A Man’s Neck Needs to Breathe Part II by Just_Me

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By the next Saturday, my head didn't feel as good. The bristle was all gone and I couldn't feel the skin on my neck anymore. I tried to ignore the constant voice and its litany: Go to Finnsville. Get another haircut. Do it now!

I was miserable all week. I felt ragged. Hell, I felt like a hippie when I still had the shortest hair of my life. Every time I looked in the mirror I would think, You look like a bum, and this shaggy hair looks like crap with your sharp new mustache.

I woke my wife up early the next weekend. "Come on, Babe. I want to show you this adorable town I just found."

Of course, the first place Carol wanted to go was the dress shop.

She went absolutely bonkers! "Look, Jack, this dress is only $10.98! Isn't it adorable?"

A second later: "Oh, this is gorgeous and it has a petticoat. It's only $14.98. I'll be the envy of all my friends when they see me in this."

It seemed the shop owner knew a sucker when she saw one. Within minutes, Carol was in a changing room with a dozen dresses.

After what seemed like fourteen days of bored waiting, I finally heard Carol say, "I'll take all of them — and I'm wearing this one home!"

We were standing at the counter to pay, and suddenly she said, "Look at these adorable gloves. I want them…and those…and those."

I wasn't expecting the clerk to pack the dresses in boxes. I must've looked like a walking cardboard experiment when I walked out of the shop.
Thankfully, we have a big trunk on our car.

We walked a little bit after getting the boxes stored, and somehow a beauty shop that I hadn't noticed before was right beside us. Carol stopped. "Oh, let me go see if I can get my hair cut and styled so I can look right in my new dresses."

"Go on ahead. I might as well get my hair cut again while I'm here."

I walked in, and Williams barked, "You look like crap. It's way past time for you to get freshened up. I hope you brought a dollar today. You need a flattop."

I just smiled and grabbed a cigar from the box on the counter — without asking. I sat there smoking while I waited for the old coot to finish up with the man in the chair.

I kept thinking, I know the clowns I work with must've given me seventeen different kinds of crap about my haircut this week, but I can't remember a thing about what they said. All I can remember about the week is the fact that my wife can't keep her hands off my head.

The barber interrupted my musings. "You should bring one of those clowns in to see me next week."

How the hell did he know what I was thinking?

He winked at me.

Once he had finished up with the man in the chair, he growled. "Can't cut your hair when your ass is over there. Get over here."

I walked to the chair with confidence. "I know it's your shop and your rules, but I ain't ready for a flattop. Just clean me up and make me look like I did last time. That haircut felt right. Plus, my grandpa would've loved it."

"I might do that, but it's going to be a little shorter this time. Now shut up and sit down before I change my mind…but let me get my pipe going first."

After he got his pipe lit, he said, "By the way, I reckon your hair done satisfied the idol. I've had more new customers in the last two weeks than I've ever had."

"Huh?"

My mind went racing. That's just coincidence…or is it? What possible effect could my hair have on his business?

It seemed I felt the thing's eyes on me. I glanced at it, and the…ugly piece of crap?…looked unhappy. I quickly sent it a silent thought: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.

Then the clippers came to life. He went so far up the sides that I thought he was going to shave my head.

My first thought when he showed me what he'd done was: Carol's gonna go apes**t when she sees how good I look. I'm gonna get lucky tonight.

Williams and I chatted for a few minutes and I left. His last words to me were, "Next time, bring a dollar. Around here, we get short haircuts for summer — and don't forget to bring one of your clowns to see me." He pointed at the icon. "I need fresh hair for my display."

That reminded me. I stuck my hand in my coat pocket and pulled out the candle I had brought. "Oh, I forgot about this."

The barber's eyes shone.

I approached the altar as if I was in a church. I said a prayer, but it wasn't much of one. Just one simple, faith-filled: "Please."

I walked out of the shop and went to check on my wife. She was still under the hairdryer. She's not gonna be ready any time soon. Might as well wander around town for a while.

I noticed a tobacconist across the street. Was that there when I was here before? How did I miss it?

I walked in. "I think I want to take up pipe smoking. What do I need? Oh, and give me a box of cigars, too."

Somehow, I walked out with seven pipes, two boxes of cigars, and five blends of tobacco.

I stood on the street corner smoking my pipe and admiring the way everyone looked. Then I saw a sign. What the hell is a haberdashery?

I walked over and looked in the window. It seemed one of the fedoras was calling my name.

In I went, and I didn't need to see the cigar in the clerk's hand. The sharp tang bit my nose and the fog of smoke in the air told me it was present.

"Good morning. You're new around here." He stuck his hand out. "Welcome to Finnsville. I see you've already met Mr. Williams."

How the hell did he know? Then I grimaced and reached up and touched my freshly shorn nape. No deep mystery there, Jack. You're a dumbass.

"Yeah. I met him."

"There's not another barber around who can deliver that level of precision." He pointed at his own head. "He's truly an artist when it comes to delivering the perfect haircut. I love mine, and getting it shaped up is the highlight of my week. Now, what can I help you with?"

I pointed at the hat. "I really like that hat, but I don't want to mess up my haircut."

"Oh, don't worry. Your hair's short enough you won't have to worry. Just be careful when you put it on — that's the trick. Once it's on, your hair is safe. Let me get it and I'll show you. The navy or black?"

