Sibling Rivals by Jaxon

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It was an awkward few minutes, after dinner as my brother announced that he was going give me a haircut that evening. He been at barber school for a couple of months now, and seemed to be enjoying his studies.

I immediately appealed to my parents, in horror at the thought of my bitterest enemy having their seal of approval to give me a haircut. After all how could he be trusted. I started to voice my objections but was stunned into silence as my father spoke.

"That's very generous of you, Simon. I think you’re right Trevor is in dire need of a haircut. I told him to visit the barber last weekend, but I see he’s chosen to ignore me. Yes I think a haircut is a mighty fine idea."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, my horrified face turned to scowl at my brother, who smirked back at me triumphantly. I was doomed.

As the plates and dishes were cleared away, I disappeared off to my bedroom, on the pretext of doing my homework, I was determined to keep a low profile this evening. There was always the chance I could avoid a haircut. The prospect of my brother cutting my hair turned my stomach.

At a little after eight, my brother burst into my room, carrying his college hold all under his arm.

"Right little brother, lets see if I can’t make you look a little more presentable." he joked.

I weighed my options and decided to give in, it wasn’t worth a fight, especially as I knew my parents would both back Simon, I cursed myself for not going to the barber in town on Saturday like I had been told. I guess I was learning a valuable lesson.

Simon, took my desk chair and positioned it in the middle of the room, and told me to sit down. As I sat embarrassed on the chair, my brother emptied the contents of his bag neatly across my desk. I was initially impressed at the professional equipment he had, scissors, combs, thinning shears, clips and hairdryer, but that was soon dispelled as he began unwrapping a brand new set of electric clippers. He lined up the cutting attachments on the desk in length order, and undid the cord carefully wrapped around the body of the clippers. My heart sank further as he plugged them in.

He held up the clippers for me to see, and oiled the teeth, grinning at me as he flicked the red switch on the side of the clippers, clicking them into life. Fortunately he quickly seemed to lose interest in his new gadget, and laid the clippers down on the desk.

He unfurled a crisp white barber’s cape, it smelt clean and new, so I guessed that this was new as well. He wrapped it around me and secured the poppers at the back of my neck firmly. He then took four photographs of me, front, back and each side, for his portfolio.

Reaching for his comb, he began studying my hair in detail. Combing it into style over and over. Dad was right I was in need of a haircut. Simon had combed my fringe flat and it was now in my eyes. I was embarrassed further when he decided comb my hair back, and then humiliated as he managed to create a small ponytail at the back of my head. He made the predictable crack.

"Don’t worry little sister, I'll soon sort this out for you! What’s it to be?"

"Just a trim, all right." I demanded, "Don’t push it!"

So I sat back as my brother began cutting my hair, I remained tense and was concerned that I couldn’t see what he was doing to my head of hair. The mirror was hung too high on the wall. I hated having to trust him, but I was at his mercy.

He snipped away at my hair in a quite professional manner, I was impressed although I couldn’t see what he was doing, the only reassurance I had was that the hair falling to the cape was less that an inch in length. Simon combed and snipped for at least half an hour, before he muttered under his breath "Almost there." and he freed the hair falling into my eyes with careful scissors strokes, and then sprayed my hair with water and set loose with the hairdryer.

I was beginning to grow restless, so was delighted when he announced he was done. I jumped up to inspect his work in the mirror, not waiting for him to remove the cape. The discarded hair fell in small clumps to the carpet. I studied my haircut with critical scrutiny, although I had never inspected my haircut this closely before, I felt it was necessary for my brother, after all he was new to all this, and I'd had my haircut hundreds of times before, I knew how it should be.

I hated to admit it but it looked really good, just like my usual barber cut it. It was neat, out of my eyes, the parting restored down the left hand side, the lower half of my ears again on show. I ran my fingers through the hair at the back, unable to form the earlier ponytail. It was great, I was relieved and pleased.

Simon, reached for the camera again, and asked me to sit once more, delighted with my haircut I was happy to oblige as he took four more photographs to testify to the quality of his work.

