Wait No More by Faded Dusk

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The Dapper Hedgehog had quickly become my new favourite after-work destination when I was feeling hungry, only a short 3 minute walk from my barbershop’s door. The tavern’s food wasn’t particularly noteworthy, save for their impressively well-baked pretzels, and their ambiance left a little to be desired, with the layout a bit cluttered and sound and noise carrying quite easily. A plate could smash in the busy kitchen and the furthest corner table would probably hear it. But all the flaws were forgivable in my eyes when they had such, well…dapper, waiters. As opposed to the t-shirts and jeans I so often saw in the other taverns and bars and pubs I had visited, the waiters in the Hedgehog wore the button ups and sharp pants of ‘high class’ restaurants, with laced and shined black shoes, and best of all, sharp haircuts. There was wonderful variety, of course, some went as short as an all out induction cut, others had a stylish short back and sides, a rare few had boxy flattops, there was even one with a landing strip. I had asked the owner, Mr. Wahlberg, about the grooming code, and he explained that while the uniforms were mandated, they had no rules or regulations on hair. The many men (and even the occasional woman I had seen), simply liked their hair short and neat. As soon as I became a regular customer, word must have got around, because almost every day I’d have a server from the Hedgehog show up at my barbershop, explaining that it was their day off and they wanted to get their hair freshened up. And I was all too happy to oblige. It was good for business, and some of those clients became regular appearances even after they stopped working at the Dapper Hedgehog.

There was one, notable, beautiful exception to the trend, a young man named Hector (I say young as though he wasn’t probably only five or six years younger than me at the absolute most), with the most magnificent mop of hair I’d ever seen. A fiery red colour, that shone and alighted whenever the light from the setting sun would hit it, thick, luscious curls that practically doubled the size of his head and hung into his satin brown eyes with flecks of gold. Any night where he was assigned to my table was a good night, as he’d smile down at me through his vibrant curtain, occasionally tossing his head to get a stubborn ringlet out of his eye, an unsteady but joyful voice…okay, I’ll admit, I was crushing hard. Never thought it would’ve been possible now that I was well and truly out of college, but Hector was something else indeed.

The one, somewhat disheartening, issue with Hector’s uniqueness was that he never came to visit my shop. Occasionally I’d notice it looked like someone had (a little amateurishly) trimmed dead ends and whatnot, but the mop stayed all the same. Or at least it did, until one fateful evening.

I’d ordered a sandwich, chips, and a pretzel, as per usual. My designated server was a young man named Axel who wore his hair in a near perfect high and tight (he must have maintained it himself or had a designated barber somewhere, since I never once had him visit my shop, but it was always extremely crisp and maintained to perfection), but as it was a busier night than usual, and Axel had gotten swarmed by a family of ten in a corner booth. Thus Hector delivered my food, and it seemed a perfectly normal, albeit noisier, evening. I ate my pretzel first in the routine, downed a couple chips, and that’s when I found it and pulled it free, a long, red, curly hair in my sandwich. By happenstance Mr. Wahlberg was making the rounds and found me holding the hair up to the light, double checking its colour. "Hey Eddie, how’s your…is that a hair?" I turned to him, no sense in hiding the stray hair now. "It’s from that Hector kid, isn’t it? This is the second time that’s happened, the last one was three weeks ago. I tried suggesting he get a haircut but alas, here we are…"

"Has he ever given a reason why he doesn’t cut his hair? Feels like he’d want to just for peer pressure’s sake," I mused.

"The excuse he tends to give is that he doesn’t have much money to work with, something about a sick parent? Always sounds like made up bs to me, he probably just doesn’t want to lose his pretty boy looks. I oughta…"

"You could send him to me," I interjected, startled slightly by how quickly the sentiment came out, "after his shift ends, tell him to swing by my barbershop, I’ll give him an after-hours haircut, no charge, favour to the establishment. Everybody wins, right?"

"I mean…what do you get out of this?"

"Have you seen that mop? It’s community service to clean that up, right?"

"THANK YOU, I know, it’s so disgusting, isn’t it? Thanks Eddie, I’ll send him over when he’s done."

