Tennis Bald by Andrew Johnson

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No Racket Abuse. Every member of the William Cook High boys’ tennis team knew that was their coaches’ number one rule. It didn’t matter if it happened during a match, a practice, a scrimmage, under no circumstances were rackets to be smashed on the ground. Consequences for breaking the rule were severe. Immediate dismissal from the team was the usual punishment, but not always. Colin Cuthbertson knew the rule. After all, you don’t get to be the number one player on the William Cook High boys’ tennis team by breaking the rules.

It was the last practice before the team was supposed to head off to their district tournament. To decide who would play what seat, each player had participated in a single elimination tournament. The final match, deciding who would play first and second singles was now underway, and the heat was intense as a solar flare. Colin was locked in a close set with Frankie Deluca, and neither was letting up. Colin had played first singles all season, winning these inner-team matches every week, but today something was off. Colin had misplaced his usually athletic headband, and it showed.
Colin’s shoulder length crown of tight curls bounced up and down with each strike of the ball, and with no headband to hold them back, they danced in front of Colin’s eyes. Frankie didn’t deal with as much distraction, his straight dark hair styled up with a coat of gel. Perhaps a little gel would have made all the difference for Colin. Instead, he was struggling to see through his sweat drenched curls, and in just another two points, he would lose his prized first singles spot.

Frankie tossed up the ball to serve, then launched the ball straight over to Colin’s side of the court. What should of been an easy return was instead a challenge of depth perception. Colin’s usually accurate swing completely missed its target. Aced. One more point would decide the match. Colin was furious. All season he’d been number one, but now, playing with a disadvantage he hadn’t ever dealt with, he was about to be replaced. His eyes flashed with rage, and he lost control of all better judgment. While he couldn’t necessarily see his racket as it crashed against the court, he certainly felt satisfaction. That satisfaction was short lived. Realizing what he’d done, he looked around in a panic. Frankie stood at the other end of the court, mouth agape, but with a noticeable grin tracing the outline of his lips. His other teammates stared slack jawed. Worst of all, both of his coaches had born witness to his greatest shame. He looked down at his ruined racket, and heat rushed to his face. His ears burned red, not that anyone could see them behind his curtained curls. What had he done?

As if riding the current of disciplinary action without taking a moment to think, Colin soon found himself waiting outside the office of his head coach, Mr. Samuel Dalton. Inside, Coach Dalton and his assistant coach, Mr. Ryan Levy, tersely discussed what would come next.
"We can’t kick him off the team," Coach Dalton argued, "we won’t stand a chance without him!"
"He broke the rules Sam, everybody knows what our expectations are. If we let him get away with it, soon the whole team will need to replace their rackets!" Coach Levy rebutted.
Samuel Dalton had been coaching high school tennis for many years, and his hard work was evident if you looked at his salt and pepper hair, cropped closely, but not nearly as closely as Coach Levy’s high and tight flattop. Even knowing how much younger Levy was than him, Dalton respected the man a great deal, not just because of his military service, but because he was a genuinely good man. Dalton knew that his assistant coach didn’t really want to kick Colin off the team. The older man just needed to find a different path, one that would suitably discipline the wayward boy, but also satisfy the stickler coach. A smile crept onto his face as discovered a solution that would kill three birds with one, brutal, stone. He looked up from his desk to Coach Levy,
"How about this…"