"Just a few finishing touches to go." he announced, and I sat still accommodating his perfectionism, after all he’d not let me down, and he’d had the chance.

He pushed my head forward slightly, again as professionally as my usual barber, and clicked his hair clippers into life.

I kept perfectly still, unsure as to what experience my brother had acquired in the use of this lethal barbering tool. My answer was soon in coming, as my brother cursed, reached across for a length attachment from the desk, and having snapped into to the clippers, ran them from the nape, all the way up the back of my head.

"What are you doing?" I yelped in shock.

"Sorry bro. it went wrong, this is the only way to fix it."

I guessed he had a point, so I let him continue, silently seething to myself. With every second he appeared to become more and more proficient with the clippers, and I began to suspect there was something more afoot.

My ears attracted his attention next, and as a couple of inches of hair had now dropped down to the cape, I guessed they were now completely exposed. My fears were confirmed as my brother pulled each ear back, to force the clippers around my hairline.

The clippers turned off for a moment, and I seized the opportunity to run my hand over the prickly stubble he’d allowed me to keep, I guessed it was a quarter inch in length, shorter than I’d ever worn it before. I was shocked. Simon snapped a different attachment over the teeth of the clippers, and they whirred into life once more. He grabbed my fringe in his fist, and pulled the clippers back over the top of my head, letting the severed hair drop down over my face, on route to the cape and floor.

As the clippers were turned off, Simon was back with was, and having applied a liberal amount of the smelly substance, was combing my hair back. The clippers returned, together with a flat-top comb. My heart sank as the reality of his plan hit home.

At last the finishing was complete, he’d been snipping here and there for ages now, but seemed relieved and satisfied. I was allowed once more to inspect his work. I didn’t need telling twice, and sprang to my feet in front of the mirror, confronted by a meticulously groomed flat-top. I had to admit the initial impression was striking, and I liked what I saw, but I could never admit that to my brother.

"I hate it!" I shouted melodramatically. "What have you done?" I asked with mock concern.

"You don’t like it? asked my brother, with obvious disappointment, holding his camera ready for four more shots. I sat down to oblige.

"Hold on a moment." Simon muttered, as I started to get up from the chair. "Perhaps you’ll like this better."

In a instant he had run the clippers down the center of my head. I regretted being so hard on him, I hadn't wanted this. He had a strong grip on my head, and had mown my head bare in seconds. Even more hair came to rest on the floor. It didn’t take him long to finish this particular style, and when he’d finished I was in no rush to view it in the mirror. I was so horrified at what he’d just done to me that I barely noticed him taking a further set of photographs.

I rubbed my palm over the stubbled head, touch confirming what I knew in my heart already, it was the same short length all over, indeed so short that I couldn’t even fell the individual hairs between my fingers. I shouted at my brother, and he shouted back, the furor causing my father to come upstairs and see what was going on.

As he walked in the door, he initially looked startled as the new look inflicted upon me, registered with him, but he soon recovered.

"Hey Trevor, that haircut looks marvelous on you." he volunteered.

"I asked for a trim!" I whined, walking over to the mirror. I couldn’t speak as I stared at the unfamiliar face in the mirror. Although speechless for the present, I could see what my Dad meant, it certainly suited me having my hair clipped to an eighth of an inch all over, and I had to admit it felt good too.

Dad, was obviously feeling guilty about having forced me into the clutches of my brother, something was bound to go wrong, as we're always fought one anther like cat and dog.

Dad put his arm around me, and smiled softly. "Sorry son, but it really does look good."

Then he turned to my brother. "He asked for a trim?" Trevor nodded and laughed, still holding his clippers in one hand.

The laugh seemed to be a mistake, as my father pushed Simon down onto the makeshift barber chair, and secured the cape around him.

"Well then, its only fair that your brother gets to give you a haircut then isn't it? he said calmly, with that fatherly tone of I will be obeyed.

Simon looked sick, horrified and terrified all at once.

"What’s it to be then bro?" I asked.

"A trim."

As the sentence finished, I had clicked on the clippers and was already clipping my brothers hair down to the now regulation eighth of an inch.

We didn’t fight again.

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