." She took a quick breath. "Of course, my first reaction was to want to knock you in the head, James. However, Wayne was quick to take responsibility for his own actions. He told me all about how he got his haircut without your permission."

She looked at me. "By the way, Wayne, thanks for being a man about it."

"James, I’m sorry he put you through that. You must’ve been worried sick about what I was going to say." He nodded, and started to say something, but Mom cut him off. "I’m almost glad it happened though. Your actions just confirmed what I already knew. You’re a mighty good man, James. Thanks for what you did for me."

I enjoyed Uncle James’ confusion. He clearly didn’t know what to say or think.

Suddenly Mom looked around. "Where’s Rose?"

Uncle James looked down and mumbled, "Uh, she wasn’t feeling well, so I came by myself."

Mom laughed. "What you meant to say was that she was a chicken, and sent you to face my wrath by yourself, isn’t it?"

"Uh…Uh…no. She’s really not feeling good."

"James, you never could tell a convincing lie." She hugged him again. "Thanks for everything."

About that time Dad walked in…and he started off on the wrong foot—which thrilled me. "Wayne, old buddy, old pal. You did it! I love the shoe!"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees when Mom said, "Curt Harris, that was the WRONG thing to say. You sir, and in deep trouble!"

Dad’s look was priceless. "What did I do?"

Mom had ice in her voice when she said, "We will discuss it later."

Uncle James stood up. "I’d better get back on the road. I told Rose I’d come right back home."

Dad looked startled. "You mean you came without Rose? We assumed you’d spend the weekend with us. Hell, I would’ve came to pick up Wayne if I’d known you were coming up here just to bring him home."

Mom spoke up. "Can you stay for dinner, at least?"

"No. I’d better get on the road. It’s going to be late by the time I get home."

"Well, I’m going to fix you a couple of sandwiches for the road, and I’m not taking no for an answer."

Dad said, "Marie, we’ll be outside when you’re done. I want to get James’ opinion on…"

Mom cut him off. "Go have a pleasant conversation with James. I can guarantee you it’ll be the last pleasant conversation you’ll have in this house for a long, long time."

When we got outside, James said, "Brrr! It’s chilly in there. What the hell was that about?"

Dad shrugged. "I’ll be damned if I know. I was about to ask you the same question."

I had a huge smile on my face when I said, "I think I know."

They both turned toward me. I didn’t say anything, and finally Dad said, "What gives with your mother?"

I smiled bigger. "Well, she’s really pissed at me because of my haircut. She’s pissed at you because I told her I got it because I kept hearing your voice say, ‘Give the boy a horseshoe’."

In perfect unison, they said, "You did WHAT?!"

Dad looked dismayed, but Uncle James had a slight look of approval in his eyes.

I tried to look my most innocent. "Yes, sir. I told her the truth." I looked at Dad. "You’ve always taught me to be perfectly honest."

"You’re right, son, but in this case, I wish you’d been a little less honest."

"Why, Dad? It’s the truth. I would’ve never thought about getting shoed if you hadn’t said it."

"Alright, Wayne. No need crying over spilled milk. Your mother has been mad at me before, and I survived. I’ll survive this too. I just have to figure out how to smooth things over."

Uncle James’ "Good luck" was obviously very heartfelt.

Mom didn’t say a word to Dad after Uncle James left. She talked all the way through supper, asking questions about my tripâ€"and she eventually got around to asking more about my haircut. I was prepared. "Isn’t it great, Mom? I really love the way I look. For the first time in my life, I’m proud of my appearance." I let that sink in for a while. "I’m thinking about keeping it, if you don’t mind."

Mom looked startled. "K-k-keep it? Are you sure?"

I rubbed my head and grinned. "Yes ma’am. Feel it. It's a radical feeling!"

She grimaced. "Well, you’re partially right. It’s radical." She dutifully rubbed my head, and her expression changed a little. "It does feel nice."

I jumped on that. "So it’s OK with you if I keep it cut?"

"I guess. It’s your hair. If it’s what you want…" She trailed off, obviously not knowing what else to say.

