What Friends Are For by DHC

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Everyone was awaiting the Super Bowl that year, perhaps more so than normal. There was a lot to be excited about; with Kansas City versus San Francisco, the Chiefs might become one of the few teams in the NFL to win two Super Bowls in a row. But people were mostly itching to see the shots of Taylor Swift cheering on her latest boy-toy Travis Kelce, whose severe buzzcut had also risen to stardom.

But Tim McFadden and Rob Callahan had no interest in Taylor Swift; the two best friends were avid football fans who were anxious to see if the Chiefs would become a new American sports dynasty, like the Patriots or the Warriors. Tim wasn’t convinced.

"No freakin’ way KC will beat the 49ers," he told Rob over drinks a week before game night. "San Fran has so many consistent and stronger players."

Rob shook his head. True, all the Chiefs had was an effective quarterback, decent tight ends and a great coach. But intuition told him San Francisco would lose, the same one that told him Villanova University would win the NCAA championship in Basketball in both 2016 and 2018.

"It’ll be very close, I’m telling you. KC will get it." Tim took a sip of his beer and stared back at Rob, unmoved.

"Ok," Rob continued, an idea forming in his mind. "If you’re so convinced, how about we have a little wager on this? I’ll take Kansas City and you take San Fran."

"Fantastic," Tim responded, a needling grin forming on his face. "How much are we putting down?"

"Oh, this wouldn’t be for money. Whoever loses has to go to a barber shop and get Travis Kelce’s haircut." Tim blinked out of shock; then he burst out laughing, nearly falling off his chair in the process. Rob leaned back in his seat and patiently waited for his answer.

"You are going to put your hair on the line? I never thought I’d see this, Rob Callahan saying he’ll cut off his precious red locks if he loses!"

Ever since the two friends were in middle school, Rob had always cultivated his shimmering red hair. With its radiant orange sheen, density and fast rate of growth, Rob thought his hair was one of his best assets; besides, he was the only redhead he knew whose face wasn’t also dotted with ugly freckles. It also hung in straight curtains, unlike others whose red hair curled into awkward afros. One girl had even said his locks made him look like an Irish Zeus.

Rob’s luxurious mane had won him a lot of sexy dates with all the popular knockout women in high school and college, much to the jealousy of Tim, who had to make do with jet black, bristly hair that he wore in a standard businessman’s cut. Both Irishmen were lucky to have no trace of male pattern baldness creeping along.

"Yeah, I will buzz all this off if I lose," smiled Rob, running a hand through his hair and trying to hide the excitement and fear building up in his gut. He’d been fascinated by buzz cuts, shaved heads and other military haircuts since high school. It was so sublime how someone could go into a barber shop, succumb to the clippers and emerge looking like a completely new person. Perhaps it was the idea of being stripped down, with a piece of your persona getting taken away. What a severe, yet intoxicating sensation.

But the catch was he wanted to see other people get them, especially if they wore power coifs or tidy short back and sides that exuded authority. Rob, however, loved his brilliant hair and hated even thinking about having to cut it. The mane underscored his fun, laid back, social attitude. Women loved it and he really cherished how it caught fire in the summer sun. Make no mistake, that red thatch was part of his very identity.

The truth was, he had secretly wanted to see Tim get shorn for a while and placing a bet on the Super Bowl seemed to be his best shot. Rob tried to ignore his heart beating three times its normal speed and the voice in his brain screaming "get out while you can!"

"This is way too much fun for me," Tim chortled. "I’ll up the ante. Forget Kelce’s haircut. The loser should completely buzz his hair off, right down to nothing. And he has to keep it for a solid month." Tim set his beer on the table in a "how do you like that" kind of way.

"You got a deal." Rob responded. "But once we shake on this, there’s no turning back. No asking to change the terms before the game, no bargains, no pleading. One of us is going to get buzzed down like a Marine recruit, no ifs, ands, or buts. What do you say?"

"I say better get ready to feel the clippers bro." Tim smiled and they emphatically shook hands.

—

Rob felt his feet turn to lead as he walked back to his apartment, the beer wearing off and the gravity of his wager hitting him. Sure, he was still certain the Chiefs would win. But intuition or not, how could he have suggested shaving his hair off if he lost? Fascination with buzz cuts aside, why couldn’t he and Tim just put $50 on the line or buying drinks at the bar one night?

Too late now. One of them was going to end up shorn.

First, he needed to figure out how to handle his parents, who loved his brilliant red hair as much as he did, if not more. His observant Catholic mother often called Rob her "little Samson" and prayed that a Delilah would never come along and shear her beloved son. How she would sob and whine if Rob came home with a shaved head; he cringed thinking about her crying "oh Rob!" And he didn’t forget his hard-ass father, who’d lecture him to death on how stupid and unprofessional he appeared.

