unexpected head shave by Alex

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in the mid of 90's, i looked up from his comic book, eyes squinting against the glaring afternoon sun.

"Alex, go and get your haircut," Mum said, her voice a blend of firmness and something else.

"Mum, do I really need to get it cut?" I whined, brushing my thick overgrown silky brown hair with my fingers.

"Yes, you do," she said firmly, handing me the money. "It's already past your eyes; you're starting to look like a mop."

With a sigh, I took my bicycle out of the garage and began the short ride to the barber shop. in 90's i use to love riding my bicycle. The cool breeze tickled my neck and played with the unruly locks that had grown out of control.

When I arrived, the barber shop was indeed crowded. Men of all ages chatted among themselves, waiting for their turn in the chair. The buzz of their conversation filled the air, a steady hum of gossip and laughter punctuated by the occasional snip of scissors. The bell above the door jingled merrily as I pushed it open, and the room fell silent for a moment before the conversations picked up again.

A boy, not much younger than me, with a mop of unruly blond hair and a lady who I assumed was his mother, entered the shop in a row behind me. She had a look of determination on her face, the same expression my mum had worn when she handed me the money.

The boy was wearing a pair of cartoon printed satin shorts, the kind that was so popular in the 90's. They shimmered under the neon lights of the barber shop, displaying a riot of colors that made him stand out like a sore thumb amidst the dull, dusty surroundings. The shorts were adorned with images of my favorite cartoon characters from that era, their faces distorted and stretched across the fabric in a way that looked both amusing and slightly eerie. His T-shirt was a simple white tee, the kind that seemed to glow against the vibrant shorts, with a faded logo of a band I had long forgotten the name of.

As I looked around for a seat, I spotted a vacant space near the window, the perfect vantage point to observe the barbers at work.

The blond boy and his mother stepped in, and she led him to the chair next to mine. She gave him a gentle nudge, and he hopped up with an awkward grace, his shorts swishing with the movement. He glanced at me, and I caught a glimpse of uncertainty in his eyes, mirroring my own feelings. His mother sat down on a chair opposite us, her eyes scanning the room with a mix of boredom and impatience. She opened a magazine and began flipping through the pages.

Suddenly, she stood up from her chair and marched over to the barber, whispering something in his ear that I couldn't quite catch. The barber, a middle-aged man with a thick mustache, nodded with a knowing smile looked on me, then at the boy with the blond mop.

The lady stepped outside, leaving the boy with the satin shorts sitting there, looking even more out of place than before. His eyes searched the room, possibly for his mother, but she was nowhere to be seen. The room's chatter hushed slightly as the barber called out, "Who's next?"

The barber's eyes fell on me, his index finger pointing in my direction. "You," he said with a nod. "Come on over, son." His voice had a warm, comforting timbre to it, which helped to ease the tension that had been coiling in my stomach.

I hesitantly approached the chair, swiveling it around to face the wall of mirrors. The barber clapped his hands together, signaling for me to take a seat. As I sat down, the vinyl chair let out a sigh beneath my weight. He draped a freshly laundered apron around my neck, the fabric cool and smelling faintly of starch. The scent of hair tonic and aftershave hung in the air, a potent mix that I associated with getting a trim.

Without a word, he picked up a pair of scissors and began snipping away. His movements were swift and sure, the sharp blades glinting under the fluorescent lights. The sound of the scissors was surprisingly harsh in the otherwise muted chatter of the barber shop. Each snip sent a shiver down my spine, as if the very act of cutting my hair was a declaration of war against the locks that had been my shield against the outside world.

I felt the weight of my hair lighten as he continued, the occasional lock falling to the floor with a soft thud. The tension in my neck began to ease, replaced by a strange mix of excitement and anxiety. It was clear he wasn't giving me the trim I was expecting. He was going for something bolder, something that would force me out of my comfort zone.

As I watched in the mirror, the reflection grew more and more unrecognizable. The once-silky strands were now jagged and uneven, sticking out in every direction. The barber stepped back, his eyes scrutinizing his work, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of horror wash over me. It was as if he had hacked away at my very identity, leaving a patchwork mess in its place.

My heart skipped a beat when I saw some patches of bare skin showing through the uneven mess. "What's going on?" I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

The barber just chuckled, "Don't you worry about it, son. Your need something special today." He took a step back, eyeing his handiwork before picking up the electric clippers. The buzz filled the air, sounding much louder than usual in the suddenly quiet shop. The boy in the satin shorts had stopped fidgeting, his eyes glued to the mirror as the barber brought the clippers closer to my head.

I felt the cold metal touch my scalp, and the first strip of hair fell away. My heart raced as I watched the patches of bare skin grow larger. The clippers moved swiftly, reducing my once thick hair to a uniform stubble. The vibrations tickled my head, and the sensation was oddly comforting amidst the growing anxiety. The men in the shop had all turned to watch, their conversations forgotten.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" I shouted, the panic finally breaking through.

The barber didn't miss a beat, continuing his work with a calm, almost amused expression. "Just giving you tough look, son," he said over the buzz of the clippers. "You'll thank me when you see the finished product."

