She sat next to him, one hand on the wheel, the other massaging his scalp
and running Her hands through his thick hair. She had a funny way of getting
him to do certain things, things he may not have wanted to do, really, but
when She did this to him, how could he resist? She sat next to him, one hand
on the wheel, the other massaging his scalp and running Her hands through
his thick hair. She had a funny way of getting him to do certain things,
things he may not have wanted to do, really, but when She did this to him,
how could he resist? She had big brown eyes, the kind you could lose
yourself in, and a ready laugh, sparkling and it made it hard for him to
acknowledge that he didn’t really know anything about Her, except for Her
mooch of a sister.

He had always had a low self-esteem; being with Her, he was on top of the
world...or was he? How long would it be before She grew bored with him? It
was already getting to the point where She hardly ever even held his hand,
much less running Her fingers through his hair? I wonder what She wants? He
thought, then felt guilty for being so suspicious…the car halted at a red
light, and Her other hand flew up, joining the first in rampant mussing of
his long hair. He snapped out of his thought and jumped straight into
reverie. Oh that feels good, he thought. Just before the light turned red,
She suddenly pulled Her hands away to get control of the wheel, and
muttered, "you know, i'm SO jealous of you. How can you have nicer hair than
me?"

“Wh-what?" he sputtered. “Uhmm...what do you mean?”

“I mean, I try everything to make my hair so it isn’t all dry and straw
like- I shampoo and condition my hair, and you just sit there and never
hardly wash it. And yours is SO beautiful, ghod I’m so jealous of you, I
really am!" With that She exhaled sharply, frustrated. Why did this, this
guy get to have such cool soft hair, I mean he doesn’t even KNOW... if I had
hair like that I’d take So good care of it, I could be a model or
something...

Oh man he thought, what did I do now? I don’t even LIKE my hair; it’s so
dumb when it gets this long. It sucks; I look like friggin Paul McCartney or
something. Oh why couldn’t She have said something more like, baby you want
me to cut your hair? That’s what he really wished he could’ve heard, not
some weird guilt trip he could do nothing about. Like it wasn’t his fault he
had thick gross greasy oily hair. Oh yeah when it was clean it shone like
ebony- his sister had the same hair as he did, and she had to wash it twice
a day. Hers was a lot longer than his, and he thought what a drag it must be
to actually try to keep it under control. He thought about all the times he
was there, on the stool under the plastic cape while his mother snipped away
and crunched with the thinning shears at his copious mop. "Good grief", she
would always say. “You look like the wild man from Borneo with that mop. Its
time for you to get a haircut. Sit down, and let s get this stuff off you
toot sweet!"

“Well, to be honest”, he finally said, “I’ve actually been thinking of
getting it cut. Hoping She might be interested in maybe just trimming it for
him, maybe if he could get her to do that, it would satisfy his craving for
a short haircut, and She could maybe make it more to her liking. The car
lurched to a halt. She spun and looked at him with determined eyes.”
DON’T...cut... your...hair." She said in a tone of disgust. They drove on
for a while, he in shocked silence, She in despair. Oh great now She’s like
mad or something? What’s going on? She sighed and said' I’m sorry, but I
REALLY hate short hair on guys, all my other boyfriends had long hair; I’m
just used to it, that’s all. Please promise me you won’t cut it and let it
grow out?" he sighed, and said nothing more. Yeah, all of her other
boyfriends…he thought, then sighed again.

Later on, he was wide awake in bed, She was asleep next to him, having a 6am
job and his being swing shift didn’t make for much intimacy. He was
frustrated...again... frustrated and wide-awake, with none but the thoughts
of the day to be in his immediate attention. Man, he thought, I sure would
love for Her to change Her mind about this; She doesn’t know how gross my
hair can be. I’ve a good mind to just gown it out and NEVER wash it, just
to prove a point. Nah She’d probably love it or something...and then I’d be
obliged to keep it that way.

He rolled over and let his mind drift off to the last time he was in the
chair. He head accidentally worn and offensive t-shirt to the barbers, and
he wasn’t sure whether it was that or his vague description of what to do,
but he had come out of that shop in dire need of a hat. Sure it was a
flattop, that’s what he had asked for, but this was scalped! Shorter than he
wanted it, MUCH shorter, oh criminey...he was gonna get some shit for this
one...

Oh great, he thought, now I’m totally aroused and I can’t do anything about
it...grrrr he thought, and then he got up and went into the bathroom. He
didn’t want to turn on the light while he "took care" of it, because he
didn’t want to see the copious mop of hair on his head. Oh, I wish there was
a barbershop open 24 hours, I’d be in there in a second. This alleviated
some of his frustration, and he finally got back in bed and went to sleep.