"Umm…I don't know. Which would you recommend?"

"Let's try the black one. It's classic and versatile."

He came back with five hats.

"Whoa! I only asked about one, and I probably won't ever wear that one.
"
"I think you'll be surprised. You'll soon feel naked without one. Besides, a man also needs a brown or tan hat. I purely hate seeing a black hat with brown clothes — and summer is coming, so you'll need a straw hat. The humidity is too hot around here to wear felt in the summer."

Get the hell out of here, Jack. This man's trying to con you.

I was ready to leave, until he put the black hat on my head. "Take a look. If ever there was a man born to wear a hat, it's you."

I looked in the mirror, then looked away. When I looked back, all I could think was: There you are, Jack. That's the real you.

I stuck my pipe in my mouth — even though it had gone out. Thanks, Mr. Williams. You're already teaching me your bad habits.

I couldn't take my eyes off the man in the mirror. My eyes gleamed in the reflection. A big smile spread across my face. I brushed my pencil-thin, enjoying the feel of the bristles. I took the hat off and just knew this was right for me — the haircut, the mustache, the hat. It was "me."

I picked out three hats, and before I knew what was happening, I had added some shirts and ties to my purchase. Then socks with garters and a dozen gleaming handkerchiefs.

He sent me out of the shop with the parting words, "Go on next door and tell Charles I sent you. He'll help you find a couple of suits to complete your outfits. Check out the shoe store while you're here."

I couldn't believe a really high-quality suit sold for less than a hundred dollars in Finnsville. I'd paid $1,500 for my last suit, and it wasn't as well-made as the ones I picked out.

I couldn't wait to pick them up the next week.

Carol walked out of the beauty shop just as I walked out of the tailor's, and she looked like a lady should. I wanted to bend her over the car and take her in front of God and everyone. She looked so sexy! "Look at my little lady! You're beautiful as hell in that dress." I gave her a kiss that told her what I was feeling and promised her more to come.

The euphoria started fading once I got about forty miles from the barbershop. I went from "God, I love it" to "What the hell have I done?"

The barber showed up in my head and growled, "You just did the best damned thing of your life. Be proud."

I reached for my new pipe, and peace settled over me.

The next weekend, my wife walked into the den. "You need a new haircut. I can't feel the bristles anymore."

"I'm up for it. Wanna go with me?"

She looked at the ground. "How would you feel about looking at one of those adorable ranch-style homes on the outskirts of town?"

We had lunch in the diner and just had a pleasant day…and no one looked at us twice.

Well, that's not true. It seemed like half the town welcomed us to Finnsville, but that was different.

That Monday at work, one of my coworkers said, "The flattop looks great on you. I wish I had the balls to try it."

"Why does it take balls, dufus? All you have to do is say, 'Give me a flattop.' It's just four simple words."

Wayne shivered. "No way. Besides, Mark would kill me."

I barked, "What's the problem? He ain't never told you you couldn't have short hair, has he?"

Thinking about him getting a flattop haunted me all week. I had dreams about it.

Every time I passed him that week, I'd whisper, "Four simple words."

Hell, I stalked him with all the skill of a hunter looking for game:
"Have a cup of coffee…and don't forget, it's just four simple words."
I sent him an email. "Four simple words."
"Grab me some paper for the printer, and remember — four simple words. You only have to say, 'Give me a flattop.'"

Friday evening, I hunted him down and growled, "Give me your damned address."

"Why?"

"Because I said so, that's why."

He gave it to me.

I stared deeply into his eyes. "I'll be in front of your house at 7:30. Be ready."

I pulled up in front of his house, and he was waiting on the porch.

We drove in silence and I parked in front of the shop.

He said his first words when I stopped. "I can't do this!"

I glared at him. "You ARE going to do this. Get your ass out of the car.
"
He walked as slowly as possible toward the door.

When we walked in, the shop was empty except for Mr. Williams' still-lit Dunhill pipe.

A chill hit me, and without thinking, I stuck the pipe in my mouth. I seemed to gain knowledge from the smoke. Suddenly, I wanted to feel clippers in my hand.

I blew smoke as I walked to the hook on the wall and put on a tunic that had my name on it. What the hell? How did my name get on this? Am I supposed to be the town's barber?

Then I stood behind the barber's chair and looked around. Everything was where it was supposed to be. I picked up the cape and looked at Wayne. "Sit your ass down. Your neck needs to breathe."

I looked at my idol and nodded. "Get ready. You're about to get a feast."

*****
Narrator: Jack drove into Finnsville full of lust for the deal. He was always chasing the dollar and the deal. He left the first time only partially finding what he came for, but came back — and eventually never left again. His briefcase and sharp dealings were replaced with simpler things: a haircut, a hat, a pipe, and a moral certainty about how things should be properly done.

His soul was reshaped into something older and more basic.

Mr. Williams and all of his predecessors have retired. They earned their rest.

The idol is in the corner and doesn't care who feeds it. It has been hungry since before Finnsville existed, and it will be hungry long after Jack expires. It simply waits — because it knows something Jack is only beginning to understand.

There is always another man driving down a road he doesn't know the end of, toward a town he's never heard of, running his hand through hair that will soon feel all wrong.

The next Wayne is already on his way — and Jack is waiting, clippers in hand.

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