"Thanks, Mom. You’re the best!" I looked at Dad. "I’m assuming you don’t mind, since it was your idea." He didn’t say anything so I asked, "Is it OK with you if I keep my shoe?"

Dad looked at Mom like she was a lit stick on dynamite. He obviously didn’t know what to say…and Mom was giving him "the look". Dad and I both knew he would be in deep trouble if he said the wrong thing. The silence was really getting awkward when he finally said, "I agree with your Mom."

Mom kept staring at Dad, obviously daring him to say anything else.

He wisely kept silent.

After letting the tension build a bit, I said, "Dad, I just had a thought. You’d look radical with a haircut like mine. Why don’t you go to the barbershop with me when I get it cut again?"

Dad literally squirmed as Mom and I stared at him. He finally said, "Um, I’m not sure I’d look good with hair that short."

Mom pounced on thatâ€"as I’d known she would. "Oh, Wayne looks exactly like you, so you know exactly what you’d look like." She came to my defense. "Are you saying he doesn’t look good?"

"No, no. I think it looks good on him. I guess I meant I have a professional job, and I’m not sure a horseshoe is very professional."

I was all innocence when I asked, "Why not, Dad? It’s short and neat. I thought that’s what a professional haircut was supposed to look like." I looked at Mom. "Personally, I think my shoe is more professional than his sideburns, don’t you?"

Mom gave me a look of approval. "Exactly, Wayne. Your father is just being a weasel." She turned on Dad. "You were willing to scheme to make Wayne get a haircut that you’re not willing to wear. I don’t know exactly what that says about you as a man, Curt Harris, but I know it’s not something good."

I broke in. "Dad, I really think you could get by with a shoe at work, and I think you’d look awesome." Once again I turned to Mom. "What do you think? Would you like him if he had a horseshoe?"

She snarled, "Right now I wouldn’t like him if he had ten million dollars, but to answer your question. Yes. I think he would look as good as you do with a horseshoe."

I grinned and thought, "Good going, Wayne. The seeds are planted. All you have to do is water them, and watch them grow."

Mom took what I knew her next step would be. She marched into the bedroom and came out with a pillow and blanket. She glared at Dad. "You are going to be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future."

The next few weeks were tough. Mom didn’t say a single word to Dad. She washed and ironed his clothes. She cooked three meals a day, but wouldn’t tell Dad when the food was ready. I turned into a messenger service: "Wayne, tell your father…" "Wayne, tell your mother…"

A few times I heard Dad say, "Marie, I’m sorry."

Mom would just walk out of the room.

I watched Dad carefully, and I saw when he was reaching the breaking point, so I stepped up "Operation KoDad". (I was proud of that name. The mixture of Kojak and Dad made it sound like a superhero.) Mom was in the kitchen washing supper dishes and I walked in. "Mom, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, son."

"I’m really worried about you and Dad. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"That’s awfully sweet of you son, but this is between me and your father. He’s going to have to atone for his actions."

"I feel like this is all my fault."

Mom put the dish cloth down. "How is this your fault? You didn’t scheme behind my back."

I thought, "Oh, if you only knew." That thought made guilt overwhelm me, and I had to look down. I started a conversation with myselfâ€"in my head. "Wayne, you’re as guilty of plotting as Dad had ever been." "Hell, you’re more guilty than Dad. His was a spur of the moment thing. You’ve been scheming for weeks, Wayne." My final thought was, "I don’t care if I’m guilty. I’m going to do it."

I looked up. "Would it help smooth things over if I let my hair grow back out?"

"No, Wayne. That wouldn’t help at all."

I gave her my biggest smile. "Good! I really like the way I look now."

She smiled back. "Even in the Fifties I never liked a flattop, but I have to admit I really like it on you. As far as I’m concerned, you can keep it short as long as you want to."

"Thanks, Mom!" I pretended I was going to leave, and then turned around. "One more thing, Mom. I talked to Dad a little, and he said he wants to make it up to you, but he really doesn’t know how. Is there anything you’re holding out for? I could drop him a hint if you wanted me to."

She paused. "I’m still so mad at him, but I really don’t know what I’m wanting either. I’ll think about it."