Colin had never been more nervous. Sitting now in the coaching office, across from him sat Coach Dalton, with Coach Levy standing behind Dalton’s chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Both men had rather serious looks on their faces, and Colin figured he was not about to receive good news. He was already deciding the easiest way to clear his belongings out of the locker room when Coach Dalton finally spoke.
"Colin, we know that you know that you did something wrong today." Colin nodded, yes he was well aware.
"However, we also know that you know that we think you’re a great tennis player." Colin began to perk up, was he about to get off scot free? Well, not quite.
"We all know very well that we can’t just ignore what happened today, but I think I’ve figured out a solution that will work for all of us, isn’t that right Coach Levy?" Behind Coach Dalton, a smirk grew on Coach Levy’s face. Colin’s dread began to reassert itself.
"Colin, Coach Levy and I have come to an agreement. You’ll stay on the team, playing second singles at districts tomorrow…" Colin was lightheaded with relief. All the work he’d put into the season had paid off, he was safe.
"…on one condition." Colin was still so blissful that he could barely register what was said next.
"Coach Levy is going to take you to get a haircut at his usual barbershop." Colin’s face went flush. What did he just say? A haircut? No, no, Colin loved his hair, and even more importantly, the girls loved his hair! He couldn’t get it cut, especially not right before districts, where a bunch of girls from different schools would be taking in his luscious curls. His heart raced then flatlined, over and over, as Coach continued.
"Coach Levy will pick out your haircut himself, and then you’ll be all set to play tomorrow, without all that mess hanging in your face. We think you’ll find that you’re actually a much better player when you don’t have as much weight hanging from your head." The coaches shared a laugh, but Colin was far from levity. His hair, or tennis? His hair…or tennis.

Caught up in his own scattered thoughts, he didn’t even process his nod to the coaches. He didn’t notice that he’d followed Coach Levy out to his truck. In fact, he didn’t snap back into reality until the bell on the door of Boylan and Son’s Barbershop chimed as they entered. "Well," he thought, "I guess I’m doing this." Coach Levy guided him towards a chair to wait in, and Colin’s head sunk into his hands.
"Hey Pat, you have time for one last cut before closing?" Coach Levy asked, his joy with the whole situation obvious from his tone. Ryan Levy despised the long-hair trend sweeping among boys across the nation. He was more than a little chipper to be fixing what he considered to be Colin’s lapse of grooming judgment. That lapse had lasted almost four years, with only little trims every so often, and Coach Levy had noticed.

The barber, Patrick Boylan, had been an army buddy of Levy’s, and he too shared the assistant coach’s view of today’s unkempt and undisciplined teenage boys. He kept his own teen son on a tight leash, and with a tighter haircut. Poor Dawson Boylan was Colin’s age, but the two boys looked nothing alike in their current states. Dawson’s closely shaved dirty blond crew cut was the polar opposite to Colin’s curly crown. Patrick liked to show off his handiwork to all his customers, parading nearly-bald Dawson around the barbershop with a broom and dustpan, dressed in classic white barbering attire, with a white apron to match. Colin had known Dawson from school, and had often teased and mocked him about his lack of almost any hair. Now, as Colin watched Dawson sweep a pile of hair off the ground, his stomach curdled with karmic regret.
"I was about to close, but I could never refuse an upstanding citizen like Ryan Levy." Patrick cooed in exaggerated praise. "Didn’t I just cut you a couple days ago? Why ya back so soon?" Coach Levy’s voice dropped to close to a whisper as he explained the situation.
"Well, in that case, this seat is reserved for a tennis superstar! Come on up kid, have a seat." Colin’s legs were nearly gelatinous, but he found the strength to make it to the chair. As his eyes met the mirror, his brown curls gazed back at him. Not having had a chance to shower, it was still slightly damp from his high-intensity practice, and he reeked of perspiration.

"So bucko," Patrick said to Colin, "what are we doing with the mop?" Before Colin had the chance to respond, Coach Levy stepped in,
"Actually Pat, that one’s up to me." Both men turned from the chair, and whispered back and forth. It was torture for Colin, who was just now being hit by the stench of his sweat-drenched tennis shoes, socks, shorts, and shirt. The white and blue patterned clothing began to consume him in a smog of stink, and he began to lose focus on the haircut that would begin in any moment.

