Rush by Lemon

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Jack and Adam waited next to each other in metal folding chairs. Jack thumped his left leg up and down while Adam jittered his thighs side to side. The smell of aftershave, hair tonic, and clipper oil choked the air, and a thin dusting of hair littered the floor.

They were both rushing one of campus’s top fraternities. One of the seniors, a smirk growing on his face, had sized up Jack and Adam. They stood before him, expecting their hazing to perhaps be taking a midterm while nauseatingly hungover from the night before or brushing their teeth after being forced to use the same toothbrushes cleaning the house bathroom. The senior eyed the mops of hair they both sported: Jack’s lightly curled, midnight locks spilling over his collar and Adam’s straight and flat bleached blonde hair, shading his eyes, the roots growing in and betraying his natural chestnut brown.

Neither expected that they would be sent to the barbershop like two young boys. To add to the embarrassment, the senior had a sophomore, Kyle, accompany them both, just to make sure they followed through. Jack and Adam had not been tasked with a specific haircut. Rather, they had been given instructions to give to the barber that made the experience open-ended. It was determined that this would only add to the excitement and fun of it.

The only thing everyone was sure of: Jack and Adam would be leaving with short haircuts. In addition to the specific instructions, they were to provide the barber, the frat leader had sent them to "Henry’s Barbershop," which local college guys called "Henry’s Butcher Shop." Each year, new freshmen arriving on campus, not yet familiar enough with the local town to know where to go for a haircut, would stumble upon Henry’s, just a few short blocks from the northside of the campus edge. No matter whether they entered long- or short-haired, requested just a trim or a shearing, everyone left with a close-cropped look. A select few, adamant and precise in their instructions, would leave Henry’s with a longer look. But most 18-year-old boys, adjusting to a new school and new town, are sheepish, and "just a trim" or "just a bit off the top" leaves too much room for interpretation. And Henry and his coterie of barbers interpret such instructions as "nice and short."

Jack and Adam had the misfortune of already knowing the local lore about Henry’s. They had no expectations about keeping much of their hair. Henry’s had three barbers: Henry himself, a portly and balding man approaching sixty, was stationed near the window; the two others were middle-aged, one sporting a salt-and-pepper side part and the younger one, perhaps in his mid-forties, wore a light brown crewcut. Jack and Adam couldn’t be sure who the best barber would be (none of them would be good), but to avoid gamesmanship by either of them, they had agreed to a game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who would take the first-available barber. Adam won and chose to go second.

Jack watched each of the three barbers, wondering which would be his. Henry worked on an older gentleman with a sparse thatch of gray hair. (Not much damage he can do there.) Salt-and-Pepper was working on a teenaged boy who had entered the shop with a mop like Jack’s, but that mop was slowly being reduced to a fuzzy pelt as the barber took the clippers from front to back, sending sheaths of hair to the cap. The kid’s head was pressed down, forcing him to watch as the locks hit the cap. Crewcut had a guy in his late twenties who already sported a longer crewcut when he came in, so Jack couldn’t deduce much from that. The only thing Jack could tell was that Crewcut was finishing up.

Crewcut removed the cape from the customer, sending a light dusting of hair to the floor. The customer paid and left, and Crewcut called, "Next." Adam shot his eyes over to Jack without moving his head, as if to say, "Remember? You’re going first." Kyle turned to smirk at Jack. Asshole.

Jack made his way to the chair. Crewcut, who introduced himself as "Mike," flitted the cape over Jack and began combing his hair. "What’re we doing today?"

Now was the time for Jack to give the instructions. He saw Kyle leaning in, directing his left ear toward Jack and the barber like a radio telescope focusing on a nearby star. Jack licked his lips. "My dad is visiting me this weekend, and he always likes, uh, something short. So I leave it to you." Barber’s choice. Those were the instructions. Of course, you had to throw in a bit of a story in there, and a make-dad-happy haircut could only make things worse for Jack and Adam.

