Page 12 of The Ruse of Romancing
Unaware of my turmoil, Davie continued chatting with his current client, clearly in no rush. I hesitated a moment longer. Charlie had been working with Davie for six months now. I’d even seen some of his clients walking around town with both ears and a decent haircut. What was the worst that could happen?
Taking a deep breath, I nodded, climbing into Charlie’s barbershop chair. The Gossip Gang laughed at my predicament, Art and Clyde taking bets on how badly Charlie would mess up. I clenched my fists, not about to back down with an audience.
I settled into the chair, allowing Charlie to wash my hair before beginning the cut, the chair turned away from the mirror as he worked. I slowly began to relax at the familiar motions. While his technique wasn’t identical to Davie’s, it was close enough that I could see myself using Charlie again if Davie was having a busy day.
Davie finished up with the hipster, ringing the man up at the cash register before settling in to chat with the group of men lining the window. The conversation shifted from my haircut to speculation about my new neighbor and how long she’d be in town.
“Oops,” Charlie said, just as I felt the last bit of tension ease from my shoulders.
I stiffened, reminding myself not to make any sudden movements with Charlie holding a pair of scissors near my head. I closed my eyes, not ready to see the damage.
“Charlie, what do you mean by ‘oops’? Oops is not a word you use when trimming a man’s hair,” I said through clenched teeth.
The Gossip Gang guffawed, and it took everything in me not to look their way to see their reactions.
“I just... took a bit more off than intended in one spot,” Charlie said, hesitantly.
The sound of footsteps followed this declaration, indicating Davie had come over to examine Charlie’s handiwork.
“Boy, in what world is that ‘a bit’?” Davie’s voice rang through the quiet shop, and I pinched my eyes closed tighter. All hope was lost.
“My hand just kind of slipped and—”
“If your hand slips, you cut off an inch at most. That is not an inch.”
The laughter from the Gossip Gang rang through the shop, punctuated by Marty’s distinct, deep belly laughs.
“How bad is it?” I asked, my eyes still closed. I really should just open them, take a peek at the damage. It couldn’t be that bad, right?
“Depends,” Davie said, his voice deep and calm, though I could hear a level of hesitation. Davie never hesitated.
“On?”
“How much you like your man bun.”
Deciding I couldn’t put it off any longer, I opened my eyes, turning in the chair to see the damage. Charlie stood to one side, looking sheepish, his scissors dangling awkwardly from one hand. Davie stood next to Charlie, arms crossed over his chest as he waited for my reaction.
A large chunk of hair had been cut from my head, decorating the floor like the world’s saddest confetti. The hair next to my right ear, which had reached past my shoulders, was now only an inch or so long.
“How—” I broke off, realizing the question wouldn’t do any good as Charlie ducked away from me. I pinched the bridge of my nose, counting to ten as I breathed in and out slowly.
“Can you save it?” I finally asked, already knowing the answer but needing to ask anyway. I remembered the awkward stage of growing my hair out and there was no amount of product or styling that made this particular length look flattering on me.
“Only if you don’t mind having a matching mullet with Mrs. Prescott for a few months,” Davie said, fingering the cut strands.
He was right, of course, but I still hesitated just a moment before nodding.
“Then I guess you better cut it off, Davie. Just be gentle,” I said. I knew it was just hair, but it had become a part of my identity. My long hair was integral to my persona as a beach-loving artist. It had also helped transform me from the punk, ignorant kid who attempted to have a relationship with a visiting tourist into the strong, grown man who knew better.
“Uncle Davie, I can fix it! No need for you—”
I held up a hand, cutting Charlie off. “I think you’ve done enough, Charlie.”
Charlie deflated, and I only felt a little bad for crushing his dreams.
“What do you want to do about your beard? The usual?” Davie asked as he got to work fixing my hair.
I bit my lip for just a moment, hesitating. I’d grown the beard to go with the long hair. If I was being forced into a fresh start, I might as well go all in. My beard grew fast enough that, if I hated being clean-shaven, I could always regrow it.
