Sitting here in my car I am looking towards Erin's Barber Shop with the fear I had remembered for years. Years that go back to my childhood, my preteen years.
Years I spent staring up at them in that chair, as a child, as my dad, my mother, even my two brothers, sat getting their hair cut by Erin. She was a lovely lady, a few years older than my parents. She stood almost as tall as my dad, later my brothers. Mom came to her shoulders. Her hair was kind of long, so I thought back then.
It reached a few inches past her shoulders, and was a natural dark black. "Black like a blacksmith gets after hours of work," I remember hearing mom tell dad one day. Sometimes she let it hang from a center part, a few times from a part on the left side. Mostly she would pull her hair back tightly and tie a ribbon or scarf to hold it tightly in place behind her head. Never do I remember seeing her with her with her hair in curls, or even styled in the back of her head, like my aunts sometimes did.
I would sit on the floor, as a child, looking upward as she cut the hair of her customers sitting in the chair. I would use my little hands to sweep the cut hair into piles, then pick up a small, but full, handful and toss the clippings in the air. Sometimes I would blow as hard as I could into them as they fell back to the floor. A few times my breath was taken too close and I would inhale some clippings, causing me to cough then try to spit out what hairs I had taken in. The fun times, I thought, were the summer times - late March, or early April - if the weather began to turn hot.
Dad mostly, but mom sometimes, would march my brothers off to Erin's for short summer haircuts. I would watch with interest as she pushed the silver, later black, humming object over their heads. Then, she would take something off this object and push it up the sides and back of their heads. They looked funny from where I sat, on the floor in front of the chair.
And she would, every time, put some white stuff along the bottom of their hair. She would move her right hand, which was holding a stick-like object that shone in the light of the sun coming through the big window, or of the shop's lighting. She would move this little shining stick a little, not much, around their head, only where she had put the white stuff.
She would wipe some sticky stuff on their head afterward. And take a brush and brush their hair, what was left of it, upward to make it stand up. When they stepped from the chair, I would quickly get to my feet, my arms stretching upward, to feel their haircuts. It became a game for us. I would rub my little hands over their heads and the little clipped hairs would stick to my hands. I would run after each one to try to wipe my hands on their pants. Everyone in the shop would begin to laugh, then they would pick me and turn me around in a circle, causing my little legs to swing outward. I enjoyed these times, as did my brothers and my dad.
Mom, when she would sit in the chair, only got a little hair cut off, but when she was finished, Erin would push her head downward and I heard the humming sound. I could not see it from the floor.
Then, there was that day, one I shall remember.
Dad had taken my brothers fishing. Mom and I had gone to Erin's without them, something we never did.
As mom sat in the chair she and Erin talked, and mom began pushing her right hand up the back of her head. Whatever it was about, Erin was shaking her head as if to tell mom she knew what she was saying.
Erin began cutting just the edge of mom's hair, as she always did. This time she cut the right side first, then the left side. Then she stood behind the chair pushing mom's head downward. I got up from the floor and walked behind the chair by Erin, something I had never done. She was cutting mom's hair upward and to the middle of her head.
I ran to the front of the chair to see mom's face. She winked at me with a smile.
"Getting my hair cut different this summer," she told me. I ran back behind the chair to see Erin cutting the other side the same way.
It looked like a "hill" with a pointy top. And it looked funny.
When she was finished she put the scissors and comb on the shelf, and took hold of something. When she turned back to the chair, she pushed mom's head downward a little more. In her right hand was that silver humming object. She pushed it up into the "hill" and any hair that was there began to fall to the floor, or on mom's shoulders. It did not take her long and she was hanging the object under the shelf.
She undid the cape, so I ran to the front of the chair to look at mom again. As the cape slid down into her lap, I stared at her. She smiled and winked at me.
I started to reach for her, but I saw Erin pushing a towel in her blouse around her neck.
"Not finished yet, sweetheart," mom told me. I walked behind the chair as Erin began putting that white stuff right where she had just pushed the silver object.
Just like she did when she put the white stuff on my dad and brothers, she moved that stick up and down over that brown thing. Then she used it on the back of mom's neck doing the same thing it did on my dad and brothers.
When she was finished she dusted that sweet-smelling powder on her neck, and mom got out the chair. When I put my arms around her neck I felt the back of her neck. It felt strange, just like dad's face did after he came out the bathroom in the mornings. When I looked back there, there was no hair. Mom felt back there and told Erin, "I should have done this years ago."
Only a few times each year did mom let Erin cut my hair, then only to trim the edge. Dad, on the other hand, liked to play with me when we went to Erin's Barber Shop. After they got their hair cut, he would pick me up and sit me in the chair. It was big.
"Now, young lady," he would say. "Time for you to get your hair cut like your brothers."
I would look at them, seeing how short their hair was cut, and quickly I would slide out the chair. "NO! No! no," I would say, running to the door, or mom if she was with us. My brothers would chase after me saying, "YES! Yes! Yes." One of them would make a buzzing sound as he moved his hand in the air, then over my head when they caught me.
When we got home I would be crying for my mom. "They want to call all my hair off," I would say. As she knelt, hugging me, she would say, "They are only playing. It's a game, you have to understand that." But I liked my hair like it was. It was not too short, nor too long. I liked how it touched my shoulders, it tickled my shoulders after I dried it. It would fly around my head when I turned in circles. Mom liked it this length because I could not put it in my mouth like other girls my age did.
Then, that day of real "fear" came.
I had been playing around the house. My brothers were off playing baseball with their friends. Mom was fixing lunch. Dad, he was putting some wallpaper up in the family room.
I was stood in the doorway watching him every now and then. He looked funny with all that paper hanging over his head as he pushed it up the wall. Then it happened.
He dropped the brush he was using to paint over the paper, after it was on the wall. "Damn," he said as he tried to reach for it on the floor behind him.
"I'll get it for you," I shouted and ran to pick it up for him.
Just as I bent over to get it, dad did too. His backside hit the ladder, which had a pan of glue on it. The ladder tilted enough to send the pan of glue spilling over me, covering me from my head down to almost my waist.
"Becky!" I heard him call just as the glue hit my head and the pan my back. "You all right, love?"
I stood up all covered with the glue. I started to reach for my head, but he grabbed my hands. "NO! no," he told me. "You'll get the glue in them, too."
"Martha!" he called out to mom. "Come quick. The pan of glue fell on Backy's head."
Mom came running in from the kitchen. "God, Allen," she cried. "Why couldn't you be more careful?"
Dad looked at her very displeased. I tried to tell her it was my fault. When her voice got louder as she began telling him more, I started to cry. "Mommy, mommy. I tried to help dad, but..." I cried as she wiped the tears.
"I'll have to take you to see Dr. Mike," she said. Dad just shook his head.
"Here," dad said, handing mom the can the glue came in. "You'll need this."
Mom took it and we were off to see Dr. Mike.
There was hardly anyone there, but when Connie, his receptionist, saw me, we went right in to a room. After a few minutes Dr. Mike came in. He and mom talked as he looked me over.
"Glue," he said. He looked at the can and began shaking his head.
"Why don't you go see Connie," he told me as he opened the door. "Tell her I said to give you a soft drink." I smiled and waved to him. "See you later, then."
When mom came out she was crying a little. I asked but she wouldn't say.
As she drove home, so I thought, she began telling me what the glue did to my hair. That I would have to have my hair cut short, and we were going to Erin's to have it done. I started telling her "NO!" but she said there was no "no" about it. I was going to have to have my hair cut "real" short.
When we arrived at Erin's she was cutting a man's hair. She looked at us as we came in the door, she asked, "What in the world happened to you, sweetheart?"
"Glue feel on her," mom said. "Dr. Mike says the only way to get it out is to cut it out."
We sat down and waited. I continued trying to talk mom out of the "real" short haircut. But she just shook her head every time.
Finished with the man, Erin put a board across the chair's arms. "Come here, Becky," she told me as she reached out for me. "I'll help you get up in the chair."
I folded my arms, and made a face that said no. Mom looked at me with her stare, the one she gives my brothers when they are in trouble with her. She took me by the right elbow and moved me towards the chair. I took the hint, and walked to Erin.
When I was seated and caped, she asked mom, "Well, what do you want to do?"
