My Cousin by buzztob

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My Cousin
by
buzztob

Half term had arrived. A number of family members were due to arrive during the week, ready for grandfather’s birthday celebration the following Saturday. Since I finished school on the Friday, my parents had me doing all sorts of jobs getting the house ready for the arrival of the family.

On Sunday morning, dad’s sister arrived with my obnoxious cousin. He was always trying to score brownie points off the adults. They all thought butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. But, behind the scenes, when no adults were present, he was a foul mouth, spoilt brat. My aunt explained that her husband was unable to get off work until the Friday, so she thought that she and her son could come down and spend time with us. After all, we hardly see each other these days. I thought that was no surprise, as not many of the family liked her husband nor her son.

We were just finishing Sunday lunch, when my aunt looked across at her son and said that he needed a haircut before grandfather’s party on the Saturday. She said that he ought to have gone to the hairdressers yesterday with his father. She commented on how smart father and I looked. Father said that we had both been for a haircut recently, not wanting to leave everything to the last minute before the party. My aunt looked at her son and said, see, even your cousin had the sense to get a trim so as not to look scruffy for grandfather. I’m sure your cousin could show you a place tomorrow to get your hair cut. You can go tomorrow whilst the three adults are out buying last minute things. Looking across at me, she said, you don’t mind, do you? My father said that it would not be a problem. If you get there nice and early you won’t waste the whole morning waiting in a queue. I reminded my father that our normal place was not open on a Monday. My aunt said, I’m sure you could find an alternative. Just tell the hairdresser to cut it how they think best.

After lunch, I went up to my room and called Sam, my best friend. I explained that I would not be able to meet up tomorrow morning as I had to show my cousin somewhere to get his hair cut. Sam was very much into sport, spending quite a lot of time in the gym. Consequently, his hair was always kept short. Currently he supported a short crew cut and rarely missed his weekly appointment at his barbers. My hair was currently cut, as the barber described it, as a medium boy’s style with tapered back and sides.

Sam new that I disliked my cousin and was always made to look second best when he was around. Sam said, why don’t you take him to see Mr Sykes.
Now Mr Sykes was notorious amongst the younger males of my community. His shop was somewhere you stayed away from. The only young people that ended up in his shop were either forced in by their parents, or had done something wrong, and were sent there as part of their punishment. Even Sam had stopped going to Mr Sykes as his last haircut from him, resulted in a fully shaved back and sides and the top reduced to stubble. It seemed Mr Sykes was cutting hair shorter as he aged. There was never a discussion regarding your haircut, you received what Mr Sykes thought appropriate for you. I told Sam that it was a brilliant idea. Did he want to meet us there and watch my cousin get stripped. Sam declined, saying that if he walked back into that shop, Mr Sykes would skin him completely.

Lying in bed that night, I couldn’t wait for morning and watching my cousin be stripped of his precious locks.

At breakfast, I asked my aunt if she still wanted me to take my cousin for his hair cut. After all, we were the same age and I was sure, he would find somewhere to go. She was quite adamant that I should accompany him. She reiterated the statement just tell them to cut it how they think best. I thought, I’m sure Mr Sykes would love to cut it how he thought best.

I left the house with my cousin. He started his normal foul mouth comments as soon as the door was closed. Which dump are you taking me to? I asked him if he wanted a long walk or short walk as there were a number of shops we could go to. I thought it really doesn’t matter which option he goes for; he is ending up at Mr Sykes! His reply was short, closer the better, saves me having to spend too much time with you.

We were soon approaching Mr Sykes’ shop. The red and white pole stuck out from his premises. It was something that I don’t think my cousin was expecting. Are we not going to a salon? I said no, this is the closest.

On entering the shop, Mr Sykes looked up from the elderly gentleman’s hair he was cutting. I quickly said, good morning, Mr Sykes, my cousin needs his hair cut ready for our grandfather’s birthday party. He just nodded his head and said that we would be after the other two young lads that were waiting.

