Time to go home by Zak

---

In the quiet fields and sandy roads of the countryside, a young man named Tim wandered alone. Long days of sunburned skin, nights spent under the stars, clothes discoloured and a mop of long untidy brown hair that clung to his scalp and face.

Tim had left home five years prior, fleeing the chaos of his mother's relationship with her drunken boyfriend. The final straw had been a kick that sent him sprawling, bruised and broken, out into the world at 16.

He had needed to be resourceful, so quickly learned to do odd jobs on his travels so he could feed himself. Sometimes he got to sleep in barns or on top of haystacks.

He had called his Ma from time to time and she had pleaded for him to come home. In the most recent conversation he had been told the drunkard had finally left his Ma.

His Ma's tearful phone calls had followed him on his journey. "Come back, Tim," she would plead. But Tim was stubborn, he couldn't return until he knew it was safe.

He walked through familiar terrain, the river ahead. He knew this place. Up ahead was a farm he always loved to look at.

The timing was right. Jake, a seasoned farmer and owner of the farm, greeted Tim as he mended the fences. The farmer saw the weariness in Tim's eyes. "Help me mend this fence," the farmer had said, pointing to a sagging wooden barrier. "And I'll give you a meal."

Tim had swung the hammer, sweat on his face, muscles aching. The fence stood straighter, and Jake was pleased. But the farmer wasn't done yet. ‘How about I tame that hair of yours? I have clippers in the barn.'

Tim touched his sweaty mop and slowly nodded. Tim followed Jake to the barn.

Jake rummaged through his tool cupboard and emerged with the pair of clippers. He had practiced cutting his boys heads. His wife always moaned at how short he would shave their hair. Jake hadn't seen his sons since they left for the city.

For Tim the idea of finally shedding his overgrown mane was exciting. He had tried to trim it with scissors from time to time but never did a particularly good job. Once he had taken a chunk out of his long hair by mistake and had to keep his cap on for more than a month.

Shirtless, Tim took a seat in the barn and Jake plugged in the bulky Oster machine. With trembling fingers, the farmer lifted the clippers to Tim’s forehead. The first pass was hesitant, the blade gliding through Tim’s hair. Hair fell around Tim and on his bare shoulders. The second pass was firmer, more deliberate. The bulky locks giving way, showing a very pale scalp.

Jake moved the clippers methodically, feeling his way across Tim’s skull, determined to rid the young man of every last strand of hair. One even pass with the clippers at a time removed Tim’s overgrown mane. The destruction was severe and the remaining hair stood in places.

The farmer had not asked what guard he should use and had simply pushed the bare blades through Tim’s hair. He felt the prickly stubble under his fingertips, the satisfaction growing with each swipe of the clippers. Taking the clippers around Tim’s ears was a challenge and he felt the old blades pulling at Tim’s locks. Tim was silent taking in the destruction of his hair and feeling the vibration of the blades.

Finally, when Jake was satisfied that he had removed the excess hair, he took a moment to rub Tim’s newly shorn head. Tim laughed and touched his bare shaved scalp.

Jake then stepped in front of Tim and simply started shearing Tim's scraggly beard. Tim wasn't expecting his beard to fall to the floor. The uneven fluff succumbed easily to the Osters. Tim did not protest but closed his eyes and kept still.

Tim, with his hair removed to skin, looked younger. He tried on his cap but it was too big for his head. He giggled and went about re-tightening the cap’s strap at the back and repositioning it against his bare skin.

After a filling Meal he thanked Jake for his hospitality and kindness. Tim was going to give his Ma another chance, they both needed to forgive each other.

---