"You tell me," she said. Erin looked my head over, picking up some parts stuck together with the glue.
"Going to have to be real short," she told mom as she moved her right hand over her head, as if she was telling mom something I was not to hear about.
Mom sat up and took a deep breath. "That bad?" she inquired.
"Yes," Erin replied. "Worse than it looked like when you came in."
"Do what you have to," mom told her as she picked up a magazine.
Erin didn't move the chair upward, as she did with my dad, mom, and brothers. Instead she left it like it was, down.
"Honey," she said to me while standing on the right side of the chair. "I have to do this, there is no other way to get the glue out your hair."
I looked at her and started to tell her, "You can wash it out," when I heard a click and that humming sound. I looked at her with wide eyes, my throat became dry as I tried to cry out for my mom.
Erin's left hand grabbed the back of my head as she raised the humming object to my forehead. I saw her starting to cry as she pushed it back into my hair and back over my head. I felt the coolness of the air conditioner on my head as she brought the humming back to the front of my head. Again she pushed it back over my head as I being to cry out loud.
"Mommy!" I cried out. But she just looked at the magazine. With half my head with no hair I looked at my mother. I could see her crying, her face was turning red. I hated her, I hated Erin, most of all I was beginning to hate my dad.
With the top of my head with no hair, I sat quiet, my arms crossed in anger under the cape. Erin let go of my head as she being humming away at the hair on the sides of my head. Soon, I had no hair to speak of. I looked bald, worse than my brothers did when they got their hair cut for the summer. I hated them, too.
When she was finished, she looked at me as she tried to help me down. I pulled my arms from her. "I'LL DO IT MYSELF!" I yelled at her. When my mom came to hold me, I pulled away from her, too. I walked to the door, opened it, and ran for the car. It was locked, so I pounded on the door, yelling out loud, "I hate all of you. I hate all of you." And I started crying out loud again.
Nothing was said when we got home. My dad tried to hug me, but I ran from him. When my brothers came to my room, I slammed the door in their faces. "I hate all of you," I cried out, over and over, until I fell asleep.
Now, twenty-five years later, here I sit looking in Erin's Barber Shop. I still have the fear of that day. I remember it every time I walk, or ride, past here. I even get a little taste of the fear when I do the same to other barber shops or beauty salons. I have not cut my hair since that day.
It is now down to below my knees. It just hangs, I do nothing with it. It is shaggy with the split ends showing, having never been trimmed, either. I was eight then, now I am thirty-three.
I still feared Erin's Barber Shop, and everyone that day.
I could hardly believe it had been that long, thirty-three years.
Those times I would wash my hair hoping something would make the ends nice and even. To wish the split ends away.
Fear is in the mind they say. It can do many things to you, even cause you to forget what you want to do. It can take the smallest thing and turn it into something bad and evil. It can scare you so much, you stop doing things of importance.
I have been home for two months and the fear of Kathy's Barber Shop, just the name, makes me want to run away again. That day, the day Kathy cut off all my hair. The day mom sat crying, not saying a word. That day dad became someone I hated.
I tried to call a number of times. But each time I would let the telephone ring, then hang up when it was answered on the other end. Once, I waited before hanging up to see if someone would say something. Something that would make me speak. Only to hear the voice of someone I did not know.
I was not Kathy.
The last few weeks have been spent trying to find out who it was. I have sat here, in my car in the parking lot, trying to see who comes and goes from the shop. I never saw anyone enter or leave, only the sign being changed, from 'closed' to 'open' in the morning and back at night.
Everything was the same on the outside. The picture window now had a light darkness to it to block out the sunlight. The pole by the front door still turned slowly, with its red and white candy cane colors. I did not see many people go into it. Mostly the ones who did were there as if on a time schedule.
The other day I learned that Kathy, the one who brought on my fear with the help of my dad and mom, not longer owned the barber shop. She had passed away ten years ago, leaving it to someone who no one knew of. Her daughter, the clerk told me.
Today I was going to face this fear. To face it so it will go away, out of my mind. Out of my life. But now I could not face the person who brought about this fear, for she was no longer in my life.
Should I call, should I just walk in, as the sign says?
I have not seen anyone going in, nor coming out, for the past two hours. Then, It would be just my luck things got busy when I entered.
I could not wait any longer, this fear was tearing me apart. My mind was going in circles just thinking about what would happen.
It was not as if I was going to ask whoever to do something they did not want to! I just want to face my fear, to be able to be like other women and get my hair trimmed. That wasn't much to ask of myself.
I got out the car. My heart started pounding as I closed the door. Taking a deep breath, my eyes closed, I took a step towards the barber shop.
I wish I could see in there, like you used to be able to.
I stopped at the door, taking another deep breath and slowly letting it out as I opened the door. A soft chime sounded. It was not there the last time I was here.
"Be with you in a minute," came the soft voice of a woman from the back of the shop. "Have a seat. I'm doing a little washing back here. Just gotta toss the finished ones in the dryer and... There, finished."
I sat as my eyes slowly viewed the shop. It had not changed since back then. The big barber's chair was the same, only its metal shone. The mirrors had pictures of cuts and styles for both men and women. There was a different smell to the shop, more of one you would find at a hospital.
"Hi, I'm Cathy, with a 'C'," she said reaching out her right hand. "The 'K' Kathy was my grandmother: she owned the shop years ago."
"Hello, nice to met you," I told her as I shook her hand. "I remember your grandmother very well. Last time I saw her she had to cut off all my hair because some glue fell on my head. That was the only way to get it out of my hair."
"Glue?" she replied. "The same thing happened to me when I was fifteen. Only grandmom didn't have to cut off my hair, she was able to use a shampoo."
"Shampoo," my mind told me. Why didn't she use that on me? It would have been nicer.
"So, what can I do for you today?" Cathy inquired.
I started to get weak, my stomach was starting to feel strange. I wanted to run out the barber shop and let my fear have its way. But, I couldn't do that, it would ruin the rest of my life as it was doing now.
"Well, it has been some years since I've had a trim," I told her. "So, since I was in town I thought I would stop by and let Kathy, your grandmother that is, do her magic."
"Hummmmm," she answered, "that's going to be hard. So, what we say you let Cathy, with the 'C', take a shot?"
"Well, I'm here, so, what the heck," I told her somewhat nervously.
She took the cape from the arm of the chair, shook it, and motioned me to the chair.
With the feeling of something in my throat I walked to the chair and sat in it. She tossed the cape across me and pulled it up and around my neck. Before pinning it in place she pulled my five or so feet of hair and laid it over my left shoulder. I watched, in the old mirrors behind the customers' chairs, how it fell heavily into my lap. It felt like a loaf of bread as it landed. I had never thought it weighed that much.
With the cape pinned in place she pulled my hair back over my shoulder and let it fall behind me. "So, how much do you want trimmed off?" she asked as she spread my hair out.
"Well, to tell you the truth," I begin saying, with nervousness, "I was thinking maybe it was time I cut a lot of it off. Maybe to around my shoulders!"
I could see her looking my hair over. I hate it when someone does that. It makes me feel as if there was something wrong behind me, and I could not see what it was. She tugged my hair as she combed her big comb through it. My head rocked a number of times as she did this.
"That's a lot to cut off at once," she told me. "I can cut, say, to mid back and you can think more about it. If you want to go shorter you can come back and I'll cut it to the shoulders for you."
The idea sounded good, but what would it do to my fear? If I walked out with some of my hair cut off, the fear would still be there. It would bother me even more.
"No, I better do it now," I replied. "If you cut some now, I may never come back. So, just do it and I'll see from there."
No sooner had I said that than I saw her bring her scissors from the shelf. She took hold of a section of hair, pulled it out and down to the right, then without a word she began cutting. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw three feet fall to the floor. My eyes, then, saw the shortness to which my hair had been cut. The bottom was just touching my shoulder.
I felt her pull another section. I heard the sound the scissors made as she cut it, but I could not see it fall to the floor. She did this three more times, then she cut the last section on the left side. Like the first section, I viewed it. This time some strands of hair fell into my lap.
Cathy took a spray-bottle and wet my hair. She combed it out from the center part. Taking her scissors she nipped at the ends, slowly cutting my hair to an even length around my head.
"I'll have to thin it out a little," she said as she combed my hair back off my face. "You have too much bulk for it at this length. It would be hard to do anything with it if I don't."