My heart thudded in my chest as I felt the hair on the back of my neck disappear. "Tough look?" I repeated, my voice shaking. "What do you mean?"

The barber leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Your mum told me to give you something special," he said with a smirk. "Something that'll make you stand out from the crowd."

I froze, the words echoing in my head. "Mum?" I squeaked. "You know my mum?"

The barber didn't answer, focusing instead on the task at hand. He was now shaving the sides of my head, the clippers moving closer and closer to my ears. The boy in the satin shorts was watching with wide eyes, his own head slowly shaking in silent protest. The tension in the room grew as the hair kept falling, and my heart thudded louder than the clippers.

Finally, the barber stepped back, his job complete. He turned the chair around so that I faced the mirror, revealing my new look. My hair was buzzed down to the skin.

I stared in shock at the reflection staring back at me. "What did you do?" I managed to croak out, my eyes wide with horror.

The barber winked in the mirror. "Just a little number one all over," he said, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. "It'll grow back "

"Why did you do this?" I asked, my voice trembling with anger and confusion. "What's the meaning of this?"

The barber chuckled, "Meaning, son? It's just a haircut. Sometimes a change is good for the soul, you know?"

The room felt stifling, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the bald reflection staring back at me. "But I didn't ask you to shave my head," I said, my voice small and lost amidst the murmurs of the other customers.

The barber leaned in, his breath minty and the hint of mischief in his voice growing stronger. "the lady accompany you, Your mum, left few minutes back. She told me to give you a head shave, and not to let you leave until she comes back."

The blond boy looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of pity and fear. "That's my mum," he murmured.

The barber's eyes darted from me to the boy and back again, a twinkle of amusement in his gaze. "Ah, I see," he said, his voice smooth as velvet.

My eyes snapped to the blond boy, his own reflection looking as shocked as I felt. "Your mum?" I asked, disbelief lacing my words.

He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah.

The barber cleared his throat, his smile fading as he took in the horror etched on my face. He set the clippers down and leaned in, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. "Look, son, I'm real sorry about this," he said, his eyes reflecting genuine concern. "Seems there's been a mix-up."

My heart was racing, my palms slick with sweat against the chair's armrests. "What mix-up?" I managed to ask, my voice shaking.

The barber sighed and took a step back, scratching his head. "I guess I misunderstood your mum," he said, his expression turning apologetic. "I thought she said she wanted you to go bald. But looking at you now, I can see that wasn't the case."

I stared at my reflection, the shock slowly turning into anger.

The barber, noticing my distress, cleared his throat again. "Look, it's not that bad," he said, his voice soothing. "It's a clean cut, a fresh start. You look good."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Good?" I exclaimed, feeling the stubble on my head. "I look like a freak!"

The boy in the satin shorts looked at me with a mix of pity and awe. "It's not that bad," he offered timidly, his voice squeaking with the last word. "It's kind of...cool?"

I couldn't bring myself to agree with him. "Thanks," I mumbled, barely able to look at the reflection in the mirror. "What do I do now?"

The barber's expression grew serious, as if realizing the gravity of the situation. "Well," he began, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "We can't exactly put it back. But I can clean it up for you, make it look more...intentional."

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. It was clear there was no way to fix this without going all the way. "Okay," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Let's do it."

The barber's expression grew serious as he picked up the straight razor. The blade was gleaming under the neon lights, and the anticipation of what was to come made my stomach flip. He lathered my head with a cool, minty shaving cream, the scent immediately making me feel a little more at ease. With careful strokes, he began to shave away the remaining stubble, the sound of the razor gliding over my skin echoing in the quiet shop. The boy in the satin shorts watched in fascination, his own appointment forgotten.

The barber worked meticulously, sculpting my hairline with precision. His movements were swift yet gentle, and despite the horror of the situation, I couldn't help but admire his skill. Each stroke of the razor sent a cold shiver down my spine, and the room grew eerily quiet as the men in the shop leaned in, curious about the unfolding drama. The blond boy's mother had returned, her eyes wide with shock when she saw what had become of her son's hair. She opened her mouth to speak, but the barber's calm demeanor silenced her.

"It's okay," he said, not looking up from his work. "It'll grow back.

The process was surprisingly soothing, the coolness of the shaving cream against my scalp, the gentle scraping of the razor as it removed the last traces of hair. It was almost meditative, watching him work, and the tension in the room began to dissipate. The other customers returned to their conversations, and the bell over the door jingled as more people came and went. The barber's hands never wavered, and he didn't speak a word, as if he knew that any conversation would only add to my anxiety.

When he was finished, he wiped my head clean with a warm towel, the soft fabric against my freshly shaved skin sending a tingle down my spine. He then spun the chair around, and I faced the mirror again, feeling a strange mix of trepidation and curiosity. The baldness was stark, unyielding, and undeniable. But there was something about it that felt...liberating.

