Remembering Bill, Part V by Just_Me

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Stepping into Walt’s shop for the second time was like going home. It felt welcoming. I again stopped to inhale the smell of the shop. Again, I thought, "Damn, that smells good. It’s masculine and pleasant."

Walt greeted me with, "Curiosity is killing me. How did it go with your mother last week?"

"Well, she wasn’t happy, and screamed for a while." I grinned. "Bill made her sit down, and went into lawyer mode. He talked in circles until Mom got dizzy, and didn’t know up from down. Mom finally agreed that it was my hair, and I could wear it like I want it." I laughed. "I think she finally gave in just to get Bill to hush."

I looked at Bill. "Thanks again for your help."

His next words were harsh, but his tone was gentle. "You’ve said thanks so many times that I’m beginning to regret helping you out. Shut up about it, damn it!"

"Telling me to shut up is like telling the Mississippi River not to flow. It ain’t gonna happen unless there’s some major catastrophe that stops it."

He muttered, "That’s the damned truth."

Mr. Walt wiped the chair with his cape. "Which one of you hooligans is going first?"

I looked at Bill. "Age before beauty. Go ahead."

He shook his head. "Oh, hell no. I’m not going to have a repeat of last week. I’m not getting a haircut, and then have you show me up."

I grinned. "I’m not going to show you up. I like my haircut. I’m just going to get it tightened up."

He stood up. "Well, I’m going to show you up. Walt, take my flat down lower. I want it short."

"Horseshoe short?"

"Not that short, but I want a landing strip and the top low. Make it less boxy. Bevel the sides in some. I think that’ll be easier to maintain."

"Sounds like you’re liking your flattop."

Bill mumbled, "Maybe."

Walt cackled. "Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?"

I didn’t get lost in thought while Bill got this haircut. I watched every move Mr. Walt made. He shaved the sides even higherâ€"seemingly impossibly high, and I reveled in every bit of skin that was revealed.

Suddenly I laughed. "What’s so funny?"

"I just had the thought that you’re going to look much younger now that Mr. Walt is shaving all the grey off your temples."

Bill’s eyes got a gleam in them. "Hell, why didn’t I think about that?" He looked at the barber. "I may just keep the flattop if it hides my grey."

Walt never missed a stride, and just kept clipping.

My eyes caught every clump of hair that fell. I think I saw every hair that fell in the path of the relentless clippers. I was amazed by the seemingly endless patience Mr. Walt had as he passed the clippers over the comb.

Seeing the landing strip being formed totally engrossed me. I thought, "There’s something really sexy and sensual about that little strip of baldness in all the plushness that surrounds it. I wonder what it feels like?"

I was fascinated by the transformation Bill was undergoing. I hadn’t understood all of the directions he gave Walt, but seeing the change made his instructions make sense. I thought, "Who knew a boxy flattop was so radically different from a beveled one?"

I asked myself whether I liked the boxy style or the beveled style better. I thought, "Don’t think about it now, R. W. You’ll miss something. Just don’t forget to think about it later."

After turning Bill’s boxy flattop into an incredibly crisp, military-looking haircut, Mr. Walt said, "I believe you’re next."

I was expecting it. As soon as I sat in the chair, Walt said, "Gonna follow Bill’s lead and get a flattop? I really think you should."

I looked at Bill, thinking, "He really does look amazing. I wonder if I would look that good?" I thought for a second. I shook my head. "No, sir. Like the scripture says, ‘Almost thou persuadest me…’but I’m going to keep my look for now. Tighten me up, good and tight."

Walt frowned. "It’s your loss." I heard the clack of the clippers, and felt them going up the side of my head. I think I enjoyed my second haircut more than the first, because I knew Mom wasn’t going to say a word about it.

I caught Bill staring at himself in the mirror. "What do you think about your new look?"

"I was just trying to figure that out. The hell of it is, I don’t know. What do you think?"

"I was thinking the same thing. I thought the boxy flat gave you a more youthful look. This new cut makes you look like a real badass. I just can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing."

He grinned. "What are you doing? Trying to overwhelm with the thoroughness of your reasoning? First you tell me my grey doesn’t show. Now you say I look like a badass. From my perspective, that’s two good things." He looked at himself in the mirror again. "Looking like a badass ain’t a bad thing when you’re dealing with a bunch of god-damned roughnecks all day." He rubbed his head. "I was planning on going back to my old style when you go home, but now you’re making me wonder if that’s a good idea."