I looked at myself in the mirror, turning my head from side to side. I could not believe I had done this. My hair was somewhat stilling out more now that the length was not there. It framed my face more, something I did not expect.
I brushed my fingers through it, pushing it back off my face as Cathy had done.
"What about bangs?" I asked her.
She combed some hair over my eyes. She twisted the section into halves, pulling each side back off my face. "Just might help a little," she told me. "But, I still have to get some of this bulk back here," she said as she combed through the hair in the back of my head.
I looked at myself again, still not believing what just happened. I did not want my face covered like it was. And my head now looked more like a pile of hair with eyes and a nose, than I thought it would. "How would you thin it out?" I inquired.
"Well, I could do it three ways," she replied as she combed through my hair in the back. "But I think the best thing to do, would be to just comb a few sections out and cut them to about half their length."
I shook my head in agreement, not really understanding what it was she was going to do.
She made a part, and combed a section of hair out from under. She combed it out a number of times, then combed it out to about half the length. Placing the scissors on top of her finger and thumb, she cut along it. She parted another section and cut it to half its length. She did this working her way around my head. It was kind of looking funny. The top was still as full as it was. The bottom was thin and less full.
Then, she started over, this time more towards the top. As she worked towards the back I could see what was happening. I could not understand it, but the bulk she told me about was disappearing. She was just starting to cut the left side when the telephone in the back room rang.
"Excuse me," she told me as she stopped cutting and walked towards the room. "A friend is sending me some new pictures of cuts to hang up."
I looked at myself in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it back over my ears, then back off my face on top. I liked how it looked off my face. Maybe a little shorter, something more like this, I told myself. It would be easy to handle, just wash and comb.
It would be like having long hair, but a lot shorter. Besides, I don't want to spend time, like my friends, messing with my hair.
I did not notice Cathy coming back as I turned my head to the left.
"Nice," Cathy said as she brushed her left hand through the right side of my head. "But you would have to have it cut shorter to get the right effect!"
As I turned my head to right I ran my left fingers through the left side of my head. She was now combing the right side back off my face and over my ear. She combed down my neck. "This is where you will have the problem."
"See," she told me as she turned my head to the left. "Right now your hair is too long for what you are doing. I would have to cut it a lot shorter, and a lot shorter back here."
I liked how my face looked with my hair combed off my face. My eyes showed more, my little ears were purify. Maybe I could pierce them once, or twice, more to take away from how short my hair would be.
"What do you think?" I asked her. "Do you think I have the face for such a short cut?"
She combed more of my hair back off my face. Gently she turned my head forward, then stepped in front of the chair. She pushed her fingers up in my hair, on top then on the sides. She looked me over from side to side. I was beginning to feel comfortable.
"From what I see," she said as her fingers pushed my hair back over my ears, "shorter hair would do you fine."
"Shorter." I wondered how much shorter she would have to cut my hair. Then, a bell sounded in the back room. "Be right back," she told me as she rushed to the back room.
As she returned she was looking over pages of whatever it was she just received. She held a few up as if she was trying to see through the paper. Then, she held one to the side and I saw they were pictures.
She walked to the mirror along the wall behind the customers waiting area. "What do you think," she asked as she held one on the mirror. "Think I should stick them here, or in a folder?"
I could not see what they looked like, but I told her, "Maybe a few and the rest in a folder."
"Want to see some of them? You may find one you like," she told me as she handed me some of the pictures. I looked through them as she started separating a few from the pile.
"Nice," I told her handing them back to her. "But I think I will stick with what we were talking about doing."
She smiled and took the pictures from me. She continued to separate a few from the pile, then she began waving one in the air. "Here, here," she said waving it in my direction. She had a smile on her face. "What do you think of this one?"
Her hand stopped waving as she held the picture almost on my lap. When I got a close look of it I could not help but take a deep breath in disbelief. The picture was of a woman with her head shaved. Was she trying to tell me I should shave my head!
I took another deep breath and pushing the picture away I told her, "Not something a woman my age would do."
She smiled. Held the picture up to my face. "She looks to be around your age," she told me. "I wasn't saying you should, just wanted you to see it!"
Putting the picture in the pile on the shelf, she began combing my hair again. "So, what have we decided to do?" she inquired. "Going to leave it like this, or go shorter?"
I took a deep breath and blew it out loudly. "Let's do what you said," I told her. "I can let it grow out if it doesn't work out."
She began combing a section out, then she cut it even with the sections she had cut shorter to thin my hair out. She worked faster this time. Before I knew it the right side of my head had hair that was just three inches long. My head was pushed downward as she began cutting the back. With some quick combing and cutting she was finished and combing my hair back off my face.
"All you'll need to do is put some gel in and comb it back," she told me.
I looked at myself as she rubbed some cream in her hands, then rubbed her fingers through my hair. It began to stick up, but she quickly combed my hair back. It laid flat, not like it did when she was showing me how it would look, when my hair was a little longer.
I started to say something, when she began brushing my hair with a hairbrush. She was pulling the brush upward as she brushed the top back. It began to look soft, as did the sides when she did the same there.
"Now, that looks better," I told her. "I'll have to come back and let you show me how you do that."
She smiled as she began brushing my hair in another style. I liked how she did it this time, too. "There are a number of ways you can brush your hair with it at this length," she told me as she began to brush my hair another way.
When she was finished with the new one, I looked it over. It looked a little unsexy, but nice. "Well, this one looks better than the picture you showed me," I said to her with a chuckle.
She laughed with me, shaking her head in agreement. Then she patted me on the shoulder. "I don't think I would have recommended the shaven head to you. But there is one that is much shorter. I really think you would look great with it."
Cathy turned and walked to the shelf and began looking through the pictures. She found the one she was telling me about, and held it out for me to look at more. "I think this would be great for you," she said as she began turning around.
I tried to look and see the picture, in the mirrors, but could not.
"Here," she told me as she brought the picture in front of me. "What do you think?"
I looked at the picture. The woman had black hair but you could still see how short her hair was cut. It was as short as my brother's hair was cut for the summer months.
"CLICK."....
I jumped when I heard that sound. It was the only clicking sound that made me jump like that. No other clicking sound caused me to jump. I knew it well, as well as the humming sound that followed.
I looked into the mirror with that same fear, as Cathy played with it. She looked up to see me, in the mirror. She saw the fear in my eyes. "Sorry," she told me, "just got them today. Need to oil the blades and run it a little for the oil to keep them nice and loose."
The feeling in my throat began to go away, as she turned it off and hung it under the shelf. My attention went back to the picture. The woman did look good with her hair cut like that. Her eyes were more outgoing, her smile much brighter. She had multi pierced ears, like I was planning on getting.
There was a large loop earring in the bottom piercing, with stone setting earrings in the others in different sizes. Large ones above the loop earrings, going up to a small one at the top.
I held the picture out to imagine her standing before me. The more I looked at the picture, I began see my face.
"Nice haircut for a woman," Cathy said as she began brushing my hair back off my face, in another style. "Women are beginning to see the comfort of short hair like that."
I could hear my mind agree with her. I had never thought of cutting my hair this short, not even back when I was eight.
The fear began calling to me. It wanted me to look like the lady in the picture. My mind began seeing my dad running after me, telling me "like your brothers." My body shivered, I felt goosebumps on my arms. My throat became dry, my lower lip was bitten by my teeth.
I closed my eyes and handed the picture back to her. "What do you think?" I asked her.
Cathy, began brushing my hair more. She moved around my head brushing my hair back, causing the stiffness to go away.
"Is it up to me? she inquired.
My eyes still closed, I nodded my head.
I felt her right hand grab my chin, as she turned my head side to side. She let go as I heard her walk around the chair.
"CLICK" .....
My body tensed up causing my back to rise up in the chair. My head rose a little.
I felt Cathy push my hair in a part in the back of my head. Then she placed the humming sound, the clippers, just below my hairline. I felt my body take a deep breath and let it out quickly as she pushed the clippers up into my hair. Slowly she pushed the clippers up the back of my nape, not stopping until she had reached the arc of my head.
I felt my body go limp as she pulled the clippers away. I knew from years ago hair was falling in a soft sheet to the floor. The clippers started another upward pass, sending another soft sheet of hair to the floor. As she began the third upward movement, I did not feel the cool breeze my brothers always said they felt.