Suddenly, the chair was turned away from the mirror. This transformation was going to come with as much shock as could be delivered. Colin was lethargic as a tight cape was tied around him. Already he could hardly breathe with his athletic odor, and now his throat was further constricted. Unaware of anything going on around him, Colin closed his eyes, resigned to whatever fate awaited him.
Patrick was not as unenthused. With glee, he plugged in his equipment, and began his work. Then, taking a second, he decided to prolong the inevitable ever so slightly. He set down the electric razor before it could meet Colin’s patient head, and grabbed a pair of scissors. He chipped away at the dense, moist, shrubbery that surrounded Colin’s ears and nape. With several click, click, clicks, Colin was slowly relieved of some of his weighty burden. Small strands of curls hit the ground, like leaves gently falling from an autumn tree. Patrick could feel some of the tension that had been emanating off of Colin subside. He smiled, knowing that he had just begun.

Outside, Dawson Boylan was sweeping the sidewalk. He normally tried to avoid leaving the shop, after all, the teasing would only get ten times worse if one of his classmates drove by and found him in his "Boylan and Son’s" getup, but he didn’t dare be inside with one of his greatest tormentors. Not his father, but Colin. Noticing the boy had left, Coach Levy stepped outside.
"What are you doing out here Daws? All the fun is inside"
"Oh, I, um, I just thought the pavement could use a good dusting." Coach Levy could feel the nerves pulsing through Dawson’s words.
"Oh I see, not a fan of our tennis star?"
"No no I’m sure he’s great…but the less he sees me the better." At this, Levy lost any subtlety, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Why do you say that Dawson?"
"He’s, um, well, I don’t want to give him any more ammunition, ya know? Once you’re daddy’s little helper, that’s kind of a hard nickname to end, and hopefully he’ll just forget I was even here." Coach Levy began to steam. So, not only was the messy-headed delinquent in there a tantrum thrower, he was also some kind of a bully. Well, he knew exactly how to treat bullying. A plan began to formulate in his mind.
"Don’t worry Dawson, after today, Colin won’t have much room to tease you. I can make sure of it."

Inside, the action was really getting started. Finished with his light scissor cut, Patrick grabbed his clippers. This is where the real fun would begin. Having chopped most of the weight off Colin’s neck and sides, Patrick grabbed the back of Colin’s head and forced it firmly forward. A light groan escaped Colin’s lips, and Patrick smirked. Wimp. Now, the boy’s head decidedly in place, Patrick ran the clippers up Colin’s head. Mowing through hair, all the way from the base of his neck to his crown, the clippers carved stark white treads across the tennis player’s head. Mercilessy, there was no guard on the clippers, so everywhere they ran was left bald. Mountains of curls began to heap on the floor, as Patrick made quick work of the rest of the back, and then the sides of Colin’s head. Still, there was one more step to this brutal change for the young man. Gripping Colin’s forelock, Patrick forced the boy’s head up. Tears began to form in Colin’s eyes, not because of any pain, but because of the degradation, and the humiliation the former superstar was being dealt by the barber’s rough handling. Little did he know, Colin would have something to really cry about soon enough.

Patrick added a long guard to the clippers, and began running them over the top of Colin’s head. Curls rained down, but a hefty amount remained. Still, there would be no more hair hanging in Colin’s eyes for a long time at the very least. Patrick set down the instrument, grabbed a comb, and filled his empty hand with a noxious smelling gel. He began to work the contents of his sticky palm into Colin’s remaining hair, using the comb to edge each follicle sky high. Having both stepped inside, Coach Levy and Dawson took in the deeply embarrassed boy that sat before them, humbled beyond comprehension.

Having worked each hair into place, Patrick again grabbed his clippers, removing the guard. Now with a different comb in hand, for accuracy, Patrick began to cut the top of Colin’s hair, reducing what was left of the gelled mass into inch long soldiers, ever-standing at attention. With the gel, Colin’s hair looked darker than it ever had before, shifting from a warm copper to nearly black. But still, the process was not quite done.
"Where’s the landing strip?" Coach Levy asked, and Dawson began to giggle beside him.
"That’s the icing on the cake, you have to save the best for last!" Patrick replied. Colin was fully oblivious, not accustomed to the terms that now described the style that lay above his forehead. Patrick carefully carved into the center of the gelled soldiers, creating another stark pathway down the center of Colin’s head. Now, the work was complete. With a satisfied sigh, Patrick turned the chair.