We sat down. My cousin’s head was rotating at an alarming rate. I don’t know if he had ever been in a barber’s shop before. The elderly gentleman was soon getting up from the chair. You had to look really hard to see any hair that remained on his head. On returning to his chair, he called the first boy over. He placed a booster seat on the chair first and once the lad was seated, a cape was secured around him. Mr Sykes ran a comb through his hair and said he knew exactly what haircut would suit him. Straight off, he picked up his big black clippers and with no guard attached, proceeded to run them from the nape to the crown. Hair was cascading down onto the cape. Mr Sykes was quick in his actions. Soon the sides followed the fate of the back of his head. A quick brush down, a spray of water on the top and with scissors in hand, the top was reduced by half. A quick blending of the top into the back and sides, and the cape was removed. The second lad was called to the chair. Caped and a comb dragged through his hair, Mr Sykes picked up his black clippers, put a guard on them and starting from the front, ran them all the way to the crown. The pace was fast and soon Mr Sykes was removing the hair from the back and sides.

My cousin leaned over to me and said that he thought we should leave this place. He didn’t want that old bloke cutting his hair. Looking across, Mr Sykes must have heard the comments and said that it would not be long, as he only had to trim around the sides and back and it would be our turn. I’m sure I saw a slight smirk on his face. I was just glad it wasn’t me getting a haircut.

True to his word, Mr Sykes had the lad out of the chair in no time. On returning to his chair and removing the booster seat, Mr Sykes asked who was first. I said that it was only my cousin having his hair cut. I had my haircut with my father last week. I also thought I would turn the screw a little and said, my aunt had said that you were to cut it how you thought fit. Mr Sykes looked at my cousin in the mirror and asked if that were true. My cousin said that his mother did say that, but he only wanted the ends removed. He was not accustomed to being in a barber’s shop, but needed his hair trimmed for his grandfather’s party. Mr Sykes asked about grandfather and how old he was. I told Mr Sykes that my grandfather had been in the army and always likes to see men with short hair. Mr Sykes said he totally agreed with our grandfather. Addressing my cousin, he said, you wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you? I think my cousin was like a rabbit caught in the headlights, as only a weak no, came out of his mouth.

Mr Sykes, running a comb through his hair, said, then let’s make your grandfather proud. He selected the small clippers he used for edging, and nudging the head downwards, proceeded to run the clippers from the nape to the crown. Pass after pass saw the hair cascading away from his head. There was nothing left behind. Tilting the head to the side he ran the clippers from cheek to the top of his head. I just sat there in amazement. When the clippers left the head, there was bare skin showing. The other side soon followed. Once dusted down and his head upright, seeing the bare side of his head had the bottom lip quivering. Mr Sykes picked up the big black clippers, put a guard on them and started to run the clippers from front to back. The long floppy hair was replaced by short stubble. Pass after pass revealed his scalp. I didn’t think this could get any better, but I was in for a surprise.
Once Mr Sykes was satisfied with the cut, he dusted my cousin down. I was on the verge of standing up but Mr Sykes placed a towel over the cape. He turned to the counter, picked up a mug and with a brush, started to whip up the contents. Soon white foam coated a fair portion of the head. Selecting a razor, the skin was pulled tight and the foam was scrapped from the head. After a few moments and a wipe down with the towel removing surplus foam, the small clippers reappeared and just seem to touch the shaved area and the previous hair line. Once satisfied, Mr Sykes announced that he now supported a haircut that our grandfather would be proud of. Removing the cape, Mr Sykes looked at me and asked if I wanted mine trimmed up. I told him that it was fine and I would pass on his offer.

All the way home, my cousin never uttered a word. I couldn’t wait to phone Sam and tell him what happened. A couple of hours later, the adults arrived home. I thought that I would be in big trouble, but it would be worth it. My aunt took one look at my cousin but before she could say anything, my cousin said he thought that he would get a haircut that would make grandfather happy. They all just nodded their heads. I thought, he’s playing up to the adults again. You cannot win with this guy. I panicked a little when my father said that I should have followed my cousins’ example.

I give up!

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