On the drive to work, Bill said, "R. W. I’ve got a question for you. Do you know why in hell your parents just gave you initials? That’s always seemed so strange to me."

I laughed. "Yes, sir. It seems that Mom wanted to name me Reese William after two of her old boyfriends. Obviously, Dad objected to that, so I just got initials."

"I don’t blame Ed, one damned bit. I would’ve objected too." Then he grinned. "Be thankful she didn’t know you after Reese. He was a complete asshole. I wonder who the William she named you after was?"

I laughed at the expression on his face when I said, "I’ve always assumed it was you."

He shook his head. "Surely she didn’t, did she?"

I shrugged. "I don’t know, but you’re the only William I’ve ever heard her talk about."

He grinned. "I’ll be damned. I have someone named after. I’m glad it was you." He kept talking. "I guess I missed the connection because I don’t think of myself as William. The man in the mirror is Bill to me."

Friday came, and as we were leaving work Bill handed me an envelope.

"What’s this?"

"Your paycheck for the past week. Before you say it, I deducted the price of two boxes of cigars out of it."

I smiled. "Cool! Thanks."

I opened the envelope, and almost passed out. "Bill, this is way too much." I quickly did the math in my head. "Minimum wage is only $2.65, and there’s no way I worked more than two-hundred-forty hours."

Bill muttered, "How in the hell does he do math in his head that quickly?" Then he said, "Let that be a lesson to you. Always find out what a man’s going to pay you before you go to work for him."

"Bill, seriously, this is way too much."

"I think it’s fair, and I think you’ll find my figures are correct. You worked four nine-and-a-half hour days. We closed early that one day, plus five hours on Saturday. That’s…" He looked stumped. "Hell, it’s however many hours it is. There’s a piece of paper in there with the hours on it. Anyway, I multiplied your hours by whatever the hell minimum wage is, plus overtime. Since you did the work of five people, I paid you five times what minimum wage is…"

"But I didn’t do that much…"

He growled, "The hell you didn’t! I was three months behind on my billing, and for the first time in years, I’m completely caught up. The workroom has never looked better, you painted the bathroom, the floors are so clean you could eat off them and there are no weeds on the grounds. On top of that, my office and the waiting room look like a damned interior designer put them together." He growled again, "You didn’t do that much." He glared at me. "You need to learn to take credit for what you do. Do you understand me?"

I nodded, hoping he’d stop talking. He didn’t. "R. W., be proud of yourself." I thought I saw a tear in his eye when he continued. "God knows I’m proud of you."

Wanting to get onto less emotional grounds, I said, "Your office is very pretty, isn’t it? I’m proud of how it turned out."

Another growl. "Did you just say my office is VERY pretty? Real men don’t have pretty offices. Take it all out." Then he laughed.

Week 3:
The following Thursday I woke Bill up by banging on his bedroom door. I heard, "What the hell?"

I yelled, "Get your ass out of bed. It’s time to go to the barbershop."

He groaned, "But I don’t wanna, Dad."

I grinned, and took my cue from him. "Young man, I didn’t ask you what you wanted. As long as you’re living under my roof, you’re gonna get a haircut from a qualified barber bright and early every Thursday morning. Now get your ass downstairs. I have your coffee ready, and a cigar clipped."

"Well, why there hell didn’t you say so?"

I handed him his coffee and cigar. "Hurry up. Someone might beat us to the barbershop."

"Walt is open all day. I’m sure he’d manage to find time to give us a haircut if we’re not the first ones there."

"I don’t wanna have to wait, and my boss is a stickler for punctuality. He’ll be pissed if I’m late."

Bill growled, "He’s pissed that you woke him up so damned early."

I gave him my sauciest grin. "I’m getting shabby looking, and I want to look squared away again. Move it!"

Bill reluctantly put his coffee cup down. "Ok. Let me go shave and get dressed."

"Don’t shave. I’ll treat us to shave at Mr. Walt’s. I’ve heard they’re great."

"That’s not a bad idea. OK. I’ll be down in a minute."

I was struck by Bill’s good looks all over when he came downstairs, thinking, "His thick stubble looks good on him. I wish I looked that good. That tight shirt doesn’t look bad either. It shows off his muscles and chest hair."

We were sitting in the parking lot when Mr. Walt pulled up. He got out of his truck. "Good morning. You’re kinda early this morning, Bill."

Bill pointed at me. "This damned barbarian had me up at the crack of dawn. Evidently he thought the world would end if we weren’t the first people here."