"Let me know, and I’ll let him know." I kissed her on the cheek. "I love you, Mom." I started out again, and then stopped. "Hey! I have an idea!" (I was proud of myself. I said it as if I had just thought about it.)

"What’s your idea?"

"What if Dad got a horseshoe like mine? It would say he’s showing solidarity with me, and it would let him know a little of what I felt when he was going to force it on me…especially if you made him, instead of him deciding it’s what he wanted." I started to say something else, but thought, "That’s enough, Wayne. Just plant the seed of the idea in her head."

The seed grew faster than I had ever dreamed. Mom’s eyes lit up. "That’s absolutely brilliant, Wayne! I’m going to go tell him now."

My mind exploded with racing thoughts, but the predominant one was, "Way to go, Wayne! You did it, and Mom’s doing your dirty work for you."

I followed Mom, and sat on the steps outside the den. I knew from experience I could see and hear everything from there, but they couldn’t see me, because their backs would be to me.

Mom turned off the TV and sat down. In a very civil voice, she said, "Curt, we need to talk about this."

I could tell Dad was startled, but he nodded his head. "I agree."

Mom just sat there, looking at Dad. Finally, she said, "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Dad shrugged. "I really don’t know what to say, Marie. I didn’t mean any harm. It was all so spur of the moment, and honestly, I thought it was a joke."

Mom nodded. "Give me your version of the events that happened that night."

Dad took a deep breath. "James and I were sitting on the back porch having a beer. We may have been smoking a cigar too. I don’t remember. Anyway, James said something about bringing Wayne home with a flattop. Maybe it was the beer talking, but I popped off something about giving him a horseshoe. I don’t even remember exactly what I said."

Mom nodded again. "Is that all?"

Dad nodded, then shook his head. "I may have said something about shaving Wayne’s head if he acted up. I’m not sure."

Mom bristled, and the pitch of her voice went up about an octave. "You did what?! Thank God Wayne didn’t fixate on that. We’d have a fifteen-year-old Kojak sitting upstairs if he had." She shook her head, and what I called her "maternal voice" (which Dad hated) took over. "Curt, you have got to start thinking before you talk. What you did was childish. There’s no excuse for a man of your age to be popping off like that."

Dad’s tone of voice changed, and I knew he was reacting to the "maternal voice". "What do you want from me? I’ve said I was wrong. I apologized to you. I’ve tried to show you I was sorry. Now I’m missing an important game."

All the ice of the last two weeks returned to Mom’s voice. "We’re in here talking about your son and our relationship, and you’re worried about a damned game? I’m surprised at you, Curt Harris."

"It’s an important game in the series!"

I thought, "Stupid, stupid move, Dad. You’re going to pay for that one."

"What’s more important to you? Spending another month on the sofa or talking this out?"

Dad sighed. "Marie, tell me what you want from me, and I’ll give it to you. I’ve said I’m sorry until I’m blue in the face. Besides, maybe I’m not to blame. Maybe Wayne is different, and he just likes short hair. After all, he’s been exposed to the Skipper bunch for years. Hell, maybe he just wants to stand out in the crowd."

Mom’s eyes shot daggers at Dad. "That’s BS, and you know it. You’re just making excuses now. Teenagers don’t want to be different. You didn’t want to stand out, and neither did I. It’s universal. Teens want to blend in. I’d be willing to bet you that he’s only doing this because he wants YOUR approval."

"Well, he’s got my approval. I told him he looks sharp."

"Have you had a conversation with Wayne, to find out what he’s thinking?"

He shook his head.

"Have you told Wayne you’re sorry?"

He looked down. "No."

Icicles formed in the room when Mom said, "Don’t you think he deserves an apology? After all, you plotted and schemed against him in a way that could’ve been very damaging to him. If he wasn’t such a strong person, and if your plot had worked, we could be dealing with a very depressed teenager."

"Marie, it was just a haircut. It’s not like I wanted to cut off his arm."

"Was it just a haircut when your father shaved your head?"

Dad got silent. Mom waited a bit and then spoke again. "Curt, I repeat. Was it just a haircut when you got your head shaved?"

I could barely hear his reply, but I’m pretty sure he said, "No."

