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Maik and Tim - Part 2: Radical Change by GermanCut

Maik and Tim �" Part 2: Radical Change

"Am I really ready for such a radical change?" I ask myself when Mr. Bollmann puts the cloak on me, and the blood rushes to my head. But this can also be due to the heat. "How do you want to have it?" he asks. I gather all my courage and answer a bit too quick: "Just like the last customer, but even shorter!" Mr. Bollmann briefly raises his eyebrows and explains: "Well, I shaved Andi’s neck and sides on the second lowest level, so there’s only the lowest level left: number zero. That’s bald." "It's okay", I reply. "And on the top of your head I could cut the hair over the comb, or I could shorten it with the machine. I would recommend nine millimeters." �" "Sounds good!" Does it?
Without paying any attention to shape and fit, Mr. Bollmann first trims my hair with scissors. It happens so quickly that there is no time for regret such as: "Here it goes, my long hair, my companion for twenty years!" Because a little later I hear the machine buzzing near to my ear, and the next second, I feel the crackling as the hair clipper ploughs through my hair. To feel the cool metal of the blades on the head, to hear their vibration and the crackling is incredible. I look in the mirror and see (even though most of the hair is already off) how masses of hair are still falling on the cape. And it’s amazing, how white the skin of my shaved sides looks compared to my tan. My earring, which has always appeared small with my long hair, now shines golden and becomes a real eye-catcher. When Mr. Bollmann shaves my neck, I sit there with my legs apart and start grinning while imagining that everyone will see because of the tan-line on my head that I just got an extreme haircut from long to very short. If that's not an awful, bold haircut, how else could you call it?
"Well, nine millimeters as proposed?" Mr. Bollman asks with the clippers in his hand. "Maybe shorter!" I answer courageously. "Six millimeters would be the next level. It's almost bald, but I can do that for you." Without giving me even a little time to think about it, I hear a click and then the hum of the machine pulled over my head. Six millimeters! I think of a combine-harvester driving across the grain-field. "Crazy!" I think, while the top of my head is shaved lane by lane. Mr. Bollmann has not exaggerated: I’m almost bald, only very short stubbles remain of my top hair. I think about a freshly mowed field. Mr. Bollmann seems to be driven by an unknown perfection: He switches the machine to the lowest level again, shaves the neck and sides quite much higher, improves here and there at the transition to the top of the head, and gives my haircut clean contours with the razor blade.
Thanks to the hand mirror that Mr. Bollmann holds, I can have a look at the final work from all perspectives: At the top, a carpet of hair in the shape of a plate has remained, short enough that you can see the scalp shining through. The remaining parts are completely bare and uncover plenty of white skin. I’ve got a very hot and masculine "high-and-tight". It's the best haircut I've ever had, not the most handsome, but the best, the boldest, the most awesome!
I give up the chair for Tim, when loud and continuous honking sounds from the street. We all look through the window, and there I notice: I had thoughtlessly parked our car in front of a gate, and the wild honking comes from another car that I have blocked the passage of. I say: "Wait a minute, I'll be back very soon!"
I walk across the street. Fortunately, the driver stops honking. "Excuse me, my friend! It wasn't on purpose. I’ll drive away immediately!" I say. "No problem", he says. "The heat really hits one’s brain. Although you shouldn't have so much trouble with that because of your hair! It looks cool, by the way!" "Thank you", I say, running my hand over my shorn head for the first time and then touching my shaved neck. It is hard for me to release my hands, but finally I get into the car and drive away.
I drive through various streets until I finally find a parking lot, about 1 kilometer away. I walk back through scorching hot streets. A barely noticeable wind cools my sweaty body. I feel the wind on my scalp for the first time, feel it on the back of my neck: a feeling of freedom. I keep running my fingers over my head, I can't get enough of this feeling. I stop in front of a shop window and light a cigarette. I have a look at my indistinct reflection while inhaling the smoke. The change is striking: the shaved head made me look as athletic a boxer. I wouldn't have thought before that it might be possible, but my muscles now look stronger, even those of my legs. I walk on, completely satisfied with my new appearance.
"Holy s**t, Tim!" I suddenly think. "He's in the chair now and will get the worst haircut of his life if he doesn’t pay attention!" I rush into the shop and then stop immediately, because I can't believe what I'm seeing: Tim looks at me through the mirror with a broad grin. Mr. Bollmann is cleaning his neck, which is just as bald as mine. On the top of his head there is also nothing left than an extremely short-shaven round carpet of hair. Since Tim is blond, "almost bald" looks even more bald at him than at me. "'Cut my hair like that of the last customer!' he said when I asked him about his wish", says Mr. Bollmann. "You both look pretty similar. Like Father, like son", Mr. Bollmann continues to babble. As "talkative" as he suddenly is, he seems to have really enjoyed our haircuts.

We pay and go out on the street. Tim's broad grin doesn't disappear from his face. "Hey, I look so f***ing good! Wow, I feel so horny!" he says aloud to himself. I have rarely seen Tim so extroverted. To make it even worse (or better �" it’s a point of view), he takes off his polo shirt and presents himself shirtless. I didn't remember my son as muscular. His new haircut also seems to emphasize his muscles more strongly - and conditions apparently his behavior. Tim is unstoppable: He pulls up his white tennis socks to the base of his calves so that they look even stronger. Then he loosens his belt and lets his shorts slide lower together with his underpants. Lower. Really low. Further than where the pubic hair usually gets thicker. But his skin is flawlessly smooth there, too. I have to grin, because it’s obvious, that Tim must be completely shaved in the crotch. I also pull the shirt over my head, pull the shorts a little lower and imitate Tim's emphatically casual walking. People stare at us: two half-naked men with shorn heads. "Sagger boys in the streets of Norderstedt", I think. Have we ever been in such unison?
We open the windows of the car, turn up the radio and drive off. Our bare backs stick to the seats, but our upper bodies and heads are cooled by the wind. I turn to Tim: "I didn't think you were so brave. I expected that you wouldn't join in. I wouldn't have been angry with you. It's just fun, a surprise for your mother. I must admit that you look pretty good with the very short hair. Nothing disfigures a handsome man!" That's a typical saying of my father.
I run my hand over Tim's head and tickle his neck. He just grins and says: "Dad, I just wanted a normal haircut first, but when I saw you and the other guy got the hair shaved off, I just got in the mood for short hair. I also wanted an awful haircut. You had said that you wanted something bold, something awful and that I should join in. You're a badass, Dad, and I had expected that you would have done something even more awful: getting a mohawk or even a complete bald head. You're the right guy for doing things like that."
I sit next to him at the wheel and hear his assessment of me, his father. And I ask myself, while my heart beats up to my throat, if my son, this little trickster, is trying to entice me to get my head shaved bald.
After a while I say: "Mohawk or bald... Yes, that really would be badass style. But would you have joined in?" "Sure! 'Everything off, just like the last customer!' I would have said to the hairdresser", Tim answers with attitude.
We drive. Nobody says a single word. My heart is still beating wildly. I have to say something now, because I realize that in the next minute the right time could be over: "Mohawks would hardly be possible with our hair now", I say. "But bald heads would be", Tim completes. "Shiny bald heads with shaving cream and blade." He hesitates for some seconds. Then he takes a short and violent breath and says: "I'd like to go bald. Will you join in, Dad?"
"Surprise me, boys!" Nina's voice still rings in my ear. "Yes, we will!" I think. I drive into the next street, turn around and we drive back to the city.

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