"Disgusting," I rolled the word on my tongue, "not the word I would use, just overgrown," I grumbled out loud. It was rich of Mr. Wahlberg of all people to lecture anyone about ‘disgusting’ hair, seeing as he was a 40 year old man desperate to stave off a possible receding hairline despite adoring his long, thick, slicked back black hair. Just a whiff of what felt like half a bucket of product made my stomach turn a little. I still ate my food, but without much appetite anymore, partially from that smell, and partially from the excitement of getting my hands in Hector’s glorious hair.

I hurried over once I was done, not wanting to be unprepared when my unanticipated late night client came knocking. Without much else to do, I set about as much maintenance as I could, oiling each set of clippers, sharpening the scissor blades and straight razor, refilling the shampoo bottles, and so forth. The Dapper Hedgehog was a 24/7 establishment, but the changing of the guard so to speak happened at 9:30, so sure enough, at 9:40, the bell on the door jingled jauntily, and in walked Hector. The anticipation building in the pit of my stomach cut short as I realised something was wrong. Hector’s head was hung low, the bounce in his step was gone, and in the quiet shop, I could hear him stifling sobs.

"Hector?" I stepped out gently, "what’s…what’s wrong?"

He looked up sharply, as though he hadn’t even noticed my presence until I spoke. Sure enough, his beautiful eyes were tinged with red and tears. In place of the uniform I was used to, he was dressed in a simple, worn t-shirt, comfy, light jeans, dirty, well-used "Oh. Sorry, Mr. Edward, I…" he hesitated, "I’ve been fired."

"Fired?!" I asked with alarm, "I thought Wahlberg said he was sending you here as the ‘punishment?’ Why would he fire you?"

"The reasoning he gave was that I wasn’t in alignment with the ‘grooming code,’ a code I’ve read back to front that says nothing about hair…and that multiple customers have complained about my conduct and finding my hairs in their food."

"Multiple? According to what he told me, the one I found tonight was only the second hair, and I’ve never heard of any issues with your service," I stopped, noticing that he was looking a little cagey, "Hector? What…oh. I get it. It’s…my fault, you got fired, isn’t it?"

"No! No, it isn’t," Hector’s eyes widened in alarm, "you couldn’t have known Mr. Wahlberg was lying to you, or that being honest about a problem would cause this…"

"How do you know he was lying to me?" I interrupted, "seems to me more like he lied to your face for an excuse to fire you. Though…now that I think about it, if you were just fired, why are you here?"

"Mr. Wahlberg gave me this whole lecture about ‘cleaning up my act’ and if he found out I hadn’t gone through with the haircut, he’d send letters to every establishment in the area telling them not to hire me and that I would be the worst employee they’d ever had."

An uncomfortable silence fell for a moment. "Hector?" I managed, "Wahlberg said something about you having a sick parent?"

This elicited a fresh wave of tears. "My mom. She’s…she’s HIV positive, my dad was as well. Modern medicine protected me, but it took my dad’s life a few years ago, and now…I need the money to pay for my mom’s treatments. I don’t know how I’m supposed to afford it without a job." A thought began to form in my mind, a seed I hoped would germinate given a little time…

"Why don’t you come sit down back here?" I offered, tapping the shampoo chair, "I promised you a free haircut, after all. Besides, I think you could use the relaxation." Indeed he could. As my hands massaged the shampoo and conditioner into his scalp, relishing the soft curls sliding through my fingers, I could feel tension in his face and body release a little, his face, stoic with pain and fear, softened into the smile I was used to. Leading him over to the main chair, running a brush through the mane, I felt a pang of regret. I really did want to cut most of his hair off, I’d readily admit that to myself. But given what Wahlberg had said to me, and what Hector had described about his unceremonious firing, a concern crept into my head that I would be annihilating Hector’s self-esteem. If he had been lectured about how ‘disgusting’ his hair was, and then I came along and chopped it all off, what would that say to him about how people felt about his hair? That they all secretly despised it?

Hector’s voice broke through my inner circular rambles, "Mr. Edward? Are you alright?"

"Yes…" I managed, pumping him up a little higher and shaking out a large black cape, covering him with it. "I just…how do you feel about your hair, Hector?" I asked, absentmindedly twirling a curl around one finger.