Walt looked at me. "Fair warning. Nobody’s getting a haircut until I get the coffee made."

Bill smiled. "This monster we created only let me have one cup before he drug me out of the house. Do you have a spare cup in there?"

Walt smiled. "I expect I can find one. Come on in."

Bill and I sat in one of the pews and talked while Mr. Walt made coffee. After it was brewed, he looked at me, "You need a cup too?"

"Yes sir. Please."

He handed us our coffee, and then did a double take. "Bill, what the hell is going on? Are you growing a beard? I don’t think it would look good with your flattop."

Bill pointed at me with his cigar. "That bastard wouldn’t give me time to shave this morning. He said he’d pay you to shave me."

Walt laughed. "Good to hear. The idea of you with a beard almost gave me a heart attack. Don’t do that to me again. I’m too old to handle the shock."

Bill got up, and headed to the barber’s chair. "Don’t worry. No beard for me. That’s not going to happen."

Walt grabbed the clippers, and started mowing Bill down, without asking any questions. I heard Bill mutter, "I guess I’m going to keep my flattop, since you didn’t ask how I wanted it."

Walt grinned. "Damned straight you’re going to keep it, at least for another week."

Once again I was struck by the patience and skill it took to create a flattop, and I held my breath when he started free-handing, removing microscopic amounts of hair every time he moved the clippers over the top of Bill’s head. I couldn’t imagine how stressful it must be, knowing that the slightest mistake would mess Bill’s hair up.

I got stressed, just thinking about all the things that could make Walt mess up: a ringing phone could make him jump, a customer sneezing, little kids bumping the chair. I thought, "Damn, he must have nerves of steel!"

In what seemed to be no time at all, Bill was looking sharp again. "Were you serious about a shave too?"

"Your damned right I was serious. I’m not putting up with this frigging mess on my face all day!"

Walt laid the chair back. I said, "Wow! I didn’t know your chair would do that. I wish I had one."

Walt put some towels on Bill’s face, and said, "Bill, stay put. I’ll be back in a few minutes."

Walt sat beside me. "I hear you’ve been talking about me."

"I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand."

"I got to do another three-finger haircut last week. Evidently you’re good for my business."

I laughed. "I guess I’m going to have to start charging you for advertising your services."

He laughed. "You can charge it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to pay for it."

I dutifully laughed. Then he kept talking. "Am I going to have the honor of shaving you too? You sure need it."

"Yes, sir. I’m looking forward to it. I’ve never had a barbershop shave, but I’ve heard men talking about it like it’s something special."

"It is nice. I have a friend who’s a barber in the next town over. I always get a shave when I see him." He looked at Bill, like he was checking on him. "I think you’ll enjoy it. I guarantee you that it’ll be the closest shave you’ve ever had. Even someone with a beard as heavy as yours will have a face that’s smooth as glass after I’m done with him."

I saw his eyes twinkle. "Don’t worry about me slitting your throat. I’ve never had to clean up more than a gallon of blood. I keep a big stock of bandages in that cabinet there, and I rarely have to put more than ten or twelve on a customer after I finish a shave."

I grinned. "Mr. Walt, you can’t BS a BS’er. You showed how steady your hands are while you were cutting Bill’s hair. I’m not worried about getting cut." I laughed. "Even if you did cut me, it wouldn’t be any worse than some of the cuts I’ve experienced while shaving myself."

About then Bill said, "Hey, did you forget about me?"

"Hold your horses, damn it. I’ll get there when I get there."

He got up and took the towels off Bill’s face, saying, "Bill, I should leave the beard. It helps hide some of your ugliness."

Bill laughed. "If that’s the case, you should grow a beard, and make America more beautiful."

Walt smirked. "It’d take more than a beard to hide all of this ugliness."

It didn’t take Walt long to get Bill shaved. Then he looked at me. "Your turn."

I sat in the chair, and enjoyed every sensation Mr. Walt created in me: the vibration of the clippers on my head was both stimulating and relaxing, the buzzing sound was like music, the comb running through my hair was almost sensual. I was looking forward to running my hands over the freshly sheared sides and back. After my haircut, he leaned the chair back. Because I had just watched Bill get shaved, I thought I knew what to expect when Mr. Walt reclined the chair. Boy, was I wrong. Nothing I had ever experienced had prepared me for that shave. I remember thinking, "How the hell can something as mundane as shaving become so sensual?"

