See you next SATURDAY — Part I

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See You Next Saturday – Part I
By JimB (c)opyright August 2014

The sun was just coming up as Cathy rose from her bed, after a good night’s sleep. She felt relieved because she had gone to bed with a feeling she might be doing something wrong the next day, SATURDAY.

She went to the kitchen, of her apartment, and fixed a light breakfast, not wanting to have too much in her in case things went a little haywire.

Then, she went back to her bedroom where she laid out her clothing, a skirt with matching blouse and high heel shoes, for her day of adventure.

Finally, she entered her bathroom and let the warm water start filling the bathtub.

After brushing hair she had on her head, Cathy slowly lowered her self into the warm water, in the bathtub.

As she lowered her body, into the warmth of the water, she begin to relax, causing her to close her eyes to enjoy the relief of the past weeks tensions. Slowly her body slid to the bottom, her legs bending at the knees so she was laying on her back and in the warm water.

Her body now covered by the warm water, her thoughts slowly went back months to where things started towards this day, SATURDAY.

The adventure went back further but it was the last six months that brought her to this point in her life.

Cathy grew up a shy young girl who, like many of her girlfriends, had long hair. Her hair was not as long as theirs, just to the mid of her back.

Cathy despised her long hair. It was what her mother wanted not her.

She wanted short hair.

But, when she asked to have her hair cut short, it was always the same answer, “Young girls have long hair”.

So, it was, as she grew older as a teenager, then into her adult years.

Then, six months back she took stock of her self, her life. She knew who she was, who she wanted to be.

Still she felt as if her life was not fulfilled.

She knew it was her hair, this long hair her mother wanted.

Over the last few days she begin to think of what she wanted and her long hair was not in the picture.

She also realized she had another want within her.

One, which would bring to her point of “no return”!

Over the years when she thought about cutting her hair, her thoughts were of not getting it cut rather having her hair cut by a barber.

Not a hairstylist.

She thought of what it would be like to walk into a barbershop, wait her turn, then sit in the barber chair.

As the barber caped her she would tell the barber of her wish, her desire, for short hair.

They would talk of short cuts but they would be the usual ones for women.

She wanted her hair “short”, extremely short.

Short like the boys she grew up with.

Short like some of the men she saw and worked with every day.

But, deep within her mine she knew what she really wanted all these years, back to when she was a preteen.

She wanted her head shaved, even before it became popular with men, and some women, nowadays.

Six months ago she decided it was time she ventured to her desire, her want.

She would have her head shaved before the end of the year, even if it was in the dead of winter.

Six months ago she begin her quest.

She opened the telephone book to find what she wanted, a barbershop where women were welcomed.

But, to her surprise none of the listings mentioned whose hair the barber would cut.

After thinking, and wondering, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and like a dagger she pointed her finger to the open page.

Where it landed she would begin her quest.

Taking another breath, slowly letting it out, she opened her eyes and looked to where her finger had landed, “King Street Barber Shop ….. “1125 King Street”.

Again, just like all the others, no mention if they cut women’s hair, or children.

She moved her finger over to the telephone number listed.

Her mine memories it.

She closed the telephone book hoping she would not have to use it again.

She picked up the telephone and started to dial the number but stopped before dialing the last number.

“Why!” she thought to herself. “WHY call them.

“It would only leave her open to the voice on the other end telling her “NO”, which she did not want to hear.”

Leaning back in her chair she thought.

Just go and confront the barber.

She looked at the clock it was three o’clock in the afternoon.

She looked at the listing, there was no shop hours shown.

She felt sure any barbershop would be open at this time of day, specially in the middle of the week.

Her mine made up, she grabbed her purse, car keys, and off she went to the “King Street Barber Shop”.

The ride took her an hour, an hour more for her thoughts of her quest, her want.

Arriving she found a small parking area next to the barbershop.

As she pulled into it she noticed on the side of the barbershop, in big clear lettering, “KING STREET BARBER SHOP – CUSTOMER PARKING ONLY”.

She opened the door and slowly walked to the front of the barbershop, looking around to see if anyone noticed her.

This she could not understand.

Why would she, a lady of her age of thirty-nine, be so worried of someone seeing her going into a barbershop.

Quickly she brushed the thought out of her mine then realized she was now standing at the front door.

She leaned forward a little to look inside. It was a one-chair barbershop. The barber had a young boy, about sixteen, in the barber chair.

Her hand, without thinking, reached for the doorknob and opened it.

She stepped into the barbershop as she took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the barbershop.

It was not the same of the hair salons she had been going to.

No smell of dyes, curling solutions, no loud talking as women do.

The barber looked at her, “Evening!”

She smiled and took a seat in the waiting chairs.

A few chairs from her was a man in his early thirties, he looked at her as if asking, “What are you doing here!”