"I…get mixed messages on it sometimes, you know?" He started, "some people will come up to me just to compliment my hair. One woman complained that it’s always the men who get the best hair colours naturally, and I once got exempted from a Track head shaving thing because the team universally voted that my hair was too cool to cut." I whistled in mild shock. "But on the other hand, sometimes complete strangers will call out to me saying I’m a disgrace to manhood. One woman came up to flirt with me at a bar and said, and I quote, ‘your face is handsome enough, but you’d have to chop off that whole disaster on your head to rank above a 3.’ One rowdy customer at the tavern even grabbed me by the hair and threatened to start hacking at it with the steak knife."

I pondered for a moment. "Interesting as that all is, Hector, you still didn’t answer my question."

He let out a deep sigh. "In a way I almost feel like I did. My feelings on it fluctuate the same way the world’s do. Some days I wake up and I can’t imagine cutting it any shorter than it is. Other days I wish I owned a pair of clippers so I could shove them into my forehead."

"And what is today feeling like?"

He grinned at me in the mirror, "why don’t you decide?"

I tapped the edge of the seat with my foot, spinning him around to face me and away from the mirror. "You may live to regret that," I smiled devilishly. If he was at all nervous, his face no longer showed it. If anything he looked excited now that he’d given me total control. I wasn’t going to complain.

I lifted a hefty chunk from the back of his head with the comb and hacked it right off, the thick clump, surely at least six inches when straightened out, landing on his shoulder and sliding into his lap. A stiffening in his posture indicated to me that perhaps a twinge of regret had hit, but I didn’t give him much time to think about it, taking another chunk off and letting it tumble away as well. I rapidly attacked the curls around his right ear, lopping off more sizable pieces and revealing a tiny stud in his lobe. Sensing my silent inquiry, Hector piped up, "high school trend, didn’t see much point in letting it close back up in case I wanted to actually make use of it later." I simply patted him on the shoulder in response, letting some accumulated hair slide off and sit on top of his arm, where he stared at it. The next few minutes were a blur of motion, as handful after handful was scooped into my palm, prepped, and then divested from Hector’s scalp with a flourish. I had barely gotten started, and already the black cape was a sea of red with mere specks of darkness sprinkled throughout. Hector had fallen entirely silent at some point, but…was that a smile I could detect? I sure hoped so.
I brushed around Hector’s head thoughtfully. I had hoped to enter with the clippers now, but this mane of his was even more impressive than I’d first thought. Running the brush through now, I had a distinct concern the clippers would get stuck, even with the cleaning and oiling I’d just done. Thus, out came the thinning shears. The approximate sound of scissors must have briefly put Hector at ease, until they slid right down to the roots of his hair and he quivered a little at the feeling. When the comb tugged away only about half of what was there, his shoulders settled again. Each subsequent slide of the thinning shears evoked a fresh tightening, though they lessened in intensity as more and more of his hair fell. I was almost in awe. The front of the cape, the area around his neck, the floor just behind his head at my feet, it was all utterly coated in more than one layer of thick, beautiful, red hair, and yet by many beauty standards, Hector’s hair would still be called long, luscious, and to many, a mop.

I took a brief break from cutting to simply slide my hands through the hair that remained, tugging on it every once in a while, rubbing his scalp, occasionally pulling away with tufts of hair that had been thinned out but not extracted from the mass. Hector was just lost in the experience, eyes closed, a thin smile on his face, and for the moment his financial tumult and awful day was forgotten.
I had the slightest of sadistic pleasures in interrupting that bliss when I snapped a #1 guard on the clippers and started brushing Hector’s hair into a horseshoe parting, or at least as best I could with all those curls. The quivering had started once more. "Hector," I asked cautiously, "are you a little…scared, of the clippers?"

"Not exactly," he muttered.

"Do you want me to go at it with just the scissors? Historically, panic attacks make giving a haircut very difficult."

"It’s…well it’s not nothing but…I already gave you control, Mr. Edward. If you want to use the clippers, then that’s what’s going to happen."

"Right answer" I smiled, "just relax, I know precisely what I’m doing." With no more talk, the clippers drove into his nape and carved a path upward, depositing a huge clump of ginger curls onto his shoulder. Hector let out a very noticeable and very distinctive moan. I immediately switched off the clippers and set them down, placing both hands on Hector’s shoulders and staring at him in the mirror. "Hector," I said gently, "do the clippers…excite you?"

He let out quite possibly his deepest sigh yet, "Yeah, yeah they do. You’ve caught me. It’s why I don’t cut my hair that often and try to do it myself with scissors when I do. It’s very hard to explain to a barber or feel particularly welcome for a return visit, and then I have to explain all over again."