The towels he put on my face to soften my beard were so hot that it almost burned…almost. I went into sensory overload while waiting for the steam to do its job. The towels seemed to create a world where I was all alone, almost like a womb. The hiss of the gas heater was entrancing. The rest of the world seemed to fade away. I relaxed completely, but at the same time, my nerves seemed to be working overtime. I could feel every heartbeat. Every breath was something to savor. The waves of heat off the heater were comforting. The leather on the armrests felt sensual. Everything seemed amplified, bigger and better.

It might just be my imagination, but it seemed like my nerves were so sensitive that I felt every time the towel cooled a degree. I was almost sad when they no longer felt hot.

Mr. Walt finally took the towels off, and it seemed like a vital part of me was stripped away. He took his badger brush and spread warm shaving cream over my face.

I looked at the razor strop, while Mr. Walt was sharpening the razor, and shuddered.

"What’s wrong?"

"I just thought about Dad telling me how he got licks from a razor strop. It looks like it would hurt!"

Walt laughed. "I’ve been on the receiving end of a strop more than once, and you’re right, in the hands of an angry father, that thing hurts like hell!" He got a strange look on his face. "I don’t think it hurt me none, though. I learned that my actions have consequences. I’m glad my pa loved me enough to take a razor strop to my ass."

I didn’t know how to answer that, but thought, "Well, I’m sure as hell glad Mom didn’t have one to take to my ass. She would’ve hurt me with that thing!"

I looked at Bill, and somehow I knew he was thinking the same thing.

Walt started shaving me, and I got lost in the sensation. I didn’t even think to worry about Mom. I just enjoyed the slight scratching sound the razor made as it removed the stubble, the tightness of my skin as he pulled it this way and that, as well as the feel of Mr. Walt’s hands on my face, as he carefully felt to make sure he had removed every bit of beard hair.

Once he was satisfied with the smoothness of the shave, he poured something in his hands, and damned near slapped me when he put it on my face. I let out a howl. "What the hell was that? It burns!"

Walt laughed. "I forgot you’ve never had a barbershop shave. It’s something to close up your pores."

Once the stinging sensation started to fade, I felt my face. Walt had been right. I’d never had a shave that close.

I was antsy that night, and couldn’t seem to settle down. I think I was worried about Mom (I had only heard from her twice). Anyway, an idea hit me. As usual, I carried on a conversation with myself. "That’s a stupid idea, R. W." I immediately answered myself. "I don’t know. It could be fun…and after all, what do you have to lose? If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. Either way, You’ll know."

I grabbed some paper and a cigar, and sat down. Several hours later I finished.

I was up when Bill came downstairs the next morning. He looked at me. "You look like hell. What’s going on?"

"Oh, I had an idea last night, and I was up most of the night working on it."

"I can tell. The overflowing ashtray tells me you were at it for hours. What were you working on?"

Embarrassment flooded through me, and I blushed. "It’s probably not any good."

He had an edge in his voice when he said, "Turn your hearing aids up. I didn’t ask if it was any good. I asked what you were working on."

I blushed again. "I think I’ve told you I’ve always wanted to write a book. Well, I had an idea for a children’s book, and wrote it. It’s based on the Dick and Jane books I learned to read from, but it sometimes sounds like Dr. Seuss. I still haven’t found my own writing style."

"Stop yapping and give me the damned thing."

I nervously handed it over.

He roared with laughter when he saw the first page. "I can’t wait to read this. Get me a cup of coffee, please."

I watched him the whole time he was reading, mentally quoting each page, and envisioning each illustration.

The story went like this:

Rick has long hair. Rick does not like long hair. Rick thinks long hair looks bad. Long hair on Rick makes him sad. It makes Rick mad.

Rick likes short hair. Rick’s mother does not like short hair though. She likes long hair. Mother will not let Rick have short hair.

One day Rick decided he did not want long hair any more. He took some money from his piggy bank. Then he ran, and ranâ€"as fast as he couldâ€"until he got to the barber shop.

"Hello, little boy," said Mr. Barber Man. "What can I help you with?"

Rick said, "I have long hair. I do not like long hair. Can you make my long hair go away?"

"I can make your long hair go away," said the barber. "How much of it do you want to go away?"

"Lots and lots," said Rick. "I would like very short hair, please sir."

"Then you shall have very short hair, young man," the barber said.

Rick held out his money. "I do not have lots and lots of money. Will this pay for my very short haircut?"

