The train station barber wasn’t a young man. When he passed away, peacefully in his sleep, I went into mourning, letting my hair grow again. Within a year, I had a bob again. I couldn’t imagine another man shaving me. Mary and Emma also let their hair grow again. Poor little Amy, however, remained bald. My daughter wasn’t going to let that girl regrow a centimeter. She was doomed to remain an ugly little cueball for as long as they were together.
One day, as I walked through the train station, I noticed the barbershop had reopened. A bald young man was sweeping the floor. When he noticed me staring, he smiled.
“Are you one of my late uncle’s lady friends?” he asked in a thick Puerto Rican accent.
When I nodded, he patted his empty chair. My heart fluttering, I sat down again. As he combed my hair, he chastised me for letting my hair grow again.
“My uncle took such pride in keeping you sluts bald and in line. Look at you now. You should have kept your heads shaved even though he died. He clearly didn’t train you hard enough. Once I fix this, you will be punished. I will take what’s left of your pride.”
He took put down his comb and picked up his clippers. My heart fluttered fast as he gave me a military-style buzzcut. Everything gone in 60 seconds. Rubbing my buzzed head, he asked if I missed seeing myself so exposed and vulnerable. I told him that I did. Then I asked him to please shave me smooth to further humble me, which he did.
He brought me to the backroom afterwards. Being a much younger man, he used all my holes. Twice. After he finished, he wrote “SHAVED BY DANIEL” on the back of my head with a Sharpie. Then I needed to kneel infront of his shop for the rest of the day to display his message. What an exquisite humiliation. He really did his uncle proud.