Eric Longhairbarber
Surprise
During the Covid-19 pandemic, hairdressers were temporarily closed. Fortunately, I’d once taken a basic course in haircutting. That meant I was able to help out some friends. There was one family with two sons, aged fifteen and fourteen. During that time, I cut their hair two or three times. When the restrictions were lifted and the hairdressers reopened, that came to an end. Since then, I’d only been in touch with the parents. I hadn’t seen the boys for a long time.
Until last week. I unexpectedly received a text message from the eldest son, who must be twenty now. It read: “Hi Eric, you might remember me. I’m Milan. Five years ago, you cut my hair a few times. I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to do it again. I’m a bit nervous about going to the hairdresser’s. If you’d like, I can explain why. Xxx. Milan.” I was a bit surprised, but also curious. So, I wrote back saying I’d be happy to help him. I also asked why he wanted me to cut his hair rather than going to the hairdresser.
Selfie
The reply came straight away. It was a selfie. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I recognised the handsome young man’s face from back in the day: the friendly, slightly shy look, the smooth skin and chin. Now, however, his face was framed by an impressive mane of hair: shoulder-length, thick, silky, wavy hair framed Milan’s face. In the photo, he looked a bit sad.
The selfie was accompanied by a voice message: “My hair has grown five years longer. And I’m very proud of it. My boss has, however, ordered me to have it cut short. I’m inconsolable, but there’s no getting out of it. I think I’ll burst into tears, though, when I’m at the hairdresser’s. I’m also afraid that the hairdresser will take malicious pleasure in it or that he’ll make fun of me. That’s why I’d like to ask you if you’d be willing to … cut my hair.” (I could tell that Milan couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘cut’ without first swallowing and taking a deep breath.)
I had to take a moment to catch my breath too. I looked at the long hair again. The thought of cutting it off excited me. I’d love to do it, and the very thought gave me a spontaneous erection. I wrote back saying he could come to my place. He was extremely relieved and grateful. We arranged to meet that very evening. That gave me time to lay out my hairdressing tools: a hairdressing cape, combs, brushes, scissors and a clipper. I turned my office chair into a hairdressing chair and placed a large mirror on my desk.
The haircut of my life
Milan was right on time. At six o’clock he was at the door. He was wearing white jeans and a light blue silk blouse. His dark brown, shiny, wavy hair fell over his shoulders. I could tell from his eyes that he’d been crying. I let him in and put my arm around him comfortingly. He couldn’t have known that I was excited and looking forward to the haircut.
Milan sighed as he took his seat. Through the mirror, he looked at me imploringly: “Please be strict with me. No pity, please! Not even if I cry.” I nodded. I began to brush out his silky hair with a brush. I was enjoying it. Milan closed his eyes and, thankfully, couldn’t see that I was really enjoying the situation.
I draped the cape around Milan. His long hair fell luxuriously over the nylon. Milan opened his eyes and looked at me humbly. I asked: “Are you sure?” Milan looked down and nodded silently. “How short can… er… how short does it need to be?” Milan reached his right hand out from under the cape and handed me a photo. The photo showed a hairdressing model with a buzz cut. Milan spoke, struggling to hold back his tears: “My manager says it has to be like this.”
I remembered what Milan had said: that I had to be strict and decisive. Those words hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. “Right. Then that hair’s coming off, lad. It’s about time, actually.” Milan nodded humbly. I brushed his beautiful long hair one last time; it smelled wonderfully of a herbal shampoo. Then I picked up the clippers and positioned them above his forehead, at the hairline. “Look in the mirror!” I ordered. Milan obeyed. I switched on the clippers and slowly ran them from front to back. Long strands of hair, at least thirty centimetres long, fell onto Milan’s lap and onto the floor. He watched the proceedings with wide eyes. And I enjoyed it to the full. Milan burst into tears and I came spontaneously.
(Translated from the Dutch)