The nice barber smiled. "It will pay for your haircut, and you will have enough left over to get ice cream on your way home." Then he said, "Sit in my big chair and I will cut your hair very short, but you must be very still while I cut your hair."

Rick cried, "I will be very still. I am a very good boy."

Rick sat very still while the barber cut and cut his hair. The barber worked very, very hard, cutting Rick’s hair.

Soon the barber said, "I think your hair is just right now. You look like a little boy should."

The barber showed Rick a mirror. "Look and see. Do you like it?"

Rick was very happy when he saw his haircut. He smiled a very big smile. His short haircut was just what he wanted. He said to the barber, "Long hair made me sad. Long hair made me mad. Short hair makes me happy, and I am very happy. Thank you, Mr. Barber Man."

"I think you look very nice. Your mother and father will be very happy," the barber said.

Rick said, "I think I look very nice too. Father will be happy, but Mother will be angry."

Mr. Barber Man shook his head. "I do not think Mother will be unhappy. Go show her. You will see that I am right."

Rick ran home. Both Rick and Mr. Barber Man had been right about Father. He said, "You look like a little boy should. I am very proud of you."

Rick had been right about Mother. She was very unhappy. She was mad. She said, "Rick, you are a very bad boy." Then she was sad. Mother cried.

Rick was sad that mother was unhappy, but he was still happy that he had short hair.

Rick kept his hair short all of his life, and was never unhappy about his hair again.

The End

Bill jumped up, with a huge smile on his face. "You’re a god-damned genius! This is f-ing brilliant, and the illustrations are amazing! Every character is immediately recognizable, but funny. You captured Walt, but he’s more than Walt. Ed and Jean are perfect. The little boy looks just like you did when you were little." He laughed. "I especially like that drawing of you as an old man with a grey flattop and a cigar in your mouth." He looked at me. "Is a flattop in your future?"

"I don’t know. Maybe someday."

Bill looked at the book again, and shook his head. "I can’t get over how good it is, and I didn’t know you could draw like that."

"It’s just something I do when I’m bored."

"Well, you did a damned good job. Are you going to try to have it published?"

"No sir. It was just something I did for fun."

He shook his head. "You’re selling yourself short. I think you have serious talent."

I shrugged. "Maybe someday." Then I changed the subject. "We’d better head out, or we’re going to be late."

Bill grinned. "That’s not the most subtle change of topic I’ve ever seen. Ok, I won’t talk about it any more right now, but I’m going to hound you until you get the damned thing published, and I have a signed copy on my coffee table."

(Bill never did stop hounding me to get the book published. He asked about it right before he died.)

Week 4
That Wednesday, I wracked my brain, trying to think of a fun way to remind Bill that the next day was haircut day.

For some reason, I couldn’t come up with anything. I kept pondering. "Damn it, R. W., think!" became a litany in my head.

I finally thought of something…and my immediate reaction was, "That’s stupid and lame, R. W."

My answer was, "I agree. It’s stupid, but it’s the best I can do."

I put some paper in the typewriter, and quickly typed up an official looking letter.

Department of Child Protective Services
P. O. Box 2468
Dumas, Texas

December 13, 1977

To the legal guardian of R. W. Shaw:

Dear Sir,

I regret to inform you that it has come to my attention that you are being derelict in your duties as legal guardian of R. W. Shaw. Sources tell us that you are in violation of Regulation 1, section A, subsection 34c of the code governing your custody of the minor listed above.

Failure to comply with this code section by the close of business on Thursday, December 15, 1978 will result in your being judged to be in non-compliance with the law. It is only fair that I tell you that failure to comply with the law will result in a substantial fine being assessed against you, as well as your guardianship of said minor being repealed.

Your removal as guardian of R. W. Shaw will be based solely on your failure to maintain his hair at the length prescribed in the above mentioned regulation.

If you wish to maintain your custody of the said minor, you must take him to a barber who has a deep understanding of short haircuts immediately.

The enclosed picture is intended to show the possible consequences of your failure to make certain that R. W.‘s ass is placed in a competent barber’s chair soon.

Sincerely,

I. M. Hair-Hater, IV (AKA R. W. Shaw)
Director of Hippy Control Squad
A Division of The Child Protective Services

I re-read it. "Well, it’s not great, but maybe he’ll get a laugh out of it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained." I typed an address on the envelope, and put the letter and one of my school pictures in the envelope and sealed it. I put a stamp on it, and created a bogus-looking postmark. I dropped it in the mailbox.

I grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat back down at "my" desk. A few minutes later I stood up. "I need to stretch my legs. I’ll go check the mail."

I dropped the mail on Bill’s desk…and waited…and waited. He kept working, so I went and sat back down.

A few minutes later I heard him growl, "What the hell is CPS doing writing to me?"

He opened the letter, with a deep frown on his face. His frown deepened, and then he grinned. A chuckle followed. Finally, Bill roared with laughter. "You little bastard. You scared the crap out of me!" He put his hand on his chest. "My heart is still pounding. I may be too sick to go to the barbershop in the morning."

"That’s BS! You’re going to see Mr. Walt in the morning if I have to call an ambulance to haul your ass over there."

Week 4
The next Wednesday morning, Bill gave me my way to remind him that the next day was haircut day. I walked in to work, and sat down and made a couple of "to-do" lists. I handed one of them to Bill. "These are the things I know we need to get done today. You take care of this, and I’ll take care of the other list."

In his gruffest voice, he said, "Who the hell do you think you are? Have you been promoted to commanding officer of the Army of Bill’s Oilfield Repair?"

I scowled at him. "You’re damned right I’ve been promoted, soldier, and if that list isn’t completed by 1800 hours, your ass will be in the brig. Now, get busy, before I make you drop and give me fifty."

He walked away, "Damned upstart brat!"

It was a busy day, and he and I didn’t get to talk much, but at 6:00, (as he always did), Bill said, "Let’s get the hell out of here."

I was still sitting at the desk, and in my gruffest voice I barked, "Soldier! Get your ass over here."

Bill ambled over. "What’s up?"

I stood up, and leaned over the desk, scowling for all I was worth. "‘What’s up?’ Is that how you address your commanding officer, soldier? I’ll tell you what’s up. Your god-damned shabby hair is a disgrace to the Army of Bill’s Oilfield Repair. I expect you to report to the post barbershop before returning to duty tomorrow morning!"

Bill grinned. "Sir, yes sir. I will report there at 0730 hours tomorrow, and drag a fellow soldier with me. He looks like a damned hippy, and is lowering our image. We will be squared away and looking sharp when we report to formation tomorrow."

"Good. We must uphold the high standards of this organization. Dismissed."

Bill looked at me. "You’re a god-damned fool. Let’s get the hell out of here." He laughed. "You didn’t need to remind me that tomorrow is barbershop day. Hell, I’ve been remembering to go, all on my own, for longer than you’ve been alive." Then he yelled, "Platoon! Atten-shun! Fo-o-o-rward, MARCH!"

Mr. Walt had the coffee made when we walked in the next morning. He was all smiles. "I figured you’d be here early."

Bill poured a cup of coffee and sat in the barber chair.

Walt grinned. "Last week you were mouthing off about letting your hair grow back. What’s it going to be?"

Bill grinned. "I guess you’ve made me a convert. Give me another flattop, Walt."

"Hot damn, Bill. You just gave me an excuse to live another twenty years."

"Walt, you’re too damned contrary to die, but what do you mean?"

Walt grinned. "Since there’s not another barber within fifty miles who can cut a decent flattop, I guess I’m going to have to live a lot longer than I had planned, so I can keep you squared away."

Bill used a line on Walt that he had used on me several times. "Walt, you’re a damned fool, but you’re OK in my book."

After Bill’s flat was tightened up, I started toward the chair. I could see what Walt was thinking, and I cut him off at the pass. "No, sir, Mr. Walt. I’m not ready to give up my three-finger haircut, no matter how much you think I’d look better with a flattop."

He grinned. "OK, OK…but I’m not going to give up trying." He laughed. "I just committed to living at least twenty more years. I’m sure I can convince you somewhere down the road."

Bill laughed. "You’re as persistent about him and a flattop as his mother was about him having long hair. Be careful. R. W. can be mighty stubborn, as you already know. He might decide to never get a flattop, just to spite you."

I laughed. "I ain’t saying never. Some day, I might try a flat, but it’s going to be a while. I’ve been wanting the haircut I have now for years, and I’m not ready to give it up." I looked at Walt. "You don’t know how many times I’ve blessed you for getting rid of that long hair."

Walt started cutting my hair, and I got lost in memories. I started remembering some of the times I had fantasized about getting a short haircut. I came out of my dreamworld, and felt the clippers moving up the side of my head. I muttered, "The reality is so much better than the fantasy."

Walt turned the clippers off. "What did you say?"