"I’d like to know how you could be so insensitive to your son’s feelings after telling me at least a hundred times how upset you were when your father buzzed your hair that summer."

"I only told you that story one time."

Mom glared. "Go ahead and compound the trouble you’re in by lying to me. You know I hate a damned liar!" She stared at him for a second. "Be very careful what you say for the next few minutes. You’re about to start another argument before this one’s finished." Then she started relating the story, in incredible detail.

Dad cut her off. "OK. I get your point. Maybe I have told you about it more than I realized."

"As usual, Curt, you’re missing the point."

Dad sighed again. "OK, Marie. What’s the point you’re trying to make?"

"The point is that you know from experience how damaging a forced haircut can be. You’ve even cried when you told me about it, but you were willing to put your son through the same thing. That’s the point."

He picked up his pillow and hugged it. I thought, "It looks like he’s trying to put a barrier between him and Mom’s verbal blasts."

"I get your point, Marie. You’re right. I didn’t think. I wouldn’t do it again if I could relive that night. It could’ve turned out vastly differently. I know all of that now. My point remains the same though. What do you want from me?"

Mom yelled, "I’m so sick of you saying, ‘What do you want from me?’." She took a deep breath. "I want you to be a goddamned man, and take responsibility for your own actions. I want you to apologize to your son, and tell him how wrong you were." Mom stopped. "This is the bottom line. If you ever hope to live in peace in this house, I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to apologize to Wayne in a heartfelt manner. Then you are going to show solidarity with your son by getting a horseshoe flattop."

That stopped Dad in his tracks. "Have you gone nuts, Marie? There’s no way in hell I’m getting a horseshoe!"

"The hell you aren’t?"

"I’d look like a damn fool."

"Oh, that’s rich. You really aren’t the man I thought you were. You’re willing to force a haircut on your son that you think would make you look like a damned fool!"

For a minute I thought she was going to spit on Dad. "You ARE going to get a horseshoe for three reasons. First, it may make you think before you open your mouth and say something more damaging. Secondly, it will show solidarity with your son. Thirdly, it will prove to me that you’re man enough to take responsibility for your actions, and do something that proves your sorry." She kept going. "If you ever want to sleep in my bed again, you’re going to get a haircut just like the one your son has. You’re going to know what it feels like to be forced to endure something that someone else thought was a joke."

I recognized Mom’s tone. It meant she was done talking, so I scurried upstairs. Just as I rounded the corner, I heard her say, "I’m done with you. I hope you enjoy sleeping on the couch again." The slam of her bedroom door soon followed.

I waited a few minutes. Then I thought, "Dad’s had enough time to stew over what Mom said. Time to water the seeds, Wayne."

I walked into the den, and the amount of cigar smoke in the air told me Dad’s state of mind (I had learned a long time ago that the more upset Dad was, the faster he smoked, and the more smoke he generated.) The half-empty whiskey bottle told me more. I knew it had been almost full earlier in the day.

"You OK, Dad? I heard Mom yelling at you earlier."

He glared. "Your mother is a first-class bitch!" He looked surprised that he had said that. "Forget I said that, son. Even if it’s true, I shouldn’t have said it to you."

"It’s OK, Dad. I’ve been mad at her before, and thought the same thing."

Maintaining my innocent appearance, I said, "What’s going on? What does she want?"

"Her demented mind came up with the idea that the only acceptable apology would be if you and I got matching haircuts."

I looked puzzled. "What was her reasoning?" (I really wanted to see if what she’d said sunk in, or if I needed to restate what Mom had said, so it would sink into Dad’s stubborn skull.)

"She said so much that I don’t remember half of it, but I think the bottom line was I needed to know how it felt to have someone else force me to get a haircut. She said it would show support for you, and make me think before I pop off."

I acted like I was thinking for a minute. "I don’t see what the problem is. Getting to sleep in my bed again would make it worth getting a haircut. I’d shave my head if it’d get Mom to thaw out. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of living in a freezer." Then I used the age-old excuse that parents everywhere used on their kids. "After all, it’s only hair. It’ll grow back."

He grimaced. "In case you haven’t noticed, there’s not a horseshoe on every corner. Hell, I’d look like a damned fool, and I’d be the laughingstock of the county."

