Second Chance by K. Kringle

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I sat watching the young lad seated in the barber chair. He sat patiently, covered by a bright red cape. From where I sat I could see the reflection of his face in the mirror. It was Saturday afternoon, late December, a few minutes before five. The sign on the door advertised the shop’s closure at five. Slipping into the shop behind two guys about my age, I had planned to be the last customer.

The two guys settled down to wait, each reaching for a magazine. There was another lad sat there waiting, but his hair already short and neat. I watched as the boy in the chair described the cut he wanted, he had quite a mop of thick brown hair, but was distracted by two more young boys walking into the shop. The barber looked across to the young boy employed to help out around the shop, making the tea, sweeping the floor and the like, and suggested that he bring in the sign from the pavement and lock the door now. In the distance I could hear the clock on the town square chiming five.

I turned back to watch the boy in the chair, just as the barber took a pair of clippers and began running them halfway up the back of the boy’s head. The barber was a good looking man, aged about thirty, his hair blonde hair was starting to thin on top, but expertly cut. His hair was combed back from of his face, at the front it was perhaps six inches long, blended down to almost nothing at the sides and nape of his neck. The smart hair complimenting smart clothes, crisp white shirt, black trousers and gleaming black shoes. This was a barber that took pride in his appearance.

Out from the back of the shop came another guy. This chap much rougher in look, perhaps a little older, his hair receding much more than the barber currently clipping the young boys hair. His hair was clipped really short. He wore a smart navy blue shirt and black jeans.

This guy stopped by the second chair and stood holding the cape, he glanced over at us all in the waiting area, and gestured for the next customer.

The two guys I had followed in looked at one another, and one gestured with his hand for the other to take the chair. The guy with the longer hair climbed the step to the cutting area and sat down in the chair. The cape was around him in no time, he was clearly a regular customer as the barber set to work immediately with the clippers, cutting the back and sides to the same short length, making the short hair on top of his head appear long.

The boy on the other chair was now looking much smarter, though I was disappointed to see that the barber was now combing his hair and trimming the top with scissors. He was leaving the hair quite long on top, falling from the top of his head to just over his ears, each snip was slowly blending the wedge into the short hair underneath. He had a gentle centre parting, culminating in a long fringe combed out of his eyes.

I thought to myself, I’d prefer this barber cut my hair, and wondered which barber would be finished first.

Answering my prayers, the guy was being shown the back of his head in the mirror, and the cape was removed. He stood up and sat down next to me once more. The other guy got to his feet and was soon seated. He had light coloured hair, already quite short, but in no time his back and sides were stripped bare, down to the skin. Used to the drill the guy sat up straight, totally motionless as the clippers worked their way around him.
n the other chair, the scissors were still snipping the ends of those thick brown locks. He seemed to be near finishing, and I was pleased I would be next.

The back and sides clipped down to zero, the barber sprayed the remaining hair with water, and began to trim the fine hairs. The guy’s looked much better for his trim, much smarter.

I was stunned when I realised that he was out of the chair. The lad was just having the back of his neck tidied up a little, I thought the barber would perhaps go to the toilet, get a drink, anything but ...

My heart sank, ‘Next!’ he said, holding the cape in his arm. I looked at one of the young boys waiting opposite, and gestured for him to go, but he declined. I got to my feet and as I sat down in the barber’s chair, the boy in the adjacent chair climbed out. What poor timing I thought, as the boy left with his friend.

As the red cape was tied around me, I watched one of the boys get seated in the next chair, wrapped in the same red cape.

My barber was standing behind me now, waiting for his instructions. I’d been letting my hair grow somewhat over the last few months, it was much longer at the back than I was used to. My sideburns had become unruly and curly, and my ears half covered with hair. The weight of hair made the style look lank and flat. Staring back at the mirror I desperately wanted a buzz cut, short and no-nonsense, but in my heart I knew that it would not be suitable for work.

Running my fingers through the modest lengths of hair, I told the barber I wanted it much shorter than it was, and trimmed on top. He nodded like he knew what I wanted, but I knew that he hadn’t really understood. I always seemed to leave a barber-shop with my hair much longer than I’d wanted. He asked me if he should use clippers or scissors, he spoke as he reached for the scissors, he’d already decided, and I could say nothing.

He soaked my hair, and combed it through, and then began by cutting an inch from the hair on top of my head, leaving four or more inches behind. I watched the ends falling onto my red chest, until I was distracted by the sound of hair clippers in action, I strained my eyes trying to glimpse the boy in the next chair, via his reflection in the mirror. I could see large clumps of brown hair resting on his shoulder, and recalled his hair hadn’t been all that long. I concentrated on the boy, seeing more and more hair fall onto his cape.

Was the barber aware I was trying to watch his colleague? If so, he didn’t approve as he firmly repositioned my head, while he continued cutting at the sides. The cape was filling up now with tufts of brown hair and inch or so in length, but I didn’t think I looked any different.

The clippers stopped and I heard the barber ask the boy how short he wanted the hair on top. The clicking scissors around my ear masked the reply.