"Well, you’re a lucky man, Hector, because you’re in the presence of a barber who doesn’t mind at all," I smiled at him through the mirror, "and…" I moved to a nearby drawer and pulled out a small hand towel, "this should help if you need it." I handed him the towel, and when I was sure he had adjusted himself properly, I fired up the clippers once more. Once more they ploughed into the ginger mane and sliced away a fresh clump of curls that slid to Hector’s shoulder and down to join the ever larger pile of hair in his lap. With another pass, a quiet sigh of pleasure escaped Hector’s lips and the movement beneath the cape told me he was finally enjoying himself.

Not wanting to rush the…well, rush he was getting from the experience, I took my time continuing to clear away his mop. Pass by glorious pass the clippers would drive into the sea of red and reveal short ginger bristles and pale skin that hadn’t seen the sun in a long time. All the while, Hector was lost in his own world, seemingly oblivious to the mound of hair a couple inches high piling up in his lap. It was at last time to undo the horseshoe parting and tackle the top. I had considered doing a scissor cut for this part of his hair, leaving him with a short back and sides, but now that I knew Hector enjoyed the clippers so much, that plan flew out the window.

Without a word I tilted his head up slightly and pushed the clippers into his hairline, gently tugging them back through and peeling off a strip of curls that fell to the ground lifeless. Hector was practically vibrating as much as the clippers themselves were as I ran my hand over the short fuzzy strip left in the clippers’ wake, before the machine itself returned to the hairline for another pass. Though the process took over an hour, the haircut still ended far too soon. Where once had been a glorious, indescribable mane of red curls now lay a #1 butch, albeit still retaining Hector’s signature ginger colour. I took one picture for posterity, the shorn head contrasted with the massive collection of hair on the cape, accompanied by Hector’s massive grin, before I brushed him off and took off the cape, leaving the mound of hair to collapse to the floor.

Aware of his surroundings for the first time in a while, Hector looked down at the fallen curls, and picked up a small handful to fiddle with for a moment, before dropping it to return to the mass. "I can’t believe all of that just came off my head…I should’ve done that a while ago." His face fell as the pleasure of the moment gave way to reality. "Maybe if I had I wouldn’t have gotten fired…I guess I’d better go show Mr. Wahlberg before he decides to send out those messages…"
"Hector, wait a moment," I instinctively grabbed his wrist as he moved to leave, "I…I want to offer you a job."

"Mr. Edward, you really don’t have to-"

"First of all, please call me Eddie, lest I feel much older than I actually am," I interrupted, "and second of all, I want to. I’ve been thinking about taking on an apprentice for a while now, and as long as you think you can contain yourself during the process of washing and prepping hair, I think you’d be a great fit for the job. Plus it comes with free, private haircuts whenever you want them. What do you say?"

Hector’s mouth dropped open, for a moment too stunned to formulate a sentence, but his shock morphed into a grin, "Really? I…of course! When can I start!"

"Tomorrow if you like!"

He grabbed my hand with both of his and shook it, "Thank you, Eddie, you don’t know how much this means to me. I could kiss you right now!" He caught himself and his cheeks flushed, "I mean…you know, as a turn of phra-"

Once more I cut him off, this time by grabbing him by the shirt collar and pulling him into a kiss, right there with both of our feet submerged in the sea of shorn curls. It was long, and warm, and passionate, and when we finally broke apart Hector was even more flushed, but smiling wider than ever.

"Now I can’t wait to show Mr. Wahlberg," he said, "I’ll get to show off the cut, tell him I have a new job, and flip him off on the way out now that I don’t have to worry about his stupid emails!"

"Even better than that…" I pulled Hector closer, our noses mere centimetres apart, his arms naturally sliding around my neck and mine around his back, "I think it’s time Mr. Wahlberg got a taste of his own medicine and shed that stupid slick back he’s always sporting. Do you think you could entice him with the promise of a free haircut of his own?"

Hector laughed, "It would be my utmost pleasure, Eddie." And this time he leaned in first. Our second kiss was even more passionate than the first, still surrounded by Hector’s fallen hair, the fiery mane he’d given up for love, a new job, and more. And we’ve never forgotten the magical night of our first kiss, no matter how many wonderful haircuts we’ve shared since then.

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