Transformations - #1 - personal renewal by Manny

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This is the first chapter of a multi-part story.

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My phone alerted me to an incoming message. Actually, just a photo. It was a close-up shot of an electric hair clipper. Its steel teeth were in sharp focus. Menacing, grim.

Then came a text: "These are responsible for this…."

My stomach churned, expecting the worst, as I awaited the next communication from my colleague, Jim.

A second photo was delivered, a shot of a barber shop floor absolutely covered with cut hair surrounding a throne-like chair. I immediately recognized Jim’s hair. His beautiful honey-brown locks, still shimmering, carpeted the checked linoleum floor. Worthless, lifeless.

He had done it. He had gone through with his threat.

Another text came in: "And this…"

A photo of himself, still caped and in the chair, with a beaming barber standing next to him, brandishing the clippers. Tons more hair almost obliterated the white cotton cape.

I noticed that Jim was also smiling broadly in the photo. He obviously was happy about the dramatic makeover.

He looked vastly different without his long, thick shag that until that trip to the barber had projected a slacker "I could care less" image.

I quickly texted back. "Is that really you?! GI Jim?!"

His hair was now clipped to a military length, all over, with the slightest hint of bangs in the form of a small tuft near his widow’s peak. The only remnant of his former look were rather dramatic sideburns that extended to the base of his earlobes.

I sent another text: "The barber forgot to take off those big burns, buddy!"

"He was itching to," the response came. "Maybe you could remove them before parent-teacher conferences this evening. What do you think? Should I drop by in an hour or so?"

This appeal for me to cut his hair (or the little that remained of it!) took me back to our interaction earlier that day in the teachers’ lounge.

I had popped in to get my left over chicken salad from the fridge. As usual, Jim was puffing away on a cigarette, blowing smoke rings, with his feet up on the table and his head cocked back. His beautiful hair dangled in the sexiest manner, so thick and full of vitality, so long and luxuriant.

"Just the person I wanted to see," Jim chirped.

"Oh?" I commented.

"There’s a rumor going around, an ugly one about me, that I’m not ‘professional’ and that parents are getting antsy about their dear brats not learning enough in my classes," Jim commented in a deadpan voice.

He ran the fingers of his free hand through his locks as he inhaled another deep drag.

"So, it’s been suggested to me that I make myself look more presentable before I meet with the awful bulldozer parents of those entitled brats, who are baying for me to get the axe," he continued.

He held up his fingers like a teeth on a set of electric hair clippers and feigned a drive up the side of his head.

"What do you say?" he continued. "Got a few minutes to take the clippers to me and mow all this shag off?"

"Definitely not!" I snapped.

I was a huge admirer of Jim’s hair. I enjoyed giving him a trim from time-to-time. The best parts of those sessions, however, were washing his hair before the trim and then blow-drying it afterwards. I loved manipulating his clean, silken locks through my fingers. Freshly washed, it was free from the yucky smell of stale cigarette smoke.

"I don’t even own clippers, just scissors," I argued. "Besides, you’re a great teacher - unorthodox, perhaps - but the kids love your classes."

"Because they all get A’s without regard to how much work they put into it," Jim smirked. "I found out long ago it was better to praise the wretched creatures than to speak the truth about their meager abilities. Daddy’s greenbacks will get them into college, not their atrophied grey cells!"

"Regardless, I don’t have time to give you a trim. I need to pick up my car from the garage before it closes," I said. "And we have to be back here in two hours for the parent-teacher conferences."

"If you want, I can drop you off at the garage on my way to Branson’s Barber Shop," Jim offered, snuffing out his cigarette.

"Branson’s?! The butcher barber?! Oh, no, please don’t, Jim," I begged.

"I told you! I need this mop shorn. And, it’s going to be SHORT! The shag will soon be history. And Slacker Jim will turn into a classroom martinet who has those dear teenagers saluting as they march into a session of copious notes, tons of homework and impossibly hard exams!" he laughed.

"It’s just that your hair is sooo…." I stammered.

"Useless! And, soon the lot of it will be swept up into a dustpan and tossed into the trash," Jim stated with an air of finality. "I’m sort of looking forward to shocking everyone at parent-teacher conferences this evening. That includes you, Marv!"

The last I saw of Jim’s sexy mane was when he dropped me off at the garage.

"Next time you see me, this mop will be history!" he called out as he drove away, flaunting his flow of honey-brown hair.

And so it was....

A few hours later, I came face-to-face with the new Jim. Not only was his hair cut short, but he was wearing a dark blue suit, crisply starched white shirt and muted tie.

"Is that you?! A suit? No shag?! OMG! I can’t believe you did it!" I stammered. "And what happened to those long sideburns?"

"As soon as I got home from Branson’s, I shaved them off, short and tidy, just like the rest of my hair. If I was going conservative, it would be conservative all the way," Jim explained.

"How do you like the back?" he asked, spinning around.

"There’s nothing there to like," I whined, remembering how sexy the flow looked.

"Feel this!" he urged, rubbing his fingers up the back of the tightly clipped nape.

I followed suit, and was mesmerized by the crisp tickle of the taper.

"Awesome," I murmured.

"Oh, one more thing," Jim added.

He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and tossed them into the trashcan.

"Now you can stop nagging me about smoking too much. I’m quitting. Cold turkey!" he said with a tone of pride.

Just then, the principal popped his head into the room.

"Jim?! Is that you?" Mr. Kendall gasped.

"What do you think?" Jim asked, flashing a broad grin and swirling around like a runway model.

"Unbelievable. I love it!" Mr. Kendall replied.

"I’ve submitted an application for the new Headmaster position," Jim explained, "and I expect to get it, considering the terms of Aunt Matilda’s sizable bequest to St. Ignatius School for Boys. As her sole trustee, I have broad discretion in approving the $10 million grant she’s made to SISB."

Mr. Kendall swallowed nervously.

"The headmaster? Oh, I see…" he murmured, shifting nervously on his feet.

"Your fussy businesscut is getting rather long, isn’t it, Mr. Kendall?" Jim smirked. "Pop by Branson’s Barber Shop tomorrow after school. I told the barber you’d be coming in for something more that ‘just a trim.’"

"Yes, sir," Mr. Kendall said instinctively. "I mean, yes, uh, Jim. First thing after school…."

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