"I was just thinking out loud. Sorry about that."

"Be careful, son. Soon you’ll be answering yourself."

I laughed. "I do that already."

I went back to my thoughts. "I never dreamed I could feel this good about myself." A giggle escaped from me when I thought, "Hell, R. W. you’re a strange cookie. You felt bad about yourself when you fit in. You stand out like a sore thumb now, and you feel good about yourself. You’re some kind of messed up." I answered myself. "That’s OK. I’m a happy messed up. What more could I ask for?"

I went back into my reverie. "We’ll be going home soon. I can’t wait for Dad to see me."

Bill’s "power" voice brought me back to reality. All the steel that had been in his voice "that" night was present. I stuttered, "I’m sorry, Bill. What did you say?"

He frowned. "I said, ‘Walt, don’t even think about it."

"Huh?"

"R. W., you’d better come out of your daydream. That sneaky bastard behind you almost gave you a flattop while you were in la-la land."

I looked behind me, and sure enough, Mr. Walt had the flattop comb in his hand.

Bill gave Walt a look that was full of disgust. "The goddamned snake had the comb on the top of your head, and was ready to start cutting when I noticed what he was doing." Bill looked livid. "Walt Murray, I didn’t say much when you decided you were God, and cut my hair without asking, but you do NOT get to mess with this young man." Bill’s next words brought tears to my eyes. "R. W. is a son of my heart, and if you mess with him, you’re messing with me. I can guarantee you won’t like what happens if you ever try something like that again."

Walt was apologetic. "Bill, I guess I had so much success with your flat, I thought I’d try it on R. W." He looked at me. "A barber knows what hairstyles will look good on people. I know you’d look good in a flattop, but I was wrong to try to force it on you. I really am sorry."

I was a little curt with my reply. "No harm, but don’t do it again. I’m tired of other people telling me how to wear my hair."

Christmas Day arrived, and the smell of bacon frying woke me up. I walked in the kitchen to see Mom standing there. I picked her up, and spun her around. "Mom, it’s so good to see you!"

I looked at Bill, and he was grinning for all he was worth. "You knew about this?"

"Yep. I went and picked Jean up while you were being lazy, and sleeping in."

I growled at him. "You’re a low-down, rotten rat, but what a wonderful Christmas present for me. Thank you!"

I hugged Mom again. She looked good, and more importantly, she looked at peace with herself.

I said, "I should’ve known you were planning something when you told me to go ahead and buy that present for Mom. I was a fool to fall for your ‘Christmas will be just another day, but don’t worry. Your mother will eventually get home, and we can have Christmas then’."

Bill said, "She’s not your only present. Go look under the tree."

I grabbed Mom’s hand, and pulled her into the living room. Bill started passing out presents. Evidently Mom had gone shopping before we left Louisiana, and as usual, I had lots of presents from her. I was surprised to see several packages for me from Bill. I ripped the paper off the first box. I was shocked to find a pair of steel-toed boots. I didn’t know what to say.

Bill finally said, "What do you think?"

"They’re great boots, but I hate that you spent the money. We’re only going to be here a few more days. I won’t get them broken in before we leave."

"I’m not in the habit of wasting money. You’ll need them during the summer."

"Why?"

A big smile burst over his face. "Did I forget to tell you that Jean and I agreed you could work for me over the summer?"

I yelled, "No shi…". I stopped mid-word, remembering Mom was there. "No kidding! That’s awesome. I can’t wait!" I looked at him. "I promise I’ll earn my keep."

"I know. That’s why I asked if you could work for me." He grinned. "There’s other packages under the tree."

I picked up another box, and was pretty sure I knew what was in it. Bill confirmed my suspicion when he said, "I’ll make sure there’s plenty of those around when you get back."

I opened the box, and sure enough, it was a box of cigars. There were five more just like it.

I looked at Mom. "It’s ok, son. I’m still not a fan of cigars, but if they make you happy, I’ll deal with it…just like I’ll deal with your hair. She paused. "If you’re happy, I’ll count my blessings."

I grinned at her, and rubbed the back of my neck. "I am happy, Mom. For the first time in my life, I’m happy with who and what I am." I looked at her. "The only thing that could make me happier would be to know you were happy too."

She hugged me, and whispered, "I’m at peace, finally. Merry Christmas, R. W."

Week 5
As had happened so many times already, the next week Bill seemed to read my mind. We were eating lunch, and I heard, "R. W., you’ve been lost in thought for a few days. What’s eating on you?"