She picked up a magazine and began to look through it, when she heard a winding sound.

She looked toward the barber chair at the young boy, his hair all cut off to a soft short length, as the barber begin spreading shaving lather along his hair line.

The barber took a straight razor, stropped it over the leather strap then shaved a thin line along the hairline.

As the barber was cleaning the excess lather from the young boy’s hairline, the door opened and another man walked in.

“Hi Glenn,” she called out as he placed his sweater on the hat stand by the door.

He walked passed her and took a seat next to where the other man was seated.

The young boy stepped from the chair and said “bye” to the barber as he left the shop.

The barber motioned the other man to the chair.

She caped him and begin cutting his hair.

As they talked, Cathy realized the barber did not ask him how he wanted his hair cut.

She went back to her magazine but before she could finish it the man was walking out the shop.

The barber stood next to her chair shaking out his cape, then dusted off the barber chair.

The man, who had walked in after her, stood up as to walk to the chair.

“Sorry, Tim,” the barber, Glenda, told him. “The young lady was here before you.”

She motioned for Cathy to come to the barber chair.

She placed the magazine on the chair next to her, her eyes catching a glance of the man who looked at her in the same matter the other man had when she entered the barbershop.

Cathy’s hands reached for one of the arms of the barber chair and sat in it.

As the barber tossed the cape across her she begin to feel she maybe out of place and maybe the barber was just playing a game with her.

She pulled it around her neck and pinned it in place.

As she pumped the barber chair up, raising it to a working height, she asked her, “How can I help you?”

Cathy looked at herself in the mirror, over the waiting chairs, “Was this what she wanted”?

Her eyes caught site of the man looking at her, as if to be telling her “leave”.

“I want my hair cut really short,” Cathy told her, the barber.

She looked around to see if there were any photos but there were none.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” said to the barber. “Just really short.”

The barber looked at her but she had answered her question.

But, what was “really short” to the barber, would it be the same to her.

She combed her hair off her face to let her see how she would look with her hair cut really short.

But, Cathy said nothing but look at her self in the mirror.

“Ma’am,” the barber spoke softly to her. “Really short could mean different to you than to me!”

Cathy closed her eyes, “I am just tied of my hair being this long.”

‘Long hair’, the barber thought to her self. Her hair was just about an inch above her shoulders, in a nice Page Boy cut.

But, she was sitting there her eyes now staring straight at herself in the mirror.

“I leave it up to you,” Cathy told her as she turned to the shelf behind the barber chair.

The barber took hold of the clippers and put on the number three attachments, “half an inch”.

She turned and placed her left hand on the top of Cathy’s head and pushed it gently down.

With a “pop” sound the clippers came to life.

Without a word Glenda begin pushing the clippers up her neck into her Page Boy hair cut, working around to the left side of her head.

Before she knew it her hair was sliding down into her caped lap.

Slowly the pile grew as Glenda began clipping the hair from the left side of her head.

Then, she placed it at the back of her head and moved it forward pushing a pile of hair, which fell before her eye.

She was stun at the length that was left behind.

Her eyes showed disappointment as Glenda begin clipping the right side of her head.

She watched as her hair fell into her caped lap.

With the last movement of the clippers, the last of her hair fell into her lap.

Glenda took her hair duster and began dusting her face and head.

“Short enough?” the Glenda asked.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

She knew it was short but not “really short” like she wanted, like she told her.

She turned her head to face her and slowly shook her head “NO”.

Glenda turned back to the shelf and took hold of the big black clippers and placed the number one attachment on it.

Glenda turned back to the chair, as she turned the clippers on.

She moved them over the top of her head, placed it in the middle of Cathy’s forehead and slowly moved the clippers back over her head.

Behind was left hair so short the only other short length would be to remove the attachment.

But, as she returned the clippers to her forehead she noticed a smile on Cathy’s face.

Glenda moved the clippers back over her head a few more time then started on the side of Cathy’s head, reducing the hair there to the same length as on top of her head.

Finished Glenda took off the attachment and began freehand blending the side and back with the top of Cathy’s head.

She turned off the clippers, placed it on the hook under the shelf.

Cathy’s attention was at the lady in the mirror, she did not hear the sound of the lather dispenser.

But, her attention was brought back as she felt the warm lather being spread along her hairline.

Her thighs begin to squeeze together, her eyes closed, as a shiver slowly worked its way up her back.

She knew what was happening.

And, hoped no one would notice.

Her eyes stayed close, not opening them until the barber was wiping the excess lather from her hairline.

With the cape removed she stepped for the barber chair and walked to the waiting chair she had sat in when she came in.

She paid the Glenda.

As she opened the door, Glenda told her, “Do come back.”

Cathy turned and smiled at her, “I will.”

Then, left.

CONTINUED Copy right (c) August 2014 JimB

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