New mission, new look by Manny

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Kenny stared at Steve’s thick chestnut-colored hair that flowed in gentle waves to just above his shoulders. The sun streaming through the window made the fiery auburn highlights blaze like a new Lincoln penny. Steve casually flick his mane so that the cascade of hair covering his left eye momentarily cleared his line of vision. For the umpteen millionth time, Kenny admired the two pools of emerald green that gave Steve the sexiest of looks.

Steve reached his hand out and slipped it into Kenny’s.

"I like this, the two of us alone," he murmured. "I don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re gone."

Kenny squeezed it gently. "Then, why don’t you come with me? My uncle can make it happen. We can serve together in the same remote village. After sundown, when we’re in our cozy place all alone, it will be bliss. Every night!"

Kenny put his arms around Steve and embraced him from behind. The scent of expensive shampoo enveloped him as he muzzled his face into Steve’s soft, silken hair.

Steve felt torn. There was nothing he wanted more than to be intimate and alone with Kenny. But, saying ‘yes’ was problematic and would require a great sacrifice. His hair! It would be cut off, very short, to LDS specifications for young missionary men. And then there was the complication that he no longer believed the mumbo-jumbo he’d been constantly fed since his earliest memories. Steve’s loss of faith was a private matter he hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Kenny!

Steve swallowed with difficulty, then said, "I don’t feel called….to the mission field, that is."

"It’s your hair, isn’t it?" Kenny asked quietly.

"That too," Steve admitted.

"I’m going to lose a lot myself," Kenny observed, running his fingers through his own overgrown thatch of shiny blond hair.

Steve turned around and looked at his dear friend. Then he kissed him gently on the lips. Then, again, more passionately.

"If I went with you..." Steve’s voice crackled.

Kenny’s heart stopped beating momentarily. It was the first indication ever that Steve might consider a joint overseas venture.

Steve continued, "….we could break away from all the prying eyes of our community and the suggestive remarks about us possibly being more than ‘good buddies’."

Steve reached to push Kenny’s moptop back from his face. His fingers lingered in the silken strands of gold.

"You do need a haircut, Kenny!" he chuckled. "Think about the barber mowing most of this off with a powerful set of fastfeed clippers! When was the last time you were in a traditional barber shop?"

"Years! Over a decade, I guess," Kenny replied.

Then, Kenny added, "And, I want to think of you in the chair besides me. Both of us watching as all this long hair tumbles down to the checked linoleum floor and piles up at the barber’s feet!"

Kenny grasped a shank of the sandy brown hair and fondled it gently.

Steve felt his groin surge at the thought of a makeover. Shedding his cool cat mane and morphing into a geeky, cleancut missionary lad. For years, there had been a residual desire to see himself shorn of his mane — exposed ears and eyes. In short, the harsh, barbered look he’d rebelled against when he entered puberty.

"I would want my bangs chopped off extremely short! To the top of my forehead," Steve laughed, hoping his hardening woody remained private.

"I have a pair of scissors right in that desk there," Kenny joked. "Why don’t we barber each other. I’ll crop your bangs, and you cut mine. That length you mentioned sounds perfect!"

In a flash, Steve was at the desk, pulling out a large set of all-purpose scissors. He opened and snapped them shut a few times.

Then he grabbed a lock of his own hair and held the scissors to it.

"Should I start chopping? Put a quick end to the haircut obstacle for me becoming a Mormon missionary?" he asked coyly. "Would you like to see me shorn?"

"Yes, sporting a very geeky missionary haircut — the two of us wearing white shirts with clunky black plastic name tags. Elder Kenneth and Elder Steven — missionaries by day, lovers by night," Kenny said with a sparkle in his blue eyes.

Steve’s fingers itched, eager to get his transformation started — how he wanted to whack off a massive chunk of his hair! He held up the forelock that hung down past his chin and took the scissors to the hairline.

"Should I?" Steve asked excitedly. "Put a definite end to my playboy image?"

"Let’s go to the barber shop instead. Let’s go now! Two missionary haircuts coming right up," Kenny said in an animated tone.

"Let’s!" Steve replied, feeling a surge of delight. He would end up in the barber’s chair, even if he didn’t end up on the mission field.

As the two rode over to the plaza where Kenny had planned to get scalped, Steve revealed his loss of faith.

"That’s what’s really keeping me from joining you on your missionary endeavor, not my hair. Of course, shedding my signature look is a bit scary, but it’s just hair. It would grow back again. And, it might even be fun to shock everyone with the radical makeover," Steve laughed.

"I thought the same thing! In fact, I’m ditching my contact lenses when I go overseas. I got a new pair of glasses — totally vintage 1950s with large black clunky plastic frames! I’m going to have a lot of fun rocking the GEEK look!" Kenny said.