To be met with Colin’s horror. Gone were the tresses he had worked so hard to maintain and accumulate, they had been replaced with a tiny stadium, a gladiator ring at the top of his head, slick with gel and holding fast. His face went pale, then pink, then red, then cycled through the combination again. He looked like a fool. He looked like a 90’s bully. He looked like he’d been drafted. He looked like…Coach Levy. He turned to look at his coach, who was beaming with pride at his handiwork. Now the two were practically twins, both sporting a short, dark, high and tight flattop, with a landing strip long and wide enough to double as a helipad. He reached to touch the bristles that remained when the barber snapped at him.
"Don’t fuss with it, or it’ll look stupid. It’s still in training." Colin didn’t know how much he could have a hand in it looking stupid, he thought that ship had long sailed. Still, he laid down his hand, and merely sat, wide eyed and glum, staring at whatever he had just become. That’s when Coach Levy decided to spring his final move on the poor, defeated, tennis player.

"Pat, Dawson was just telling me how you guys can always use another hand down here, especially now that he’s looking to join the tennis team."
"Did you really get in his head that quickly? You are shameless Ryan Levy."
"Don’t worry, I’m not planning on leaving you short staffed. I figure Colin here can take on the shifts Dawson will have to ditch to start his conditioning." Colin’s eyes, still wide, grew panicked.
"You know what, that doesn’t seem such a bad idea. With your star player here, I can advertise this haircut to tons of dads who don’t know what to do with their long haired brats." Colin looked up at Coach Levy with pleading eyes, "Please don’t do this to me"he thought. He was met with only a rigid glare, one that clearly meant, "the deal has changed, hope you like the new deal, you’re stuck with it." Hopeless, Colin again was resigned, utterly and truly resigned.
"Dawson, take Ace here to the back and have him try on one of your spiffy little outfits." Patrick looked down at the newly subjugated Colin with a cruel smile, "The least we can do is get you out of these nasty smelling clothes."

In the back, Dawson quickly found Colin pieces to form a classic barbershop ensemble. Colin stripped out of his tennis clothes, glad to be free of their stench, but was not excited with what he had in exchange. On came the white undershirt, then the white collared shirt, the thick white socks, the black pants fit with white suspenders, and lastly, dressy black shoes that fit just a little too tightly onto Colin’s feet. Finally, Dawson handed Colin a red bow tie, and a white apron. Finishing the ensemble, Colin stepped back out, and took a good long look at himself in the mirror. He was unrecognizable. His flattop, the bow tie, the shoes, he was a boy out of his time. He didn’t even notice Patrick snap a picture, and then post it to all of the shop’s social media pages. If Colin intended to keep his new job a secret, that just became a whole lot harder.

Two weeks later, Colin pushed his broom across the barbershop floor. The tennis team had lost districts, but after Coach Levy had filled in Colin’s parents about the bullying Colin had done to poor Dawson, they were content with enforcing the punishment in the offseason. Colin couldn’t find the energy to care. After his new look had debuted on the internet, and then at school the next morning, Colin was exposed to all the grief he’d given Dawson, and probably about ten times more. His teammates probably had the most fun at Colin’s expense, calling him Coach Levy’s "pet-project." Now, while Dawson trained with the coaches for next season, Colin worked the barbershop, sweeping hair off the floor, and advertising the perfect punishment for wayward teens all at the same time. Patrick kept the flattop fresh every time Colin arrived for work. Colin was stuck, for who knows how long. All he was certain of was this. Don’t abuse your racket.

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