And the office! How could he live down all the laughing, pointing and needling? No one would take him or his work seriously anymore. He’d also feel awkward dressing up in his suit knowing red stubble covered his head instead of luxurious locks that hung down just below the collar. Plus, would women ever want to sleep with him again?

Amid the reverie, Rob finally got back to his one-bedroom apartment and flicked on the lights. He took some comfort in the thought that if he lost, he wouldn’t have to endure the negativity 24 hours a day since he lived alone. The apartment would be a refuge, but he couldn’t stay there for months on end.

"What a f***ing mess!" He said aloud. With that he went to the bathroom and stared at himself for a long time, mostly at the dense forelock that he was especially proud of, wondering how long it would take for his silken strands to come back. He forgot for a moment that the loser had to keep it shaved for a month before letting it grow.

Rob became more and more nervous as the week progressed and the Super Bowl talk among his colleagues intensified. Whenever someone brought up the game, all the redhead could see was a pair of heavy duty Oster clippers aiming right at the center of his hairline. A pit formed in his stomach and his heart rate jumped a little in panic. Though he took some comfort in the general consensus that Kansas City would win, Rob still found himself avoiding these conversations all together, the first time in his life where he couldn’t stand to talk about football.

By the time Super Bowl Sunday rolled around, the young man had become almost jumpy with nerves, barely able to sit still without tapping his foot or turning his head back and forth like a frightened cat. Rob recited a long litany of prayers at Mass that morning, begging God to have mercy on him. After greeting the priest and ambling out of the church, he saw that Tim had texted him.

"Today’s the day. Everyone I know says San Fran will win. Enjoy that long hair cause the clippers are coming!" With his heart leaping into his mouth, Rob put his phone away, unable to text back.

Had this been normal times, Rob would have either hosted a Super Bowl party or gone to another gathering, stuffed his face with all the fattening tail-gate foods available and drink enough beer to give him a hangover for a whole week. But the unwise bet got in the way this time; he couldn’t bring himself to turn on the game, way too terrifying. Rob wasn’t strong enough to witness his potential downfall, least of all the moment when he knew his locks were lost. Best to check the final score at the end of the night. That way he’d have one final evening of blissful ignorance.

Rob got home from the gym and tried making a simple dinner. But his phone sat on the dining table, a magnet pulling his eyes to it. All he had to do was type in Super Bowl score and then he’d know if he had a chance. Finally, he could bear it no longer and typed it in. It was the end of the first quarter and no one scored. Rob breathed a sigh of relief and resumed cooking.

The clock in the kitchen kept ticking as the longhair tried focusing on his dinner. But questions swirled around his mind. Was KC driving the ball? Had they at least scored a field goal yet? What team had gotten the most penalties so far? Was there any possibility that he could avoid the clippers?

Rob washed up and thought a movie would help distract him. But no sooner had he turned on the screwball comedy film that he felt the urge to check his phone. Halftime and San Francisco had a seven-point lead. Rob’s heart sank and he tousled his mane, thinking he could almost hear the menacing chatter of the clippers. The movie dragged slowly along and his blood pressure grew ever quicker. He longed to put a few more beers into his system and really forget his troubles, but his supply was long gone and Rob couldn’t bring himself to go out to the bodega for more. It might have been just as well, his throat seemed to stop working.

Hope glimmered in his chest when he checked his phone next. Third quarter and Kansas City had scored a field goal and was driving for a touchdown. By the time Rob checked back minutes later, the Chiefs had scored, giving them a 13-10 lead. Some of the pressure in his stomach alleviated.

At long last, the movie ended and Rob turned to his phone. "Holy s***!" He belted out when he saw the score: KC and San Fran were tied and going into overtime! 15 more minutes of game time, the painful waiting prolonged further. Rob even started twitching a little under his frayed nerves. He hadn’t felt this frantic or stressed since he saw Uncut Gems in theaters back in 2019.

Perhaps a hot shower would help calm him down and help the minutes go by. Plus, he couldn’t take his phone with him there. Once in the tub, Rob tried to stay under the hot water for as long as he could, in a vain attempt to forestall the inevitable moment of truth. He even found himself coming to terms with high likelihood that the next day, his head would be shaved.

Eventually, he had to step out of the shower. He toweled off and found his phone. Feeling like the heavens were going to come down on him, Rob found the final score: 22-25 Kansas City! His team won by a field goal! Once again, his instincts were right! The redhead stared at the page for two solid minutes, making sure that what he saw was real.

But it was true! His luxurious red hair was safe. Rob felt as if he had just woken up from a horrible nightmare, to find himself nice and warm in his bed. God had answered his prayers and in gratitude, he would never ever tempt fate like that again.