I threw my first zinger. "No, Dad, there’s not a horseshoe on every corner, but in case you haven’t noticed, there’s one under your own roof."

I threw my second zinger. "I’ve at least seen a few men with a horseshoe, but I’ve never seen another man with Dundreary sideburns. Heck, I’ve never even heard of them until you started growing them. You seem to be objecting to the shoe because it’s old-fashioned. A horseshoe flattop is not nearly as old-fashioned as your sideburns. There probably hasn’t been a man on the planet who wore them in the last hundred years."

I let that sink in. "When I heard you planning my horseshoe, I thought I’d look like a damned fool too, but I really like it now. I stand out. I don’t look like every Tom, Dick and Harry on every street corner in town. It’s a nice feeling, knowing I’m man enough to do what’s right for me."

I kept attacking. "You’ve always been very forceful when expressing your views, even if they’re different from those around you. I’m surprised you’d let what others think keep you from making peace. I guess you’ve decided you’d rather the neighbors think you look cool than have a wife that loves you."

Dad looked at, I mean really looked at me, for the first time since I came home. "Your mother seems to think I might’ve traumatized you. Did I? If so, I’m really sorry."

I paused for dramatic effect. "Dad, I’m just a teenager, and I’ve never really had to deal with any major trauma. Sure, I’ve had some disappointments and letdowns, but nothing really major. Can you imagine how I felt when I heard I was going to be tricked into getting a horseshoe? It was really horrible. At first, my feelings were really hurt, but then I got mad at you. It took me a long time to forgive you, but I’m OK now, so I guess there’s no lasting damage."

I kept going. "I often wonder what I would’ve felt if your plan had worked. I can only imagine how horrible it would’ve been." I looked at him. "You seem to think it’s horrible that Mom’s wanting you to get a shoe. If you decide to get one, you’ll at least know what’s coming. Sure, you can say Mom forces you, but you’ll still know it’s coming. I wouldn’t have had that if your plan had worked."

"You’re right, son. I was dead wrong. I can see that now, and honestly, I’m disappointed in myself. I don’t know how I didn’t see it in the moment. All I can do is blame the beer."

I looked disappointed. "I’m surprised at you, Dad."

"What?"

"How many times have you said, ‘Wayne, I know you’re going to drink, but I’m still going to hold you accountable for your actions. You will have chosen to take each sip of alcohol, so you can’t blame anyone or anything but yourself’."

Dad gave a snort. "Ensnared by my own words. You’re right son. I have no excuse. All I can say is I didn’t think…and there’s no excuse for that. I truly am sorry. I was wrong. That was the least excusable act of my life."

He paused. "What I did is made even more inexcusable by something that happened to me. I do know what it’s like to have a haircut forced on me, and not have any recourse. I owe it to you to tell you about it."

I recognized his story telling look. "As you know, your grandpa alway cut all of our hair when I was a boy (Dad had three brothers). Anyway, it was in the middle of harvest season, and it seemed like everything was getting ripe at once. This particular Saturday was our normal haircut day, and I sat down on the porch, so Pa could cut my hair. He looked at the clock, and then at the fields. I heard him kinda whisper, ‘I wonder’."

"I looked at him strangely, and said, ‘I’m sorry, Pa. I don’t understand’."

"Pa said, ‘Sorry, son. I wasn’t talking to you. I had a thought, and was just thinking out loud.’ Then he said, ‘What the hell’. Without any warning, Pa took the clippers right down the middle of my hair. They were old-fashioned hand clippers, and I remember the clippers didn’t sound very happy to be trying to go through my thick hair. It felt like they were pulling more hairs out than they were cutting. That haircut hurt!"

I looked at Dad, and I could tell he no longer knew I was in the room. Mentally, he was in the past. His story just rolled out of him, and I could hear his emotions in his voice.

"Well, I was never the brightest one of the bunch, and didn’t realize what was happening until Pa dumped a big wad of hair on the sheet he put around our necks. I made a big mistake. I jumped up and yelled, ‘You bastard! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’."

"My brother, Charles, said, "Uh-oh, Curt. You done stirred the hornets’ nest, and you’re in trouble."