My head was tilted to the right as the clippers began an upward pass behind my left ear.
Still I felt no coolness.
I was looking in the mirror, trying to see if what I was feeling was true, when I heard a voice, a man's voice, crack the quietness.
"Hi Cathy," he said.
My eyes turned to the door.
There walking in was a man about my age. He was tall, wearing a nice summer suit. His hair was a dark brown, like mine, and was cut kind of short like my brothers. He said nothing to her reply, just picked up a magazine and sat in a chair. The chair was right in front of the barber's chair, and me. I watched him, he didn't look up.
I glanced back to the mirror just as she pushed the clippers over my left ear, sending a soft sheet of hair sliding down to my cape-covered lap. When the clippers appeared before my eyes, she brought them back behind my ear and began another pass over my ear. Another sheet of soft hair slid past my eyes and into my lap.
As she walked around the back of the chair her left hand gently began moving my head to the left. I watched the hair on top of my head fall to the left, touching my shoulder. But none hung to my shoulder from the left side of my head, just the top.
I felt her start the clippers up behind my right ear, pulling it away when she reached the arch of my head. Then, she pushed the clippers over my right ear, sending a soft sheet of hair into my lap. Again, when the clippers came past my eyes I looked in the mirror as she brought them behind my ear again.
As she began this pass I looked down to see the man looking up from his magazine. He had a smile on his face. I felt strange sitting there. How could this be happening?
Just as I was about to close my eyes I felt Cathy's left hand push the top hair back off my face. My eyes turned to her as she brought the clippers up to my forehead. She was smiling as the clippers began their first pass over my head.
"Hey, sis," the man said, as she was beginning the second pass over my head, "did you get all the pictures I sent you?"
"Yes," she replied. "Think I'll put a few around the big mirror behind you, and some along this one. The rest in a folder."
I sat there, stunned over what I just heard.
"Sis"? Is he her brother?
I looked at him closely, then at Cathy in the mirror as she began third pass over my head. I could see they had some features in their face. Then they smiled at each other.
They were brother and sister.
"Is he your brother?" I asked her, as she walked behind the chair to the left side.
"Ooooo," she exclaimed. "I'm sorry. Becky, this is my brother Randy. Randy, this is Becky. She was a customer of grandmother's, when she had the shop."
"Glad to meet you," he said as he went back to reading the magazine.
She made three quick passes over my head, sending the last of my long hair to the cape. I looked at the pile there and thought of what was now lying on the floor around the sides and back of the chair.
I took a deep breath and looked closely in the walled mirror. I could not see the woman who sat in the chair minutes ago. The woman I knew for years. The woman who had a fear of the sound of clippers being turned on, and the humming sound that followed.
This woman I was looking at, did not have fear. Her hair was almost gone. It was short, standing up about an inch from her head.
"Well, Randy," I heard Cathy ask him, "what's it going to be this time?"
My head was pushed downward just then. My eyes strained to see, to act like ears, to hear what his answer would be.
"Was thinking of having you shave my head," he replied. "Think you can handle shaving my head, like you did for Lana's the other day?"
My eyes widened as I heard what he told her, but I could not believe it.
Then, I started feeling that coolness my brothers said they felt, each time they got their crew cut for the summer months. It began to widen across the back of my head and neck, all the way up to the arch. It felt strange, like my brothers said. But, in a stranger way.
Cathy began clipping up the right side of my head, sending a small pile of hair into my lap as she pushed the clippers over my right ear. She did not answer his question.
As she walked around the back of the chair I could see them looking at each other. Staring as if they were trying to see who would look away first. My head was pushed to the right, the clippers began buzzing away at the short hair on the left side of my head.
"Big brother," she told him, as she began another pass, "it will be a pleasure to do to you what I did to our younger sister!"
He smiled at her, as she turned the clippers off.
I looked at him sitting there, thinking of what she had said to him. I felt my head being brushed with a stiff hairbrush. My head rocked backwards, then sidewards. Clippings of hair floated in the air around my head.
"How's that?" she asked me. I looked at myself in the mirror. I moved my right hand from under the cape and brushed it over my head. My head felt like my brothers' heads, each time I felt theirs after their summer haircuts.
She handed me a hand mirror. "How's this?"
I shook my head and smiled. My body shivered when I saw my face, my hair, up close. I wanted to cry. To crawl out the chair and run out the door.
But my fear held me there. I just turned my head from side to side. I could not believe I had sat there, letting her do this to me.
"Think this should be a little shorter," I heard Cathy tell me, as her left hand brushed over my head. "What do you think, Randy?"
I could feel him looking at me. The fear told me to more the mirror, to hear his answer.
He was staring at me when I moved the mirror to the left. His eyes had a glow, a sparkle, to them. I had never seen that before - it bothered me.
He said nothing and went back to reading the magazine.
Sitting there waiting for him to answer, to say something, I did not see Cathy walk back to the shelf and pick up the clippers again. I jumped when she turned the clippers back on. She was standing to my right. Her left hand reached and took the mirror from me. She hung it behind the chair, where she had gotten it from.
Then, she brushed her left hand over the top of my head, again. It was followed by the clippers, as they began clipping my hair to the same length as the sides and back. I was stunned. How could she do this? I did not tell her anything.
But for some reason I really don't understand, I wanted her to do it. I wanted my hair cut shorter, there. My eyes focused on the clippers as she pushed them over my head, again and again, until my hair was again the same length all over.
The fear I had of that clicking sound was gone. I looked in the mirror to see Cathy brushing the head of the clippers off, again she oiled it. She clicked them on and off a few times, letting them hum for a few seconds. Turning back to the chair she shook the clippers a little, some oil drops fell from the head.
She brushed her left hand up the back of my head a few times. It came to rest on the top, as it had before, and my head was bushed downward. "CLICK," hum...
I felt her place the clippers where she had before. Like before she slowly pushed them up the back of my head. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, with a smile.
This time she did push them up as high as she did before. As she worked her way across my neck, she only went up a little. Then she started on the right side, only going up a little.
I watched with interest as she worked the clippers over my right ear. She worked it to a nice even line just a little higher above the hairline. She tossed the cord of the clippers across me and walked behind the chair. Slowly she began clipping the left side of my head, like she did the right side. Just clipping a little upward, not to the arch as she had just before.
As she dusted little clipped hairs from my head and face, I stared at the woman in the mirror. Her face was almost round. Her eyes were sparkling. Her hair was short like my brothers when they got their summer haircuts. I liked how she looked.
Cathy undid the cape and let it slid down across my arms, and the arms of the chair. She tucked a large white towel in my collar, spreading it out over my shoulders.
My ears heard another familiar sound, this time it was a winding sound. I saw her standing in front of it. Her arms bent like her grandmother years ago. Just like when her grandmother turned around, she too had a pile of soft white stuff on her left fingers.
Slowly she spread the soft, warm, white stuff along my hairline, just like her grandmother did back then. After wiping her left hand she picked up the closed straight razor from the shelf. With a flick of the blade it opened, as her left hand grabbed the fading leather strap. With the same skill of her grandmother, she moved the blade over the strap.
I sat still, a little of that fear came back, as she skillfully shaved alone my hairline. Like her grandmother did, years ago, to my brothers, my father, and my mother's nape, she edged along my hairline, shaving just a little line.
When she was finished she wiped what shaving cream was left. Then she dusted around my head, across the top of my head, and across my face. As she pushed the sliver handle forward, the chair lowered, she reached across me and pulled the cape off.
I watched the woman get out the chair. I saw the smile on the man's face. I felt Cathy dust the back of my dress, then across the front.
Picking up my purse the man stood up. His hand touched my hand, as I was removing my wallet.
"No," he softly told me, with a gentle smile, "this is on me."
I smiled back and thanked him.
I looked closely at the woman in the mirror. "I need to get my ears pierced a few more times," my mind said.
"Alright, Sis," the man's voice commanded. "Let's see if you're as good with the razor as Bonnie said you were!"
I turned to watch him sit in the chair. Cathy tossed the cape across him.
She looked at me. "See you in two weeks?"
I smiled back at her. "Yes," I said and walked out thinking about my brothers, my dad.