The days sort of dragged on, seemingly without meaning, and he drifted
through it with no seeming regard for anything, save a small but growing
voice in his head. He passed by that same barbershop on the way to and from
work. On the way to work he quickly glanced in the window hoping against all
hope that he could see somebody getting their hair cut really short, maybe a
crewcut or maybe shorter…a head shave?? On the way back home, he lingered a
bit more in front of the closed darkened shop…man I wish they were open…

Sunday dawned right on time, right at the beginning of the morning. He
laughed at this, remembering a cartoon he had seen, a gruff Soviet declaring
“in Sowiet Union, morning has been made illegal; we now go straight to
noon!” He remembered he had to go to mom’s, to see if he could borrow some
money to pay for the rent. She had not budgeted her money wisely and was
strapped. What the hell am I doing, covering for Her? Jeez, She’s lucky I
love Her and am willing to put up with this. She woke and after an
uncomfortable morning’s argument, decided not to go with him.

Well that’s that, he said on the bus, and at his parents he decided, well,
if She’s going to be that way about it…oh boy I’d like to get Her back…but
how? Just then his mom, who was staring at him curiously, said, “y'know,
when are you going to let me cut that mop of yours? You’re starting to look
like the wild man from Borneo again!” His heart skipped a beat.
Why-why…that’s it! Why should I have to grow my hair out for Her? I have to
do a lot for Her; She should at least begrudge me this, right? And She
loooooves my soft, thick hair; ehhhh I’ll show Her. “Sure”, he said to his
mother, “Let’s go ahead and give me one of your patented summer ‘skitches’!”

“Oh, can I really?” she exclaimed. “Boy oh boy, I haven’t given you one of
those in a long time. Okay, hop on the stool and let’s get this mop off
you!”

“All righty” she said, tightening the cape around his neck, getting old
hairs already itching down his back, “how short are we gonna skitch it this
time?”

“ Hmm” he said, “I’ll leave it up to you.”

“ Okay” she said, and got out the old scissors, sharp and gray. She snipped
a 3” chunk of hair and showed him.

“How’s that for the top?” she asked.

“You can go a lot shorter than that, can’t you?”

“Sure! Gladly!” and another inch came off.

He was exhilarated. No his mom couldn’t really cut hair, but when she did a
short haircut that left less than 2” of hair, it always was a great feeling.
She chopped and hacked off his mop, and clippered the back and sides really
high, hmmm maybe a bit TOO high, but that was okay, he liked the feeling of
the hair falling all over his shoulders and down onto the floor.

All in all it took about an hour, and even though it took that long, he was
still sad when she said, “well that’s it go take a look at it and tell me
what you think.” He shook the big clumps of hair off the cape and went into
he bathroom to look in the mirror.

“Wowwoow!” He gasped, “that’s SHORT!!!” It was about an inch on top and the
taper was so high up his head he looked like he had, as his classmate so
aptly mocked him, been run over by a lawnmower. Except that now, he wanted
it that way!!! Oh happy day, he was so into looking at it from all sides, he
almost forgot his mom was waiting for a yea or nay. This is way too short,
but I LOVE it, he thought. But I better not get it too much shorter right
now. I’d like Her to get used to it before I lop any more off!

His mom was glad to have helped, and she remarked over and over again how
much better he looked with very short hair, and she wished he would keep it
that way instead of letting it go so long between cuts. He told her that She
had preferred long hair on him, and his mom said that maybe She didn’t know
what She was taking about; he looked fine. He thought so too, and all the
way home he kept stealing glances in every window there was, until he
started worrying that someone might think he was casing the joint. By the
time he got home, he was so used to it, that he wondered why when She came
home She looked at him with such disappointment. “Oh, no; why ‘d you cut
your hair?” She asked, exasperated.

"Ahhh," he replied,” I was getting tired of it.”

“Oh, she said, and nothing more. Gees, I didn’t know she was going to be so
bummed out about it, I thought shed like it., he thought, more upset than
ever.

A month later, as they were driving, She turned to him and said, “I think we
shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Their relationship was going nowhere She
said, and She thought it would be better if they saw other people. At first
he was so shocked that all he could say was a feeble “o-okay”…” but as time
went on he started getting madder. Wait a minute; I believe that my getting
my haircut was the final straw in Her eyes?!!! She really only liked me
because I had long hair, and when I cut it, I was cutting off our
relationship. Whoa! A revelation like that isn’t very nice to find out.
Especially when he saw her a few years later, she had acquired a new beau, a
spotty lad with hair down to his butt. “Isn’t he cute?” She cooed to him as
an aside. His hair had been neglected, too, but not to this degree. This guy
was a greasy long-haired worm, just like She like them. He even was running
to fetch her things. I hope they’re happy, he thought; they deserve each
other.

He went out the next day to that barbershop he’d been to before, and when
the cape was tied around him and tightened, clipper in hand the barber asked
him, how d'you want it, son? His answer was immediate:

“Give me the shortest flattop you can. I want to look like a Marine.”

“Yes, sir.”

Click.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz……..

THE END