But Tim now had a date with the clippers, something Rob had wanted for a long time! A smile spread over his face as he imagined his best friend caped up in a barber shop, waiting for the Osters to come out of their den. They would obliterate his spiffy businessman’s cut faster than he could say "shave him bald!" It served him right. Tim had gotten way too proud and full of himself since he took that job at that bigwig financial firm. It was time to take him down a few notches. Rob chuckled, wondering what his girlfriend would say when he went home sporting an induction cut.

"Well, I’ll see you tomorrow at the barber! The clippers are waiting." Rob texted Tim. He didn’t respond all night.

—

The two friends said very little on their walk towards City Barbershop the next day. Tim had very slight bags under his eyes and looked like he was going to be sick. Rob had tried to needle him but stopped when he saw it only made his fear worse. They had texted that morning and agreed not to go to Tim’s usual barber but a small one-man shop in a residential area nearby Rob’s office. Tim figured he’d be more anonymous at the new barber, and thus able to live down his shearing a little more.

After rounding a corner, the Irishmen got their first look at City Barbershop. It was tiny, barely enough room for the big chair, sink, cash register and waiting chairs crammed into it. It had a large plate glass window and an old-timey barber poll swirling by the door. Inside stood an older man dressed in a pinstripe tunic and black trousers. He was putting the finishing touches on a client’s longer flattop, using a clipper-over-comb technique. The barber looked up and gave the young men a slight nod, telling them to come in.

Tim farted loudly and Rob turned to him, grinning.

"You’re that nervous huh?" Tim gave him the finger and pushed open the door.

Inside, they sat down in the two chairs and got a better look at the shop. It had obviously been established sometime in the fifties, the original chrome and barber chair were still there and the floor was decorated with small black and white tiles in a checker pattern. A fluorescent light was nailed horizontally over the mirror and another smaller light bulb was on the ceiling. An entire row of clippers hung down from the formica-topped table below the mirror. The barber himself had a protruding beer belly, glasses, thinning grey hair. He frowned so intensely as he worked that he appeared to be scowling.

"Ok, do not mess around with this guy." Rob noted.

The client with the long flattop paid and left. It was Tim’s moment.

"Who’s first?" the barber asked, looking pointedly at Rob and his red tresses. But Tim slowly got up and sat in the chair.

"Alright. What are we doing today?" Tim gulped and glanced at Rob.

"Umm, shave it all off. Everything."

"You mean with shaving cream and straight razor?"

"No, with the clippers."

"So an induction cut?" Tim nodded, staring at the floor with very wide eyes.

Without a word, the barber threw a white cape over him and swiveled the chair so it faced away from the mirror. Rob felt his own pulse quicken, watching him grab a pair of black Oster clippers and brush them off.

He snapped them on and the sound of their wicked chattering filled the room.

In the blink of an eye, the barber drove the clippers up the side of Tim’s head. A tuft of his jet black hair fell to the floor. The caped young man shuddered and the ruthless barber manipulated the Osters up and down around the back of his head. Clumps of hair rained down, on the cape, on the floor, even on the barber’s beer belly. Rob sat in utter awe, watching his best friend’s professional businessman’s cut get stripped away; he instinctively tousled his own dense red locks.

Once the back and sides had been buzzed the grand finale came. The barber stood behind the chair and drove the clippers right down the center of Tim’s head, sending the black forelock falling to the tiled floor. His eyes were as big as lollipops, feeling the Osters sail back and forth across his scalp. The hair was coming down in torrents now.

Within seconds, Tim was thoroughly buzzed down to what looked like nothing, not even an eight of an inch of hair all over. But the barber hadn’t finished with him yet; he snapped a new blade on the Osters and ran them all over his head again. Rob saw that a tiny pelt of hair had remained after the first clipping. This round would take him right down to the wood, a true induction cut. Rob couldn’t resist; he took out his phone and snapped a picture right when the Osters were gliding down the center of Tim’s head.

Finally, the clipping stopped and the barber swiveled the chair to face the mirror. Tim looked absolutely shellshocked gazing at his brutal induction haircut and the piles of black hair strewn everywhere. A pregnant silence descended on the shop.

"It’s a big change," the barber remarked. "What made you go through with this?"

"I lost a bet to this a**hole here," Tim pointed at Rob.

"I bet that San Francisco would win the Super Bowl, but he said KC would get it," he continued, regaining his usual boisterous demeanor.

"Your friend’s a smart man," the barber said. He then took out a small pair of edging clippers and cleaned up the back of Tim’s neck. After a quick dusting, he pulled the cape off and sent the rest of Tim’s hair all around the chair. Both he and Rob got up and took in the effect. The induction cut clashed with the dress shirt, dark slacks, loafers and grey zip-up vest Tim wore. Neither of them quite knew what to say for a few minutes.

"How badass is this?" Rob tried to break the ice and playfully rubbed Tim’s stubble.

"Yeah, it really is," he responded almost perfunctorily. He paid the barber and Rob followed him out of the shop.