If only they were here. I heard my dad's voice. "Just like your brothers... Just like your brothers."
The End?
Years I spent staring up at them in that chair, as a child, as my dad, my mother, even my two brothers, sat getting their hair cut by Erin. She was a lovely lady, a few years older than my parents. She stood almost as tall as my dad, later my brothers. Mom came to her shoulders. Her hair was kind of long, so I thought back then.
It reached a few inches past her shoulders, and was a natural dark black. "Black like a blacksmith gets after hours of work," I remember hearing mom tell dad one day. Sometimes she let it hang from a center part, a few times from a part on the left side. Mostly she would pull her hair back tightly and tie a ribbon or scarf to hold it tightly in place behind her head. Never do I remember seeing her with her with her hair in curls, or even styled in the back of her head, like my aunts sometimes did.
I would sit on the floor, as a child, looking upward as she cut the hair of her customers sitting in the chair. I would use my little hands to sweep the cut hair into piles, then pick up a small, but full, handful and toss the clippings in the air. Sometimes I would blow as hard as I could into them as they fell back to the floor. A few times my breath was taken too close and I would inhale some clippings, causing me to cough then try to spit out what hairs I had taken in. The fun times, I thought, were the summer times - late March, or early April - if the weather began to turn hot.
Dad mostly, but mom sometimes, would march my brothers off to Erin's for short summer haircuts. I would watch with interest as she pushed the silver, later black, humming object over their heads. Then, she would take something off this object and push it up the sides and back of their heads. They looked funny from where I sat, on the floor in front of the chair.
And she would, every time, put some white stuff along the bottom of their hair. She would move her right hand, which was holding a stick-like object that shone in the light of the sun coming through the big window, or of the shop's lighting. She would move this little shining stick a little, not much, around their head, only where she had put the white stuff.
She would wipe some sticky stuff on their head afterward. And take a brush and brush their hair, what was left of it, upward to make it stand up. When they stepped from the chair, I would quickly get to my feet, my arms stretching upward, to feel their haircuts. It became a game for us. I would rub my little hands over their heads and the little clipped hairs would stick to my hands. I would run after each one to try to wipe my hands on their pants. Everyone in the shop would begin to laugh, then they would pick me and turn me around in a circle, causing my little legs to swing outward. I enjoyed these times, as did my brothers and my dad.
Mom, when she would sit in the chair, only got a little hair cut off, but when she was finished, Erin would push her head downward and I heard the humming sound. I could not see it from the floor.
Then, there was that day, one I shall remember.
Dad had taken my brothers fishing. Mom and I had gone to Erin's without them, something we never did.
As mom sat in the chair she and Erin talked, and mom began pushing her right hand up the back of her head. Whatever it was about, Erin was shaking her head as if to tell mom she knew what she was saying.
Erin began cutting just the edge of mom's hair, as she always did. This time she cut the right side first, then the left side. Then she stood behind the chair pushing mom's head downward. I got up from the floor and walked behind the chair by Erin, something I had never done. She was cutting mom's hair upward and to the middle of her head.
I ran to the front of the chair to see mom's face. She winked at me with a smile.
"Getting my hair cut different this summer," she told me. I ran back behind the chair to see Erin cutting the other side the same way.
It looked like a "hill" with a pointy top. And it looked funny.
When she was finished she put the scissors and comb on the shelf, and took hold of something. When she turned back to the chair, she pushed mom's head downward a little more. In her right hand was that silver humming object. She pushed it up into the "hill" and any hair that was there began to fall to the floor, or on mom's shoulders. It did not take her long and she was hanging the object under the shelf.
She undid the cape, so I ran to the front of the chair to look at mom again. As the cape slid down into her lap, I stared at her. She smiled and winked at me.
I started to reach for her, but I saw Erin pushing a towel in her blouse around her neck.
"Not finished yet, sweetheart," mom told me. I walked behind the chair as Erin began putting that white stuff right where she had just pushed the silver object.
Just like she did when she put the white stuff on my dad and brothers, she moved that stick up and down over that brown thing. Then she used it on the back of mom's neck doing the same thing it did on my dad and brothers.
When she was finished she dusted that sweet-smelling powder on her neck, and mom got out the chair. When I put my arms around her neck I felt the back of her neck. It felt strange, just like dad's face did after he came out the bathroom in the mornings. When I looked back there, there was no hair. Mom felt back there and told Erin, "I should have done this years ago."
Only a few times each year did mom let Erin cut my hair, then only to trim the edge. Dad, on the other hand, liked to play with me when we went to Erin's Barber Shop. After they got their hair cut, he would pick me up and sit me in the chair. It was big.
"Now, young lady," he would say. "Time for you to get your hair cut like your brothers."
I would look at them, seeing how short their hair was cut, and quickly I would slide out the chair. "NO! No! no," I would say, running to the door, or mom if she was with us. My brothers would chase after me saying, "YES! Yes! Yes." One of them would make a buzzing sound as he moved his hand in the air, then over my head when they caught me.
When we got home I would be crying for my mom. "They want to call all my hair off," I would say. As she knelt, hugging me, she would say, "They are only playing. It's a game, you have to understand that." But I liked my hair like it was. It was not too short, nor too long. I liked how it touched my shoulders, it tickled my shoulders after I dried it. It would fly around my head when I turned in circles. Mom liked it this length because I could not put it in my mouth like other girls my age did.
Then, that day of real "fear" came.
I had been playing around the house. My brothers were off playing baseball with their friends. Mom was fixing lunch. Dad, he was putting some wallpaper up in the family room.
I was stood in the doorway watching him every now and then. He looked funny with all that paper hanging over his head as he pushed it up the wall. Then it happened.
He dropped the brush he was using to paint over the paper, after it was on the wall. "Damn," he said as he tried to reach for it on the floor behind him.
"I'll get it for you," I shouted and ran to pick it up for him.
Just as I bent over to get it, dad did too. His backside hit the ladder, which had a pan of glue on it. The ladder tilted enough to send the pan of glue spilling over me, covering me from my head down to almost my waist.
"Becky!" I heard him call just as the glue hit my head and the pan my back. "You all right, love?"
I stood up all covered with the glue. I started to reach for my head, but he grabbed my hands. "NO! no," he told me. "You'll get the glue in them, too."
"Martha!" he called out to mom. "Come quick. The pan of glue fell on Backy's head."
Mom came running in from the kitchen. "God, Allen," she cried. "Why couldn't you be more careful?"
Dad looked at her very displeased. I tried to tell her it was my fault. When her voice got louder as she began telling him more, I started to cry. "Mommy, mommy. I tried to help dad, but..." I cried as she wiped the tears.
"I'll have to take you to see Dr. Mike," she said. Dad just shook his head.
"Here," dad said, handing mom the can the glue came in. "You'll need this."
Mom took it and we were off to see Dr. Mike.
There was hardly anyone there, but when Connie, his receptionist, saw me, we went right in to a room. After a few minutes Dr. Mike came in. He and mom talked as he looked me over.
"Glue," he said. He looked at the can and began shaking his head.
"Why don't you go see Connie," he told me as he opened the door. "Tell her I said to give you a soft drink." I smiled and waved to him. "See you later, then."
When mom came out she was crying a little. I asked but she wouldn't say.
As she drove home, so I thought, she began telling me what the glue did to my hair. That I would have to have my hair cut short, and we were going to Erin's to have it done. I started telling her "NO!" but she said there was no "no" about it. I was going to have to have my hair cut "real" short.
When we arrived at Erin's she was cutting a man's hair. She looked at us as we came in the door, she asked, "What in the world happened to you, sweetheart?"
"Glue feel on her," mom said. "Dr. Mike says the only way to get it out is to cut it out."
We sat down and waited. I continued trying to talk mom out of the "real" short haircut. But she just shook her head every time.
Finished with the man, Erin put a board across the chair's arms. "Come here, Becky," she told me as she reached out for me. "I'll help you get up in the chair."
I folded my arms, and made a face that said no. Mom looked at me with her stare, the one she gives my brothers when they are in trouble with her. She took me by the right elbow and moved me towards the chair. I took the hint, and walked to Erin.
When I was seated and caped, she asked mom, "Well, what do you want to do?"
"You tell me," she said. Erin looked my head over, picking up some parts stuck together with the glue.