"You mean, WE are going to have fun looking like total nerds!" Steve said. "That is, if you don’t think it would be too hypocritical for me to proselytize beliefs I doubt are true…."

"Who knows, you could rediscover your faith in the village we’re sent to," Kenny said quietly. "I would like that for you."

The car pulled into the plaza and Kenny drove to the center of the strip where a red and white pole was twirling. Ed’s Barber Shop, a place that was frozen in time.

The boys laughed nervously as they walked toward the big plate glass window that showcased three large barber thrones inside. The large enamel bases upheld masterpiece thrones of chrome and olive-green upholstery. There was only one barber inside, presumably Ed himself. He was a big, burly fellow whose beer-belly struggled to stay concealed within the confines of the professional tunic he sported. His hair was clipped close to his scalp all over; Ed probably was his own barber. He had mastered the self-cut butch.

The shop was empty when the two longhairs entered.

"Good morning, fellows," Ed chirped. "Looks like its been a while since you two have had haircuts. I don’t do girly styles, by the way. If you take a seat in the chair, those are your choices."

Ed pointed to a chart of "official haircuts" that dated to circa 1960.

Just the sight of the various shorn heads made Steve antsy with anticipation. The desire to caped up in one of the big chair and watching his long locks fall intensified. He imagined himself requesting angled bangs and thought about feeling the tight taper at his nape for the first time after the cape was off.

"That one," Kenny said, pointing with authority to the image labeled ‘forward brush’. The hair was all cropped extremely close with a mere hint of fringe at the top of the forehead. "That’s what I want!"

"Who’s first?" the barber asked, with a huge smile on his face. There was no doubt he enjoyed administering radical transformations on young longhairs.

"I’m first and he’s next," Kenny said, pointing at his longhaired friend.

Kenny watched himself run his fingers through his mop as he walked to the chair. Then his eyes locked onto the array of clippers that hung from the formica-topped counter. One of them would be put into service to mow off his lush locks.

Steve took a seat on one of the hard chairs in the waiting area. Inwardly, doubt still gnawed about where the haircut was leading. How he wanted to be alone in a distant land with Kenny! Obviously, his parents would be thrilled he was going to be a missionary. They also would be overjoyed when he showed up, very unexpectedly, shorn of his long hair — something that had created a bit of a rift with them. An act of rebellion! But spreading a message he no longer believed….

The huge white cape billowed through the air. Ed pulled it tight around Kenny’s neck as he fastened it in place with a large metal clip. Then he brushed the blond locks one last time.

"Ready to get clipped?" the barber asked, pro forma, reaching for a large set of Oster’s.

"Sure am!" Kenny replied. "Let the mowing begin. I can’t arrive on the mission field looking like one of the Beatles just in from London!"

Ed nudged Kenny’s head forward and snapped on the clippers. The whirl of the machine filled the barber shop. Steve’s woody was on high alert as the clippers plunged into his friend’s hair. He would be next! Eight inch locks falling dramatically to the floor….giving way to a very tidy ‘short back 'n sides’.

"No turning back now," the barber chuckled. "Although your friend still has a chance to bolt for the door."

Steve continued watching intently as clumps of blond hair fell quickly to the barber’s feet. Instinctively, he felt his own dense mane. He knew right then that he too would get shorn. It was definitely decided. There would be no bolting for the door to save his tresses. But, whether he ended up on the mission field or not, he still was a long way from certain.

"How am I looking?" Kenny asked his friend.

"Scalped!" Steve replied.

Just saying the word made a jolt of excitement pulsate through his body. He too wanted to emerge from the shop absolutely scalped!

Kenny’s cut hair piled up artistically on the linoleum barber shop floor. Ed stepped on the carpet of cut hair with very little ceremony.

"There’s a lot of hair coming off," the barber remarked, noting the obvious. "A fellow looks so much better with short hair, I think."

"That’s why you are a barber, I guess," Kenny laughed. "Make sure you cut mine very, very short. I need to leave here looking very barbered!"

"Don’t you worry. Neither you nor your friend will leave here with any significant length. I promise! How about some old-fashioned whitewalls?" Ed asked.

"Skinned sides?" Kenny asked tentatively.

"Go for it!" Steve prompted from the waiting area.

"Don’t forget you’re next under the cape," Kenny laughed.

"It can’t come fast enough. Now that I’ve decided to have it all cut off, I’m ready for the clippers," Steve stated.

The barber combed Kenny’s bangs down over his eyes. The dangling locks were like a dense curtain.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP!

Right at the top of the forehead, Ed scissored off the lengthy forelock. It crashed in segments to the cape.

"No more hair over your eyes, bothering you," Ed stated triumphantly.

"I can see that!" Kenny laughed, blinking his eyes, trying to absorb his new forelock-less look.