"Pa got more iron in his voice than I’d ever heard him have. ‘Boy, if you EVER cuss at me again, you might not live to regret it. Now sit your ass down. It’s time to start picking cotton, and I ain’t got the time to give you all real haircuts. Doing it this way, I can do all four haircuts in the time it would take to do one. NOW SIT!’

"I sat--and Pa took off the rest of my hair, moving his hands faster than I’d ever seen him cut."

"About halfway through the haircut, Pa took his cigar out of his mouth and said, ‘Curt, I guess I owe you an apology. I ain’t apologizing for the haircut, but I should’ve at least let you know what I was going to do. I reckon since I was wrong to do it, I can’t get onto you for being wrong, but don’t you ever cuss me again’."

"Pa looked at the other three boys. ‘Now, I don’t wanna hear from any of you. You know what’s coming now. I’m sorry I gotta do it, but I gotta this time. I’ll try to plan things out better next year, so I don’t get caught with my britches down again’."

"He kept talking. ‘Once the cotton is in, we’ll go back to normal haircuts, but this is what it’s gonna be for the next month or so’."

Dad took a deep breath, and I could see he was back with me, not lost in the past any more. "The haircuts didn’t seem to phase my brothers, but for some reason it really scarred me. I was depressed for months, and I’ve never been able to forget it." He gave a bitter laugh. "That is, I’ve never been able to forget it, except in the moment I needed to remember it the most. I’ll always regret the fact that I didn’t think about it before James and I started talking."

He looked at me. "Wayne, I know how it feels to not have a choice in a haircut. There’s no excuse for my actions. I was wrong, and I admit it. I have no right to ask it, but, please forgive me."

We both jumped when Mom started clapping. She walked in and said, "Finally. It’s about time you apologized to Wayne."

Dad yelled, "Goddamn it, Marie. You scared the living hell out of me. Where did you come from?"

"I’ve been listening for quite a while." She looked at me. "I should’ve known you’d play mediator. You did a masterful job."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Curt, are you going to go the rest of the way, and make things right with Wayne and me?"

Dad was silent a minute, and I could see the wheels in his head turning. I saw the moment he reached his decision. He sighed, and his shoulders drooped. "Wayne, wanna go to see my old barber, Sarge, tomorrow?"

Mom hugged Dad. "Thanks, Curt." She ruffled his hair. "I think I’m looking forward to seeing you with a horseshoe." She kissed him. "I’m definitely going to miss the moustache."

Dad bristled. "I was going to keep the handlebar. Maybe even the sideburns."

Mom shook her head, but used a playful tone. "No, no, no, Curt. Bad boy." She pointed at me. "Just like him."

Dad’s expression made me laugh. "Ok. Just like Wayne."

Mom kissed him. "Thanks, sweetheart. You’ll never know how much tonight has meant to me."

He stood up. "Tonight has exhausted me. Come on, honey. Let’s go to bed."

Once again Mom shook her head. She kept her playful tone when she said, "No. No No, little boy. I told you. You’re not sleeping in my bed until you have a horseshoe." She gave him another kiss, and walked out. "Sleep well!"

I followed her into the kitchen. "Phew! I’m glad Dad gave in. I’m ready to have a normal life."

"Me too, son. Me too." She looked at me. "How are you feeling?"

"I’m good. I’m kinda excited to see what Dad’s going to look like with a shoe…but…"

Mom looked up. "But what?"

I was thinking, "Time to plant the last seed. It’s a long shot, and probably won’t work, but I’m going to try."

I said, "Oh, nothing, Mom. It was just a random thought. I’m tired. I’m going to head to bed."

Mom pointed her finger at me. "Young man, you are not going anywhere until you tell me what you’re thinking."

"Oh, I just had a flashback to the night Dad was scheming against me with Uncle James."

"It was obviously more than that. What were you thinking?"

"I’m really ashamed to admit what I was thinking, Mom. Saying it will make me sound like a mean, petty person."

"Spit it out, young man."