"Going to have to be real short," she told mom as she moved her right hand over her head, as if she was telling mom something I was not to hear about.
Mom sat up and took a deep breath. "That bad?" she inquired.
"Yes," Erin replied. "Worse than it looked like when you came in."
"Do what you have to," mom told her as she picked up a magazine.
Erin didn't move the chair upward, as she did with my dad, mom, and brothers. Instead she left it like it was, down.
"Honey," she said to me while standing on the right side of the chair. "I have to do this, there is no other way to get the glue out your hair."
I looked at her and started to tell her, "You can wash it out," when I heard a click and that humming sound. I looked at her with wide eyes, my throat became dry as I tried to cry out for my mom.
Erin's left hand grabbed the back of my head as she raised the humming object to my forehead. I saw her starting to cry as she pushed it back into my hair and back over my head. I felt the coolness of the air conditioner on my head as she brought the humming back to the front of my head. Again she pushed it back over my head as I being to cry out loud.
"Mommy!" I cried out. But she just looked at the magazine. With half my head with no hair I looked at my mother. I could see her crying, her face was turning red. I hated her, I hated Erin, most of all I was beginning to hate my dad.
With the top of my head with no hair, I sat quiet, my arms crossed in anger under the cape. Erin let go of my head as she being humming away at the hair on the sides of my head. Soon, I had no hair to speak of. I looked bald, worse than my brothers did when they got their hair cut for the summer. I hated them, too.
When she was finished, she looked at me as she tried to help me down. I pulled my arms from her. "I'LL DO IT MYSELF!" I yelled at her. When my mom came to hold me, I pulled away from her, too. I walked to the door, opened it, and ran for the car. It was locked, so I pounded on the door, yelling out loud, "I hate all of you. I hate all of you." And I started crying out loud again.
Nothing was said when we got home. My dad tried to hug me, but I ran from him. When my brothers came to my room, I slammed the door in their faces. "I hate all of you," I cried out, over and over, until I fell asleep.
Now, twenty-five years later, here I sit looking in Erin's Barber Shop. I still have the fear of that day. I remember it every time I walk, or ride, past here. I even get a little taste of the fear when I do the same to other barber shops or beauty salons. I have not cut my hair since that day.
It is now down to below my knees. It just hangs, I do nothing with it. It is shaggy with the split ends showing, having never been trimmed, either. I was eight then, now I am thirty-three.
I still feared Erin's Barber Shop, and everyone that day.
I could hardly believe it had been that long, thirty-three years.
Those times I would wash my hair hoping something would make the ends nice and even. To wish the split ends away.
Fear is in the mind they say. It can do many things to you, even cause you to forget what you want to do. It can take the smallest thing and turn it into something bad and evil. It can scare you so much, you stop doing things of importance.
I have been home for two months and the fear of Kathy's Barber Shop, just the name, makes me want to run away again. That day, the day Kathy cut off all my hair. The day mom sat crying, not saying a word. That day dad became someone I hated.
I tried to call a number of times. But each time I would let the telephone ring, then hang up when it was answered on the other end. Once, I waited before hanging up to see if someone would say something. Something that would make me speak. Only to hear the voice of someone I did not know.
I was not Kathy.
The last few weeks have been spent trying to find out who it was. I have sat here, in my car in the parking lot, trying to see who comes and goes from the shop. I never saw anyone enter or leave, only the sign being changed, from 'closed' to 'open' in the morning and back at night.
Everything was the same on the outside. The picture window now had a light darkness to it to block out the sunlight. The pole by the front door still turned slowly, with its red and white candy cane colors. I did not see many people go into it. Mostly the ones who did were there as if on a time schedule.
The other day I learned that Kathy, the one who brought on my fear with the help of my dad and mom, not longer owned the barber shop. She had passed away ten years ago, leaving it to someone who no one knew of. Her daughter, the clerk told me.
Today I was going to face this fear. To face it so it will go away, out of my mind. Out of my life. But now I could not face the person who brought about this fear, for she was no longer in my life.
Should I call, should I just walk in, as the sign says?
I have not seen anyone going in, nor coming out, for the past two hours. Then, It would be just my luck things got busy when I entered.
I could not wait any longer, this fear was tearing me apart. My mind was going in circles just thinking about what would happen.
It was not as if I was going to ask whoever to do something they did not want to! I just want to face my fear, to be able to be like other women and get my hair trimmed. That wasn't much to ask of myself.
I got out the car. My heart started pounding as I closed the door. Taking a deep breath, my eyes closed, I took a step towards the barber shop.
I wish I could see in there, like you used to be able to.
I stopped at the door, taking another deep breath and slowly letting it out as I opened the door. A soft chime sounded. It was not there the last time I was here.
"Be with you in a minute," came the soft voice of a woman from the back of the shop. "Have a seat. I'm doing a little washing back here. Just gotta toss the finished ones in the dryer and... There, finished."
I sat as my eyes slowly viewed the shop. It had not changed since back then. The big barber's chair was the same, only its metal shone. The mirrors had pictures of cuts and styles for both men and women. There was a different smell to the shop, more of one you would find at a hospital.
"Hi, I'm Cathy, with a 'C'," she said reaching out her right hand. "The 'K' Kathy was my grandmother: she owned the shop years ago."
"Hello, nice to met you," I told her as I shook her hand. "I remember your grandmother very well. Last time I saw her she had to cut off all my hair because some glue fell on my head. That was the only way to get it out of my hair."
"Glue?" she replied. "The same thing happened to me when I was fifteen. Only grandmom didn't have to cut off my hair, she was able to use a shampoo."
"Shampoo," my mind told me. Why didn't she use that on me? It would have been nicer.
"So, what can I do for you today?" Cathy inquired.
I started to get weak, my stomach was starting to feel strange. I wanted to run out the barber shop and let my fear have its way. But, I couldn't do that, it would ruin the rest of my life as it was doing now.
"Well, it has been some years since I've had a trim," I told her. "So, since I was in town I thought I would stop by and let Kathy, your grandmother that is, do her magic."
"Hummmmm," she answered, "that's going to be hard. So, what we say you let Cathy, with the 'C', take a shot?"
"Well, I'm here, so, what the heck," I told her somewhat nervously.
She took the cape from the arm of the chair, shook it, and motioned me to the chair.
With the feeling of something in my throat I walked to the chair and sat in it. She tossed the cape across me and pulled it up and around my neck. Before pinning it in place she pulled my five or so feet of hair and laid it over my left shoulder. I watched, in the old mirrors behind the customers' chairs, how it fell heavily into my lap. It felt like a loaf of bread as it landed. I had never thought it weighed that much.
With the cape pinned in place she pulled my hair back over my shoulder and let it fall behind me. "So, how much do you want trimmed off?" she asked as she spread my hair out.
"Well, to tell you the truth," I begin saying, with nervousness, "I was thinking maybe it was time I cut a lot of it off. Maybe to around my shoulders!"
I could see her looking my hair over. I hate it when someone does that. It makes me feel as if there was something wrong behind me, and I could not see what it was. She tugged my hair as she combed her big comb through it. My head rocked a number of times as she did this.
"That's a lot to cut off at once," she told me. "I can cut, say, to mid back and you can think more about it. If you want to go shorter you can come back and I'll cut it to the shoulders for you."
The idea sounded good, but what would it do to my fear? If I walked out with some of my hair cut off, the fear would still be there. It would bother me even more.
"No, I better do it now," I replied. "If you cut some now, I may never come back. So, just do it and I'll see from there."
No sooner had I said that than I saw her bring her scissors from the shelf. She took hold of a section of hair, pulled it out and down to the right, then without a word she began cutting. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw three feet fall to the floor. My eyes, then, saw the shortness to which my hair had been cut. The bottom was just touching my shoulder.
I felt her pull another section. I heard the sound the scissors made as she cut it, but I could not see it fall to the floor. She did this three more times, then she cut the last section on the left side. Like the first section, I viewed it. This time some strands of hair fell into my lap.
Cathy took a spray-bottle and wet my hair. She combed it out from the center part. Taking her scissors she nipped at the ends, slowly cutting my hair to an even length around my head.
"I'll have to thin it out a little," she said as she combed my hair back off my face. "You have too much bulk for it at this length. It would be hard to do anything with it if I don't."