My barber reached for his clippers, and all to briefly trimmed the hair at the back of my head. I always enjoyed the tingling sensation this gave me for one brief moment every few months.

A brush was tidying my haircut, my hair still quite damp, and the barber was already loosening the cape. He held up his hand mirror and the back of my head looked well groomed, but my hair was still resting close to my collar. It looked as tidy as usual, so I smiled and nodded my approval, trying to hide my disappointment.

I paid the barber, and glanced at the boy in the next chair, now transformed into a smart young man, hair clipped short and gelled into a parting on top. His barber was still working on him, now with scissors, making sure every hair was cut with precision.

As I put my wallet back into my pocket, I watched the remaining boy get into the chair. He pointed to his friend demanding the same haircut, and the clippers went to work.

I was disappointed at having to leave, I was embarrassed at having to leave, this was a man’s barbershop and I had wimped out again, put to shame by every other customer, even the young boys.

I walked home, still cross with myself.

Monday morning came, and I was walking into work, my suit made my haircut easier to wear. I was early today, the traffic much lighter than usual, I decided to kill some time and ambled down a side alley to look in some shop windows.

The third shop in was, a gent’s barbershop, I’d never noticed before. I peered in over the net curtain that hung across the bottom half of the shop window, in time to see my favourite barber from Saturday, the barber that never got the chance to cut my hair, climb into the barber’s chair. The barber himself was a short stocky Italian guy called Gino, or so the shop sign implied. I realised then that he must be a great barber, with this sort of personal recommendation.

I couldn’t resist going into the shop to watch, I sat alone on the waiting chairs.

The barber took his time, and trimmed the other barbers hair beautifully. It took a while, but the clippers eventually replaced the scissors, and his hair style grew shorter.

Once done, the guy paid and left. Gino smiled politely at me and I felt obliged to get into the chair. A white tissue enveloped my collar and a crisp white sheet covered my shirt. The barber ran his hands through my hair, and asked me what I wanted.

I thought for a moment, then told him how much I had admired the cut he had given the last guy.

‘You like the short hair, it suits you very much,’ he told me.

I nodded, in my mind I was asking for a short haircut, but I knew that when faced with a choice I would again opt for the safe option, another trim. Everything was happening so fast I wasn’t really sure what I had said, and what I had imagined I’d said.

Gino wasted no time, and began snipping away at my hair, looking down to the cape were more inch long tufts of hair, this was after my first haircut! He snipped away for what seemed an age, I was getting anxious now, it was getting close to the time I was due in at work.

Then he reached for the clippers, they were big and heavy, and were soon asserting their immense authority over my head. They barber gripped my head with his free hand, and I immediately tensed up, he rested the humming clippers at the nape of my neck, I briefly quivered as the cold steel touched my warm neck. The barber held the clippers still for a moment, while he adjusted his grip, and then as his grip tightened, I felt the most exhilarating feeling, as the vibrating head of the clippers were thrust deep into my hair, hugging my skull bone as the moved up to my crown.

As they stopped at the top, I relaxed, loving the sensation, I couldn’t wait for the next pass, I looked in the mirror, disappointed that I could see nothing, no hair had fallen onto the cape, well not yet.

The barber immediately followed up with more and more passes of the heavy clippers, his firm grip twisting my head into a slightly different position each time. I was desperate to tough the remaining hair to see what length he had left, but there was no time. The barber was concentrating hard, as the began to approach my left ear, now I was starting to see locks of hair many inches long accumulating on my shoulders. I was starting to see an awful lot of hair. I began to panic, but the experience was thrilling, my dreams were coming true.

The buzzing came louder as it approached my ear, the clipper teeth eating away at my brown hairs, nothing standing in the way of their authority, the clippers had total control.

I could have let him run the clippers over my hair again and again, all day if he would, but too soon for me he stopped. I looked up at the mirror, trying to see how short the hair was, and relief took over as I didn’t look too different.

The scissors were now clicking away at speed, and more short tufts of hair were consigned to the floor, my hair was getting shorter with every stroke of the blades.

Gino stopped, and I admired myself for a moment. He took a tube of gel and worked it into my hair, careful grooming followed. Then when I thought he was finished came a second set of clippers, much smaller and lighter than the first set, and more hairs fell.

He finished with a razor, and then showed me his work, wow! My hair was blended down to nothing at the back and sides, it looked terrific, really suiting my head shape, I immediately touched the hairline at the nape rubbing my finger over the reddened skin. This was just what I’d always dreamed of.

I looked at the clock, I was late now, but it no longer mattered. I paid Gino and he brushed away the loose hairs from my shirt, the shop door opened and in walked the blonde barber once more, he was carrying two bags and a carton of milk.

Gino smiled at him. ‘You took your time son! I’m gasping for a coffee’

I cursed to myself, I had missed out on the blonde barber cutting my hair once again. How cruel could fate be? As I left I caught my reflection in the mirror, and liked what I saw.

I left the shop, with a perfect haircut, given to me by the blonde barber's Dad. Today I felt special. I would be back, very soon, to see his Dad once more.

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