I shook my head. "It’s nothing serious, I’m just trying to make up my mind about something." I looked at him, and knew what he was thinking. I cut him off before he could say anything. "I know you didn’t ask if it was anything serious. You asked what was eating on me."

He laughed. "It’s about damned time that you started paying attention to what I say. Now spit it out."

"Well, as you know, tomorrow is haircut day. Part of me wants to skip it, so I’ll have long enough hair for Dad to give me a haircut when I get home. I figure he would like that."

"I’m sure he would, but I hear a ‘but’ in your voice."

"You’re right. Another part of me wants to look sharp as hell when he sees me. I can’t make up my mind."

"That’s an easy one for me. Get your damned hair cut. Show him how sharp you can look. From my perspective, it’s almost like what you said to me when you got your first haircut. This will be the only time in your life you’ll ever get to impress him with a short haircut you got of your own free will. Make it a show."

I thought for a second. "You’re right, Bill. OK, we’re off to the barbershop again in the morning."

We went back to eating, and I interrupted our lunch. "Damn it!"

He jumped. "What’s wrong?"

"I had a great reminder planned for you, and now I can’t use it."

He grinned. "Save it for this summer…and try to think of some new ones too." He chuckled. "You’re going to have to work hard to top the ‘reminders’ you’ve given me so far."

I laughed. "I’m sure I can come up with something."

He nodded. "I have no doubt about that." Then he pointed at my lunch. "Finish your damned food. We’ve got lots of work to get done before going home."

Bill and I followed our usual pattern the next morning. He got his flat tightened up, and then I sat in the chair.

"Mr. Walt, I’m going home this week, and I want Dad to be proud of me when he sees me. Clean me up, and make me look good."

Walt spoke up. "I hope he has a strong heart. If not, the shock of seeing you might throw him into a coronary."

I glared at him. "Don’t even joke about something like that."

"I’m serious. He might not recognize you. You don’t look anything like that hippy that came in a few weeks ago. Hell, even the color of your hair is different."

I laughed. "I’ll remember that and introduce myself when I first see him."

He started cutting my hair, and then turned the clippers off. "I wonder if your mother will let your father get a decent haircut now that you’ve broke the ice?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? I’ve wondered the same thing."

He went back to work on my hair, and took it a little shorter than he ever had in the past month. Once he was done, he said, "That should make your pa proud of you."

Bill spoke up. "His pa should be proud of him, but not because of his haircut. He should be proud because R. W. is a damned fine young man. I know I’m proud of him, and I couldn’t love him more if he were my own."

As we were leaving, I shook Walt’s hand. "Thank you for taking such good care of me this month." Then I grinned at him. "I don’t know if Bill told you, but I’ll be coming back to spend the summer out here. Keep those clippers sharp. I imagine Bill’s going to work me so hard that I’m going to want a summer haircut, and a flattop might be a good choice."

He laughed. "I’m old, and I hope I live long enough to see this."

"You will. Last week you promised Bill you’d live twenty more years, so you can keep him looking sharp. Add me to that list of reasons to keep on going."
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That month I spent with Bill remains one of the best in my memory. I grew as a person, and learned much about myself and life. I hope I’ve done justice to Bill in this attempt to pay homage to his memory. He was a very special man, and I’ll miss him.

I ended the funeral with, "Bill had many facets, and you never knew which side of Bill was going to show up. He could be gruff as a troll, or gentle as a lamb. I’ve seen him be calm when most would be raging, and then I’ve seen monumental anger when he felt it was justified. He was a wise man, who tempered his wisdom with humor. Quite honestly, he often stepped into goofiness. He was often stern and gruff. He could be coarse, vulgar and profane, but could turn into a charming southern gentleman with ease. In case you haven’t figured it out, Bill was a real dichotomy. I owe a lot of my success in life to this strange, wonderful man."

After ending the service, I stepped to the casket, and placed my hand on it. "Thanks for your love and friendship. I love you, Bill."

I don’t know if I imagined it, or if it was real, but at that moment I smelled his cigar smoke before I heard him. "What the hell are you doing standing here crying? I know you loved me. Now get the hell out of here and enjoy your damned life before you join me."

Author’s note: I started this story almost a year ago, and spent many, many hours agonizing over it. Writing this brought back some harsh memories, and emotions that I had buried for many years. I had to take a break from the upheaval, and almost deleted the story. Instead, I left it alone for a long time. After revisiting it, I was able to come up with what you just read.

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