I looked at myself in the mirror, turning my head from side to side. I could not believe I had done this. My hair was somewhat stilling out more now that the length was not there. It framed my face more, something I did not expect.
I brushed my fingers through it, pushing it back off my face as Cathy had done.
"What about bangs?" I asked her.
She combed some hair over my eyes. She twisted the section into halves, pulling each side back off my face. "Just might help a little," she told me. "But, I still have to get some of this bulk back here," she said as she combed through the hair in the back of my head.
I looked at myself again, still not believing what just happened. I did not want my face covered like it was. And my head now looked more like a pile of hair with eyes and a nose, than I thought it would. "How would you thin it out?" I inquired.
"Well, I could do it three ways," she replied as she combed through my hair in the back. "But I think the best thing to do, would be to just comb a few sections out and cut them to about half their length."
I shook my head in agreement, not really understanding what it was she was going to do.
She made a part, and combed a section of hair out from under. She combed it out a number of times, then combed it out to about half the length. Placing the scissors on top of her finger and thumb, she cut along it. She parted another section and cut it to half its length. She did this working her way around my head. It was kind of looking funny. The top was still as full as it was. The bottom was thin and less full.
Then, she started over, this time more towards the top. As she worked towards the back I could see what was happening. I could not understand it, but the bulk she told me about was disappearing. She was just starting to cut the left side when the telephone in the back room rang.
"Excuse me," she told me as she stopped cutting and walked towards the room. "A friend is sending me some new pictures of cuts to hang up."
I looked at myself in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it back over my ears, then back off my face on top. I liked how it looked off my face. Maybe a little shorter, something more like this, I told myself. It would be easy to handle, just wash and comb.
It would be like having long hair, but a lot shorter. Besides, I don't want to spend time, like my friends, messing with my hair.
I did not notice Cathy coming back as I turned my head to the left.
"Nice," Cathy said as she brushed her left hand through the right side of my head. "But you would have to have it cut shorter to get the right effect!"
As I turned my head to right I ran my left fingers through the left side of my head. She was now combing the right side back off my face and over my ear. She combed down my neck. "This is where you will have the problem."
"See," she told me as she turned my head to the left. "Right now your hair is too long for what you are doing. I would have to cut it a lot shorter, and a lot shorter back here."
I liked how my face looked with my hair combed off my face. My eyes showed more, my little ears were purify. Maybe I could pierce them once, or twice, more to take away from how short my hair would be.
"What do you think?" I asked her. "Do you think I have the face for such a short cut?"
She combed more of my hair back off my face. Gently she turned my head forward, then stepped in front of the chair. She pushed her fingers up in my hair, on top then on the sides. She looked me over from side to side. I was beginning to feel comfortable.
"From what I see," she said as her fingers pushed my hair back over my ears, "shorter hair would do you fine."
"Shorter." I wondered how much shorter she would have to cut my hair. Then, a bell sounded in the back room. "Be right back," she told me as she rushed to the back room.
As she returned she was looking over pages of whatever it was she just received. She held a few up as if she was trying to see through the paper. Then, she held one to the side and I saw they were pictures.
She walked to the mirror along the wall behind the customers waiting area. "What do you think," she asked as she held one on the mirror. "Think I should stick them here, or in a folder?"
I could not see what they looked like, but I told her, "Maybe a few and the rest in a folder."
"Want to see some of them? You may find one you like," she told me as she handed me some of the pictures. I looked through them as she started separating a few from the pile.
"Nice," I told her handing them back to her. "But I think I will stick with what we were talking about doing."
She smiled and took the pictures from me. She continued to separate a few from the pile, then she began waving one in the air. "Here, here," she said waving it in my direction. She had a smile on her face. "What do you think of this one?"
Her hand stopped waving as she held the picture almost on my lap. When I got a close look of it I could not help but take a deep breath in disbelief. The picture was of a woman with her head shaved. Was she trying to tell me I should shave my head!
I took another deep breath and pushing the picture away I told her, "Not something a woman my age would do."
She smiled. Held the picture up to my face. "She looks to be around your age," she told me. "I wasn't saying you should, just wanted you to see it!"
Putting the picture in the pile on the shelf, she began combing my hair again. "So, what have we decided to do?" she inquired. "Going to leave it like this, or go shorter?"
I took a deep breath and blew it out loudly. "Let's do what you said," I told her. "I can let it grow out if it doesn't work out."
She began combing a section out, then she cut it even with the sections she had cut shorter to thin my hair out. She worked faster this time. Before I knew it the right side of my head had hair that was just three inches long. My head was pushed downward as she began cutting the back. With some quick combing and cutting she was finished and combing my hair back off my face.
"All you'll need to do is put some gel in and comb it back," she told me.
I looked at myself as she rubbed some cream in her hands, then rubbed her fingers through my hair. It began to stick up, but she quickly combed my hair back. It laid flat, not like it did when she was showing me how it would look, when my hair was a little longer.
I started to say something, when she began brushing my hair with a hairbrush. She was pulling the brush upward as she brushed the top back. It began to look soft, as did the sides when she did the same there.
"Now, that looks better," I told her. "I'll have to come back and let you show me how you do that."
She smiled as she began brushing my hair in another style. I liked how she did it this time, too. "There are a number of ways you can brush your hair with it at this length," she told me as she began to brush my hair another way.
When she was finished with the new one, I looked it over. It looked a little unsexy, but nice. "Well, this one looks better than the picture you showed me," I said to her with a chuckle.
She laughed with me, shaking her head in agreement. Then she patted me on the shoulder. "I don't think I would have recommended the shaven head to you. But there is one that is much shorter. I really think you would look great with it."
Cathy turned and walked to the shelf and began looking through the pictures. She found the one she was telling me about, and held it out for me to look at more. "I think this would be great for you," she said as she began turning around.
I tried to look and see the picture, in the mirrors, but could not.
"Here," she told me as she brought the picture in front of me. "What do you think?"
I looked at the picture. The woman had black hair but you could still see how short her hair was cut. It was as short as my brother's hair was cut for the summer months.
"CLICK."....
I jumped when I heard that sound. It was the only clicking sound that made me jump like that. No other clicking sound caused me to jump. I knew it well, as well as the humming sound that followed.
I looked into the mirror with that same fear, as Cathy played with it. She looked up to see me, in the mirror. She saw the fear in my eyes. "Sorry," she told me, "just got them today. Need to oil the blades and run it a little for the oil to keep them nice and loose."
The feeling in my throat began to go away, as she turned it off and hung it under the shelf. My attention went back to the picture. The woman did look good with her hair cut like that. Her eyes were more outgoing, her smile much brighter. She had multi pierced ears, like I was planning on getting.
There was a large loop earring in the bottom piercing, with stone setting earrings in the others in different sizes. Large ones above the loop earrings, going up to a small one at the top.
I held the picture out to imagine her standing before me. The more I looked at the picture, I began see my face.
"Nice haircut for a woman," Cathy said as she began brushing my hair back off my face, in another style. "Women are beginning to see the comfort of short hair like that."
I could hear my mind agree with her. I had never thought of cutting my hair this short, not even back when I was eight.
The fear began calling to me. It wanted me to look like the lady in the picture. My mind began seeing my dad running after me, telling me "like your brothers." My body shivered, I felt goosebumps on my arms. My throat became dry, my lower lip was bitten by my teeth.
I closed my eyes and handed the picture back to her. "What do you think?" I asked her.
Cathy, began brushing my hair more. She moved around my head brushing my hair back, causing the stiffness to go away.
"Is it up to me? she inquired.
My eyes still closed, I nodded my head.
I felt her right hand grab my chin, as she turned my head side to side. She let go as I heard her walk around the chair.
"CLICK" .....
My body tensed up causing my back to rise up in the chair. My head rose a little.
I felt Cathy push my hair in a part in the back of my head. Then she placed the humming sound, the clippers, just below my hairline. I felt my body take a deep breath and let it out quickly as she pushed the clippers up into my hair. Slowly she pushed the clippers up the back of my nape, not stopping until she had reached the arc of my head.
I felt my body go limp as she pulled the clippers away. I knew from years ago hair was falling in a soft sheet to the floor. The clippers started another upward pass, sending another soft sheet of hair to the floor. As she began the third upward movement, I did not feel the cool breeze my brothers always said they felt.