"So I get creative freedom?" Mike muttered. It was more a statement to himself than it was a question for Jack to answer. Mike continued, this time a real question: "What haircut does your dad wear?"

Jack didn’t expect a question back. "Uh, he wears a flat top."

"Okie dokie."

Mike took the clippers, removed the guard, and fired them up, the whir filling up the shop and Jack’s eardrums. With a hand on Jack’s crown, Mike pushed his head forward and put the metal teeth at Jack’s nape, carefully tucking the blade under the curls of his neck to ensure no strand escaped. He sent the clippers screaming up the back of Jack’s head, clumps of curls falling onto the back of the cape and a handful more spilling over onto the floor.

After tackling the back, Mike went after the sides. The clippers tore through the plush sideburns, sending wads of black locks into Jack’s lap. Pale scalp shone through the bristles of Jack’s side and back. Faced away from the mirror, Jack couldn’t appreciate his current look, but Adam could. Adam saw induction-short sides with an outrageous mop of curls on top, a forest of unruly black.

Mike then grabbed a comb and placed it vertically against Jack’s temple. Four to five inches sprang out of the side of the comb. The clippers sliced through them, musically clacking the plastic of the comb. More curls tumbled down the cape. The comb proceeded section by section, fighting off the forest, like a outdoorsman clearing a path through the brush.

Mike continued around Jack’s head, and Jack, unable to see the damage done, was glad you at least sat down during a haircut. Had he been standing, his knees would have threatened to give way. Before long, Jack still had a mass of curls atop his head, but they were boxed in by an invisible fence. The black locks had been squared off.

Overwhelmed by the anxiety of the moment, Jack failed to put two and two together from his earlier conversation with Mike. The realization hit him between the eyes and dizzyingly traveled to the pit of his stomach, adding to his sickness: Mike was giving him a flat top. And just as Jack made this connection, the comb, now horizontal, held Jack’s forelock in place. The comb, barely an inch above his scalp, held a mound of wavy black in its teeth. And the teeth of clippers zipped through it. The rain of black hair, to Jack, was cataclysmic.

Mike showed no signs of slowing. He continued inching the comb back and back and back, loosening more curls from their perch, and flattening and flattening and flattening Jack’s hair. The scene transfixed Adam, who almost forgot about his own plight, enamored with the transformation of Jack. It wasn’t just the haircut; the loss of his boyish locks had enhanced his square jawline and exposed his well-endowed hairline. Mike tilted Jack’s head forward, giving Adam a glimpse of Jack’s eggshell-white scalp surrounded by a sea of plush black pile. Adam shivered.

And then Adam remembered he was here for the same reason as Jack. Salt-and-Pepper called "next." Adam looked over and saw the teen walk out the door. He’d already paid Salt-and-Pepper, so there was no more stalling. The sickness came rushing back, and Adam shuffled weak-kneed to the barber chair.

In a fashion similar to Mike, Salt-and-Pepper introduced himself as "Pete," caped up Adam, and asked about his hair. Kyle glanced at Adam, the smirk no less prominent than it had been for Jack. Kyle’s eyes said, "You know what to do. Or you’ll never get in."

"Yeah, uh, my dad’s coming in soon, so you know, uh, I’d like it cut for him." Kyle continued eyeing Adam, seemingly dissatisfied with the completeness of Adam’s instructions. Then Adam remembered. "Oh, and my dad likes it short. So, umm, do what you think is, uh, best, yeah."

Pete, having already combed Adam’s hair forward, started combing the bleached blonde hair toward the back, closely examining the length and roots. Then, taking the forelock, he combed it straight up and put it between his fingers. "Yeah, the brown is just above my knuckle, so we should still be able to leave you something to play with." Adam gulped.