Then the barber began an aggressive assault using clipper over comb on the bulk of hair that remained. Shorter and shorter he clipped Steve’s blond thatch. All that remained on top was a tidy pelt of hair. The sides were clipped to the scalp, virtually skinned, halfway up.

Kenny smiled broadly as the barber showed off his new look in back using a handheld mirror.

"What do you say?" the barber asked, possibly fishing for a compliment. "Short enough?"

"It looks fantastic!" Kenny enthused.

Once the cape was off, the amount of cut blond hair on the floor doubled.

Kenny could not stop feeling his clipped pate. The stubble in back was like fine sandpaper.

As the two fellows crossed to exchange places, Steve heading toward the barber chair and Kenny toward the waiting area, the shorn lad whispered, "Please come with me, all the way!"

Steve mounted the fancy footrest of the barber chair with a spring in his step.

Each step of the journey heightened Steve’s excitement: easing into the olive green upholstery; the billowing cape settling into place; the placing of the tissue strip; the snug fit of the fastened metal clip; the last brushing of his long, soft locks...

"I want a very short taper with a side part, slicked over the pomade. Angled bangs, as well, please," Steve requested.

...the forceful nudge of his head forward; the sound of the clippers roaring to life; the vibration of the metal teeth at his nape as the transformative haircut began.

"Timber!" shouted Kenny from the waiting area as he watched the first massive sheaves of Steve’s chestnut-colored locks with fiery auburn highlights fall to the floor of the barber shop.

Steve smiled nervously in the chair. "The point of no return," he said, his face still forced down to stare at the expanse of the clean cape.

"I should charge you double," the barber joked, as he took off another mass of shimmering hair.

Steve felt a cool blast from the shop’s air conditioning on his neck for the first time.

As the clipping continued, long clumps of hair began piling up on his shoulders and then slipping down the cape into his lap.

The barber kept Steve immobilized with his head tightly gripped and forced facing down. Despite the thick veil of hair that dangled in front of his face, Steve could see a cauldron of cut hair piling up in his lap.

He was glad that his cool cat hair was coming off. Now that the sacrifice of his hair was being made, Steve began imagining himself overseas. What he personally believed was a private matter. He wanted to be with Kenny, alone in an isolated village.

The machine stopped buzzing and Steve heard shears being primed.

A cold metal blade traversed diagonally up his forehead.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP!

The severed forelock fell like a cascading drape of hair into his lap.

The barber finally released the grip that had kept Steve bowed throughout the first part of the divestiture.

Steve looked up to clearly see himself brutally shorn for the first time.

His long hair was gone. A butchered remnant was all that was left on top.

He gasped, "OMG!"

"You’ll get used to your new look soon enough," the barber chided. "And, I’m not finished yet. A lot more needs to come off before you look as cleancut and tidy as your pal there. Where are those thinning shears? I need to reduce this bulky fringe or it will never stay plastered to the side."

"Yes, of course," Steve agreed.

Steve was able to watch the barber quickly and expertly take everything down shorter using the clipper over comb technique. Shorter and shorter and shorter it was cut. He could hardly recognize himself.

Steve reached out from beneath the cape and took a cut lock of hair into his hand. It felt so soft and looked so meaningless.

"You should have come here a long time ago," the barber said, noticing his client fondling the cut hair.

Then, with a dramatic flourish, the barber took a duster and began whisking away snippets of cut hair from Steve’s face. He folded each ear down and continued the tickling removal of stay hairs.

Then came the sickly sweet-smelling pomade....massaged in....a ramrod straight side part and then he was slicked into the missionary look.

Holding up a hand mirror, the barber asked, "Well, what do you think of the new you?"

Steve gulped. He looked so young and innocent without his long hair.

"It looks good," he said tentatively. "I mean, it’s just what I asked for."

"There, you’re all done!" Ed proclaimed as he unfastened the clip that held the cape in place.

Very carefully the hair-ladened cape was pulled off Steve’s torso and shaken so that a staggering amount of hair fell to the floor of the barbershop.

Steve felt woozy as he stood to descend from the cutting chair.

He stepped atop the dazzling carpet of cut hair — his and Kenny’s. He looked at himself closely in the mirror and felt his shorn head for the first time. The bristles were so short!

"Do you think your parents will like your new look?" Kenny asked.

"They’ll be thrilled," Steve answered in an unenthusiastic way.

"And you?" Kenny asked.

Steve looked down at the floor. "I already miss it. But, in a few weeks, the loss will be worth it."

Kenny put his arm around his friend and led him out of the shop. "Every night, I will make it up to you…."

Steve felt his clipped nape. The wonderfully short taper was stimulating.

"I can't wait to see you with your new glasses on, Kenny!" Steve exclaimed.

"Let's go get photos for our new passports," Kenny said cheerfully. "I want my new look officially documented!"

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