My head was tilted to the right as the clippers began an upward pass behind my left ear.
Still I felt no coolness.
I was looking in the mirror, trying to see if what I was feeling was true, when I heard a voice, a man's voice, crack the quietness.
"Hi Cathy," he said.
My eyes turned to the door.
There walking in was a man about my age. He was tall, wearing a nice summer suit. His hair was a dark brown, like mine, and was cut kind of short like my brothers. He said nothing to her reply, just picked up a magazine and sat in a chair. The chair was right in front of the barber's chair, and me. I watched him, he didn't look up.
I glanced back to the mirror just as she pushed the clippers over my left ear, sending a soft sheet of hair sliding down to my cape-covered lap. When the clippers appeared before my eyes, she brought them back behind my ear and began another pass over my ear. Another sheet of soft hair slid past my eyes and into my lap.
As she walked around the back of the chair her left hand gently began moving my head to the left. I watched the hair on top of my head fall to the left, touching my shoulder. But none hung to my shoulder from the left side of my head, just the top.
I felt her start the clippers up behind my right ear, pulling it away when she reached the arch of my head. Then, she pushed the clippers over my right ear, sending a soft sheet of hair into my lap. Again, when the clippers came past my eyes I looked in the mirror as she brought them behind my ear again.
As she began this pass I looked down to see the man looking up from his magazine. He had a smile on his face. I felt strange sitting there. How could this be happening?
Just as I was about to close my eyes I felt Cathy's left hand push the top hair back off my face. My eyes turned to her as she brought the clippers up to my forehead. She was smiling as the clippers began their first pass over my head.
"Hey, sis," the man said, as she was beginning the second pass over my head, "did you get all the pictures I sent you?"
"Yes," she replied. "Think I'll put a few around the big mirror behind you, and some along this one. The rest in a folder."
I sat there, stunned over what I just heard.
"Sis"? Is he her brother?
I looked at him closely, then at Cathy in the mirror as she began third pass over my head. I could see they had some features in their face. Then they smiled at each other.
They were brother and sister.
"Is he your brother?" I asked her, as she walked behind the chair to the left side.
"Ooooo," she exclaimed. "I'm sorry. Becky, this is my brother Randy. Randy, this is Becky. She was a customer of grandmother's, when she had the shop."
"Glad to meet you," he said as he went back to reading the magazine.
She made three quick passes over my head, sending the last of my long hair to the cape. I looked at the pile there and thought of what was now lying on the floor around the sides and back of the chair.
I took a deep breath and looked closely in the walled mirror. I could not see the woman who sat in the chair minutes ago. The woman I knew for years. The woman who had a fear of the sound of clippers being turned on, and the humming sound that followed.
This woman I was looking at, did not have fear. Her hair was almost gone. It was short, standing up about an inch from her head.
"Well, Randy," I heard Cathy ask him, "what's it going to be this time?"
My head was pushed downward just then. My eyes strained to see, to act like ears, to hear what his answer would be.
"Was thinking of having you shave my head," he replied. "Think you can handle shaving my head, like you did for Lana's the other day?"
My eyes widened as I heard what he told her, but I could not believe it.
Then, I started feeling that coolness my brothers said they felt, each time they got their crew cut for the summer months. It began to widen across the back of my head and neck, all the way up to the arch. It felt strange, like my brothers said. But, in a stranger way.
Cathy began clipping up the right side of my head, sending a small pile of hair into my lap as she pushed the clippers over my right ear. She did not answer his question.
As she walked around the back of the chair I could see them looking at each other. Staring as if they were trying to see who would look away first. My head was pushed to the right, the clippers began buzzing away at the short hair on the left side of my head.
"Big brother," she told him, as she began another pass, "it will be a pleasure to do to you what I did to our younger sister!"
He smiled at her, as she turned the clippers off.
I looked at him sitting there, thinking of what she had said to him. I felt my head being brushed with a stiff hairbrush. My head rocked backwards, then sidewards. Clippings of hair floated in the air around my head.
"How's that?" she asked me. I looked at myself in the mirror. I moved my right hand from under the cape and brushed it over my head. My head felt like my brothers' heads, each time I felt theirs after their summer haircuts.
She handed me a hand mirror. "How's this?"
I shook my head and smiled. My body shivered when I saw my face, my hair, up close. I wanted to cry. To crawl out the chair and run out the door.
But my fear held me there. I just turned my head from side to side. I could not believe I had sat there, letting her do this to me.
"Think this should be a little shorter," I heard Cathy tell me, as her left hand brushed over my head. "What do you think, Randy?"
I could feel him looking at me. The fear told me to more the mirror, to hear his answer.
He was staring at me when I moved the mirror to the left. His eyes had a glow, a sparkle, to them. I had never seen that before - it bothered me.
He said nothing and went back to reading the magazine.
Sitting there waiting for him to answer, to say something, I did not see Cathy walk back to the shelf and pick up the clippers again. I jumped when she turned the clippers back on. She was standing to my right. Her left hand reached and took the mirror from me. She hung it behind the chair, where she had gotten it from.
Then, she brushed her left hand over the top of my head, again. It was followed by the clippers, as they began clipping my hair to the same length as the sides and back. I was stunned. How could she do this? I did not tell her anything.
But for some reason I really don't understand, I wanted her to do it. I wanted my hair cut shorter, there. My eyes focused on the clippers as she pushed them over my head, again and again, until my hair was again the same length all over.
The fear I had of that clicking sound was gone. I looked in the mirror to see Cathy brushing the head of the clippers off, again she oiled it. She clicked them on and off a few times, letting them hum for a few seconds. Turning back to the chair she shook the clippers a little, some oil drops fell from the head.
She brushed her left hand up the back of my head a few times. It came to rest on the top, as it had before, and my head was bushed downward. "CLICK," hum...
I felt her place the clippers where she had before. Like before she slowly pushed them up the back of my head. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, with a smile.
This time she did push them up as high as she did before. As she worked her way across my neck, she only went up a little. Then she started on the right side, only going up a little.
I watched with interest as she worked the clippers over my right ear. She worked it to a nice even line just a little higher above the hairline. She tossed the cord of the clippers across me and walked behind the chair. Slowly she began clipping the left side of my head, like she did the right side. Just clipping a little upward, not to the arch as she had just before.
As she dusted little clipped hairs from my head and face, I stared at the woman in the mirror. Her face was almost round. Her eyes were sparkling. Her hair was short like my brothers when they got their summer haircuts. I liked how she looked.
Cathy undid the cape and let it slid down across my arms, and the arms of the chair. She tucked a large white towel in my collar, spreading it out over my shoulders.
My ears heard another familiar sound, this time it was a winding sound. I saw her standing in front of it. Her arms bent like her grandmother years ago. Just like when her grandmother turned around, she too had a pile of soft white stuff on her left fingers.
Slowly she spread the soft, warm, white stuff along my hairline, just like her grandmother did back then. After wiping her left hand she picked up the closed straight razor from the shelf. With a flick of the blade it opened, as her left hand grabbed the fading leather strap. With the same skill of her grandmother, she moved the blade over the strap.
I sat still, a little of that fear came back, as she skillfully shaved alone my hairline. Like her grandmother did, years ago, to my brothers, my father, and my mother's nape, she edged along my hairline, shaving just a little line.
When she was finished she wiped what shaving cream was left. Then she dusted around my head, across the top of my head, and across my face. As she pushed the sliver handle forward, the chair lowered, she reached across me and pulled the cape off.
I watched the woman get out the chair. I saw the smile on the man's face. I felt Cathy dust the back of my dress, then across the front.
Picking up my purse the man stood up. His hand touched my hand, as I was removing my wallet.
"No," he softly told me, with a gentle smile, "this is on me."
I smiled back and thanked him.
I looked closely at the woman in the mirror. "I need to get my ears pierced a few more times," my mind said.
"Alright, Sis," the man's voice commanded. "Let's see if you're as good with the razor as Bonnie said you were!"
I turned to watch him sit in the chair. Cathy tossed the cape across him.
She looked at me. "See you in two weeks?"
I smiled back at her. "Yes," I said and walked out thinking about my brothers, my dad.
If only they were here. I heard my dad's voice. "Just like your brothers... Just like your brothers."
The End?
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