"Hey, I think it looks really good bro," Rob said, dropping the jokes. "You look tough, like you don’t take s*** from anyone."

"Try telling that to my girlfriend, my parents, my co-workers," Tim mumbled back, a forlorn expression on his face. "They’re going to give me a lot of hell; I wouldn’t even be surprised if my girlfriend breaks up with me over this."

"If she does, then she’s stupid," said Rob. "You’re a great guy and any girl would be lucky to have you, with or without hair. Besides, you only need to keep this for a month, then you can grow it back. It’s really not bad at all."

Tim stopped walking and touched his shorn head.

"I should never have agreed to this f***** up bet. It’s my own fault that I wound up looking like this."

Rob looked at him, floored by how miserable Tim was. He really was frightened about having to face the world with the new baldy cut. Knowing the nature of Tim’s office, Rob was sure he’d be the only one that kind of haircut; and he imagined all the needling and downright ridicule he’d face for the next month. He thought back to how much he fretted over the prospect of having to shave off his locks, what his own parents would say, how his own co-workers might joke about it, and whether or not girls would be ok with it. In his own Catholic guilt, Rob also realized how alone Tim must have felt then, knowing that everyone else around him could enjoy their hair while he had none.

He pat Tim on the back, wishing there was something he could do to ease his burden, make him feel less alone.

It then hit him like a hammer on the head, how Rob could help his friend. An epic mixture of terror, compassion and shear excitement stormed inside of him; his heart rate shot up to a thousand beats per minute. Rob found that he had secretly been hoping for this moment all along. Despite his previous fears roaring in protest, he now knew what he had to do.

He turned on his heels and headed in the opposite direction, his luxurious ginger locks blowing in the wind.

"Dude, where’re you going?" Tim called.

"Come on Tim! You need to see this."

Rob strode back into the barber shop and Tim followed close behind.

"Back so soon?" The stoic barber asked.

"Yeah, I decided I want a haircut too."

The barber nodded and motioned Rob into the chair, which was surprisingly comfortable and contrasted with the pins and needles he now felt. His thick, shaggy mane gleamed beautifully in the fluorescent light. Tim stared unbelievingly at the scene.

"What do you want me to do with this?" Rob gulped a little before answering.

"Shave it all off. I want an induction cut, just like my buddy there." Tim’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he heard that.

"What’s going on Rob? You won the bet fair and square."

"I know, but I need to do this."

Pleasure flashed across the barber’s face for a split-second as he unceremoniously threw the cape over Rob. He once again reached for the Osters and clicked them on.

The fiendish barber plowed the clippers down the top of Rob’s head, sending huge shanks of red hair cascading to the tiled floor. Back and forth, the ruthless Osters glided across his head, so seamlessly it was almost hypnotic. Virgin white scalp became visible underneath the tiny amount of stubble. Lush ginger locks were flying everywhere. No one spoke.

After the top had been stripped, the barber clapped his hand on the stubble, severely wrenched Rob’s head to one side and attacked the padding around his ear. Like clockwork, the clippers worked around the back and sides, reducing everything in their path down to the wood. A giant pile of shiny red hair had accumulated on his lap and a few sheaves hung around his neck like a scarf.

At last, the barber switched the Osters off and swiveled the chair around to the mirror. Rob had been clipped completely bald; he sat frozen to the seat, almost unable to take it in. He could just make out the dense bright red stubble poking out of his scalp. Thankfully, his ears hardly stuck out at all, his square jaw seemed much more accentuated and his blue eyes stood out a little more; Rob thought the induction cut suited him more than it did Tim; nonetheless he shuddered thinking about how naked and vulnerable he now looked.

Something in his gut jumped for joy at the sight. Ever since making the bet, Rob had secretly hoped he’d lose. It didn’t become clear until that moment, how much he really wanted to be shorn, how disappointed he’d been when his team won. Parents, co-workers, women be damned. This was what he wanted and he wouldn’t kowtow to them.

"I like it." He ecked out in a strangled voice. The barber nodded and began the customary cleaning up around the neck and ears. Then, off came the cape and the red sheaves were strewn on the floor. Rob took one final look at his shorn head in the mirror, paid the barber and headed out the door with Tim at his side.

"Why did you that dude? You now look about as ugly as me." Rob looked at him.

"When I saw how upset you were about having to face the world with your induction cut, I just couldn’t let you go through that alone."

"You mean, you shaved off all your hair for me?" Tim asked, his eyes shining.

Rob nodded.

"And I’m going to keep it exactly like this for a month just like you. Now as your girlfriend, coworkers and family are bitching at you, I hope you can hold your own buzzed head a little higher, knowing that I’m going through this with you."

He paused.

"You’re my best friend and that’s what friends are for."

The two shorn men smiled and embraced each other.

"I love you bro," Tim mumbled

"I love you too bro," Rob responded.

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