I hung my headâ€"as if I was ashamed. "I just thought about how Dad had planned to surprise me, and was willing to go so far as to have my head shaved. I thought it would be nice if somehow I could get the barber to shave Dad’s head, without letting Dad know it was going to happen."

I thought, "Go ahead and plant the final seed. It can’t hurt."

I shook my head. "I don’t know how I could make that happen, but somehow it doesn’t seem fair that Uncle James shaved his head to pay for his part of their plan, and Dad’s not having to."

Mom looked sad. "I didn’t think about that, and you’re right. It’s not fair."

I tried to appear as sad as Mom did. "Oh well, at least Dad is having to pay something for part of his plan. I’m happy about that." I kissed her. "Thanks for supporting me through all of this." I started toward the door, and turned back. "Good night, Mom. I love you."

Dad had me up early the next morning, and we got to the shop before Sarge did. We were talking about random things when a beat up, ancient pickup pulled up. An older man, with very short grey hair got out of the truck. I looked at Dad. "Sarge?"

"The one and only."

We got out of the truck, and Sarge looked at Dad like he was a piece of dog crap on the ground. "I hope like hell you’re here to get a real haircut. I don’t do damned hippy hairstyles."

Dad grinned. "I’m very familiar with the type of haircuts you give."

I guess Sarge recognized Dad’s voice. "Curt, is that you?"

"Yes, sir."

"What the hell happened to you? I didn’t recognize you with that stupid-looking mess on your face."

"I guess you could say the Seventies happened to me."

"Well, I hope like hell you’re here to let the Seventies up-happen to you."

"Yes, sir." He pointed at me. "I want a haircut like his, and I figure you’re the only barber within fifty miles who could do it."

"Hell, there’s probably not a barber within a hundred miles who knows how to do a cut like that."

Sarge looked at me. "You’re looking a little shabby there. Am I gonna get to tighten you up too?"

"Yes, sir…and every two weeks for as far as I can see into the future."

"Good man!"

He unlocked the door. "Get your asses in here. I can’t cut your hair with you standing out here blabbing."

We walked in, and Sarge said, "Curt, have a seat."

Dad looked at me. "Do you want to go first?"

I shook my head. "You go ahead, Dad."

Sarge was quick to respond. "You’re damned right Curt is going first. I ain’t gonna give him a chance to back out." He looked at Dad. "Sit your ass down."

Dad sat down, and Sarge soon had him caped up. I heard the click when he turned the clippers on, and the steady hum they made worked its charm on me. My body responded instantly, and I had to sit down to hide the bulge in my jeans.

Sarge took the clippers to Dad’s Dundreary sideburn, and ran the clippers all the way up to the crown of Dad’s head without saying a word. Dad shut his eyes, and kept them closed. He didn’t see the huge clump of beard hair that fell on the capeâ€"or anything that happened after. I wondered if he thought not seeing it would make it not happen.

Once all the sideburns were gone, Sarge muttered, "Glad to see those stupid looking things going. I’ll never understand what the hell made you decide to grow them out like that." He started on the moustache next, and soon Dad’s face was free of facial hair.

I started laughing. Dad opened his eyes and glared at me. "What the hell are you laughing at?"

It was a minute before I could stop laughing enough to answer him. "Without those ‘stupid-looking things,’ as Sarge called them, your head looks so tiny that it looks like a pinhead!"

Sarge spoke up. "Wait until I get about three inches cut off that damned pompadour of his. His head’s gonna look really small to you then."

He had never stopped cutting while talking, and he just kept cutting.

Pretty soon there wasn’t a hair left on Dad’s face or the side and back of his head.

Sarge walked behind Dad, and combed the hair on the top of his head straight back. He said, "One horseshoe flattop coming right up." I heard the familiar whine of the clippers. Sarge brought them to the front, put them on the scalp right at Dad’s hairline, and went all the way to the back. A wide swath of white scalp showed.

Dad looked up and yelled, "What the hell, Sarge?"

"Your wife called me, and gave me instructions. She said I was to tell you that James sends his love, and says, ‘Welcome to the shaved-head club’."

Dad said a very bad word.
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I've been working on this story for at least a month, and couldn't get it where I liked it. I decided to post it anyway, and see if anyone has feedback about how it could be better.

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