Before he could process the meaning behind Pete’s words, Pete returned with a pair of shears and retook the forelock with the comb. Pete placed the locks between his fingers, the golden straw of Adam’s bleached hair shooting upward with the brown of his roots just peeking over Pete’s fingers. The scissors snipped just above Pete’s knuckle, and the bleached hair splatted onto the cape.

Adam sat in horror, realizing that at best his hair on top couldn’t be longer than an inch. Pete continued. Comb up the hair. Between the fingers. Snip snip snip. Kyle, the only one of the trio (a trio in fact but not in spirit), smiled devilishly at Adam. A soft pelt of brown began to emerge over the top of Adam’s head, like a field of golden wheat being harvested. Meanwhile, inches of blonde hair still clung to Adam’s sides and back.

Pete finished the top and ran his hand over the freshly shorn head. Adam felt the warmth of Pete’s fingers through his short crop. Then, Pete took the clippers, no guard, and began peeling the blonde hair from the sides and back.

By this point, Jack’s haircut had finished. Mike faced him toward the mirror. A young man with a flat top cut close to the scalp greeted him. He took a hand and rubbed it up the back, continuing to the crown and center of his head, feeling bristles the whole way that barely increased in length.

Shell-shocked, Jack walked back to the chairs. He looked over at Adam, who appeared a bit dejected, his eyes staring at the mountain of dyed hair in his lap.

"Nice look, Jack-off." Kyle.

Before Jack could say anything, a yell of "next!" interrupted his thought. Jack and Kyle looked around. They were the only two in the shop, besides the barbers and Adam.

Henry had called "next." He was looking at Kyle. Kyle swapped his grin for a more conciliatory smile, "Oh, no, thank you, sir. I’m just here for my friends." Jack had to keep from scoffing at the mention of "friends."

"Nonsense, son. Your hair is just as bad as theirs." Kyle sported brushed back curtains that he tucked behind his ears. His plush sides and back hung over his collar.

Kyle resisted. "Maybe next time, but not today, sir."

Jack chimed in. "Oh come on, Kyle. It’ll make Dad happy if you cut it." Luckily, Kyle didn’t look so dissimilar from Jack that their shared paternity was convincing.

"Come on, son. Have a seat. I won’t have you leaving my shop like that."

Jack sensed Kyle was about to run. As Kyle stood from his seat, so did Jack, draping an arm over Kyle’s shoulder. "Come on, Ky. Let’s get you a haircut." Kyle attempted to push, but I gripped his shoulder harder and steered him toward the chair, nearly throwing him in.

"Sorry about that, sir. Sometimes my little brother doesn’t listen to reason." Kyle scowled at "little brother." Although Kyle was a year old, Jack’s new look also convincingly made him look older. Just as Kyle was about to stand again, Henry draped the cape over him. Although weightless, the cape had a stabilizing effect. But just for added measure, Jack moved to the side of the barber chair and kept his grip on Kyle.

"I apologize for my brother. Give him a burr cut. Dad will love that."

Kyle’s eyes widened in horror. "No, please, sir. Just a short back and sides."

"Who’s paying for the haircut?" Before Kyle could jut in, Jack blurted, "I am."

Henry didn’t give Kyle another chance to protest. A metal #1 blade fitted on the clippers, he placed them on Kyle’s forehead and brushed it back through Kyle’s curtains. Sheaves of black hair slid down the cape while Kyle pouted. Henry relentlessly took the clippers on pass after pass, shearing Kyle’s locks. He ran the #1 blade all over, leaving nothing but bristles. Honestly, Kyle didn’t look all that bad. His square features pulled off the buzzed look quite well.

Henry finished up and flicked the cape off. Wads of black hair slid to the floor. Jack rubbed a hand over Kyle’s hand, relishing the sandpaper feel. "Yep, Dad will love this."

Kyle narrowed his eyes. "I hate you."

Adam walked over. The close-cropped pelt counterbalanced his bristly sides. He glanced at Kyle and smiled. "Glad we could make all our dads happy."

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