Class Trip ’95 (Part 6) by KF_NDN

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Chapter 6 â€" The Night Wouldn’t End


While most classmates had long disappeared into their rooms, light still glowed on the floor above the washroom.
They gathered there again â€" the newly shorn, the curious, the hesitant.
The air was warm, damp from showers, the mirrors half misted over.
Between the sinks stood three inverted beverage crates, surrounded by razors, trimmers, two pairs of scissors borrowed from a teacher’s bag, and half‑empty cans of shaving cream.

The freshly shaved stood together, leaning loosely against the wall, still satisfied with their reflections.
Sven, one of those who had come along on the trip, with long, soft hair brushing his neck, stepped forward uncertainly.
"You look like you’re from a different movie," he said. "I swear, it looks great."
Ben turned briefly toward him. "Then keep watching."
"Come on," Tarek called. "It’s not such a big step."
"Easy for you to say," Sven muttered. "You’ve already done it."
Leo grinned. "Maybe we don’t even want you all to look the same. Wouldn’t be special anymore."

A brief silence, almost daring.
Jonas looked into the mirror, watching their circle reflected â€" smooth heads, shining in the neon light, content, almost proud.
"Admit it, you want it too," he said quietly.
Sven took a step closer. "Alright. I do. Do me next."
Ben smirked. "My big brother’s been a skinhead for years," he said. "I’ve watched him shave it off plenty of times. I know how it’s done."
He wiped his hands on a towel. "Sit on the crate."

He was calm, sure. And the longer they watched, the clearer it became â€" no one could do it better.
The scissors cut for the first time: a metallic clack‑clack, louder than at any barber’s.
Thick tufts of Sven’s damp hair fell heavily onto the tiles, sticking between his toes.
"Man, that feels brutal!" Sven shouted.
"Welcome to the club," Ben laughed. "Head down!"
He worked quickly, cutting higher each time â€" shorter and shorter, until no dense patches remained.

Then came the trimmer.
The buzzing filled the washroom, sharper now, charged with excitement.
Ben started at the nape, moving upward to the forehead. Hair fell in wide bands, soft shadows on the floor.
He drew the edge in one clean line at eyebrow height â€" straight, clear, precise.
"There," he murmured. "Tyson cut. High, clean, no gel nonsense."
The others nodded. On the ground, dark layers of hair piled up â€" bits of the ’90s mixed with fresh foam.
Sven rubbed his head, rough and warm. "That feels crazy. I can feel the air. On my skin!"

That was enough to convince the rest. As soon as Ben switched off the trimmer, Philipp stepped forward.
"My turn. I want it too."
The already shaven hesitated. "Why?" Leo asked. "You won’t stand out anymore."
"Maybe I just want to belong," Philipp replied.
That was reason enough.

Again the bright buzzing. Again the metallic clicking.
Those who had just been watching began to grin, to comment, to grab the scissors themselves.
"Here," Max called, "you hold the lamp, I’ll do the sides!"
The neon light flickered in rhythm with the sound â€" machine on, foam, laughter.

Even Robin finally sat down again.
"No turning back now," he said, grinning awkwardly.
Ben nodded, lifting the trimmer once more. "No halfway jobs. Let’s do it right."
The blade hummed again, climbing from the neck all the way up. Not a single centimeter left behind.
"It all goes," Ben said quietly. "This one’s a real shave."

The foam smelled of lemon. The razor slid smoothly, steady strokes. The white foam turned gray, then clear. Robin’s head gleamed under the harsh light.
He laughed, touching the smooth skin with conviction. "Now it fits."

Within an hour, almost everyone was done.
The floor was covered with hair â€" long, short, dark, blond, spiky, gelled.
Everywhere, those gleaming domes, reflecting each other in the neon light.
Tarek unplugged the trimmer and handed it to Jonas. "Yours, brother. Do it right, don’t chicken out."
Jonas took it himself, visibly trembling, but the buzz drowned everything else.

The washroom filled with voices, laughter, concentrated seriousness.
They helped each other apply foam, held mirrors, gave advice on transitions.
After a while, no difference remained â€" all equally short, equally solid, equally satisfied.

Ben stood at the wall, arms crossed, the machine still warm in his hand.
"That’s how my brother likes it," he said. "Short, sharp, strong. No nonsense."
Jonas looked at himself in the mirror.
Parts of his old self lay scattered on the floor.
He ran his hand over his bare scalp again, testing.
"No going back now," he whispered.
"No more combs," Leo added. "Just clean lines."
Laughter, tired, relieved.

The washroom smelled of shaving cream and summer nights.
They stayed a while longer, talking softly, almost reverently.
Finally, the light switch clicked â€" someone turned off the neon.
In the dark, only the mirror edges glimmered â€" and ten bare, newly discovered heads.


What do you think — should this story continue?
If yes, how would you like it to go on? Share your ideas for what happens next!

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