My eyes searched the mirror, taking in the alien image of a bald head. The smoothness was undeniable, but the reality was a stark contrast to the shaggy mane I had walked in with. "It's...different," I managed to reply, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

The barber leaned in, a glint in his eye. "But what about the eyebrows?" he asked simply, testing me. "You wouldn't want them to look out of place, would you?"

I swallowed hard, trying to keep the fear at bay. "Just do it," I whispered, bracing myself for the next assault on my identity.

The barber took the razor again, this time with a more delicate touch. He carefully shaved my eyebrows, his movements precise and deliberate. Each stroke sent a cold shiver down my spine, and the room felt like it was spinning. The other customers watched with a mix of amusement and horror, their eyes glued to the transformation unfolding before them.

When the barber was done, he stepped back, allowing me to look at the complete picture. My eyes met the bald, eyebrow less reflection in the mirror. It was as if I was staring at a stranger. "Thanks," I murmured, not sure what else to say.

The barber nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You're welcome, son. Remember, it's just hair. It'll grow back." He handed me a small hand mirror to inspect the back of my head. The sight of my bare skin made me cringe, but there was something strangely satisfying about the symmetry and precision of the shave.

The blond boy's mother had been standing there, her eyes darting between us in disbelief. She approached, her hand hovering over her son's head. "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice shaky. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

I looked at her, the anger slowly dissipating. "It's okay," I said, trying to sound more convincing than I felt. "It's just hair."

The barber interrupted, his voice firm but kind. "No payment needed today," he said, taking the money from my hand and sliding it back into the pocket of my jeans. "This one's on the house. Consider it a...lesson in going with the flow."

The blond boy's mother looked at me with a mix of apology and embarrassment. "What's your name?" she asked tentatively.

"It's Alex," I replied, still trying to wrap my head around the drastic change.

The blond boy looked at me with admiration. "Cool," he said, a hint of awe in his voice. "I'm Timmy."

"Thanks, Timmy," I managed a smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Guess we're both going to be turning heads today."

Timmy's mother looked at us, her cheeks reddening. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, her eyes filled with regret. "I never meant for this to happen."

The barber held up a hand, his smile gentle. "No harm done," he assured her. "Sometimes, a little surprise is all we need to remember to laugh at life's little mishaps."

I stepped out of the shop, the cool evening air kissing my bare scalp, the sensation oddly liberating. The sun had started to set, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. As I looked around, the world seemed to tilt slightly, my new reflection rippling in shop windows and car mirrors. I couldn't help but feel a strange sort of freedom in the loss of my hair. It was as if I had shed a part of me that was weighing me down.

My bicycle stood outside, looking as out of place as I felt. I reached out to grab the handlebars, pausing for a moment to gather my thoughts. The world had shifted, and I wasn't sure how to navigate it with my new look. The barber's words echoed in my mind: "a lesson in going with the flow." I took a deep breath and straddled the bicycle, feeling the cool evening breeze against my bare skin for the first time.

As I pedaled away from the barber shop, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of liberation. The wind whipped against my scalp, sending a chill down my spine that was somehow exhilarating. The streets of the 90's were a canvas of vibrant colors, the neon signs and flashing lights seeming to pulse with a new energy that matched the beat of my racing heart.

I rode through the quiet neighborhood, passing by kids playing on the street and couples walking their dogs. Their stares were unmistakable, some filled with confusion, others with amusement, but none were malicious. They were just people, observing the unusual spectacle that I had become.

As I approached home, the fear of my mother's reaction grew stronger. How would she take the news of this disaster? Would she laugh, or would she be furious? The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

When I finally pulled into the driveway, I saw her standing in the doorway, her hand shading her eyes from the setting sun. She had been watching for me, no doubt expecting the usual complaints about the haircut she had forced upon me. But what she saw was something else entirely.

"Alex?" she called out, her voice filled with concern as I approached. "What happened?"

My heart raced as I dismounted my bicycle, the cold metal of the handlebars a stark contrast to the warmth of the evening. "It was an accident," I said, my voice trembling. "The barber misunderstood what you wanted."

Mum's eyes grew wide as she took in my new look. "Oh my," she gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. But instead of the anger I had been expecting, she began to laugh. It started as a small giggle, but grew into a full-blown belly laugh that had her doubling over.

"Mum, it's not fun!" I protested, my voice a mix of indignation and embarrassment. But her laughter was infectious, and soon I found myself chuckling despite the situation.

"Oh, Alex," she managed to say between gasps for air. "You do look rather...different." She wiped a tear from her eye, trying to compose herself. "But you know what?"

I looked at her skeptically. "What?"

"It suits you," she said, still chuckling. "In a...bold way."

Her reaction was unexpected, and it lightened the heaviness in my chest. "Bold?" I repeated, tentatively touching my bare scalp.

"Yes," she said, her laughter subsiding into a warm smile. "You look like a new person, and I think it's great. Sometimes, a change is exactly what we need."

Her words echoed the barber's earlier sentiment, and I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of agreement. The shock of the haircut had worn off, and now, looking at my bald reflection in the mirror, I felt a flicker of excitement. Maybe this was a chance to reinvent myself, to step out of my comfort zone and embrace something new.

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