Art Project

I had been noticing this boy at school for quite some time. I am a senior and I think he was a sophomore. He was very tall and slim and walked with a lurching gait. His face, what I could see of it, was quite lovely. But then there was his hair. Reaching just past his shoulders, it was bleached white-blonde, a frizzed, tangled mess of split ends, so greasy it always appeared wet. I wanted badly to cut off the mess and liberate his handsome face and head. Who knows - perhaps he would enjoy it as well.

I found out his name was Giles, which seemed like a peculiar name to me. One day, while he was talking to his dreadlocked friend Peter, I got up the courage to approach him and introduce myself. I was wearing the "Bald is Beautiful" shirt that I had silkscreened.

"I know this sounds weird," I said, "but would you be willing to let me cut your hair?" I hesitated. "It's for an art project."

He and Peter exchanged a shifty-eyed adolescent glance.

"Don't do it man," Peter said. His hair looked like a cat had thrown up hairballs on his head, and it was ripe with the stench of patchouli.

"I'm willing to pay $50," I said.

"I don't think so," Giles replied. He was noticeably creeped out by my offer. There is a myth out there that young men will do anything to please a pretty girl. This is a lie.

"Well, at least let me give you my number," I said. I scribbled down my phone number, e-mail and web address on the back of a receipt. Giles crumpled it and shoved it in the pocket of his enormously baggy jeans.

"Thanks," he muttered.

I walked away, bothered by his rejection, though I told myself repeatedly that I really shouldn't care. If he wants to look like a walking haystack that's his business, after all. Still, I felt as though I had blown my only chance.

Soon, however, I discovered that I had not.

The phone rang that evening, while I was in the middle of working on a painting. I was irritated. There were only about 20 minutes of natural light left to paint by.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Um, yeah, hi, this is Giles," said an insecure male voice. "From school."

"Oh!" I was more than a little surprised. "Yes, what can I do for you?"

"I was thinking I could use the fifty dollars you were offering," he mumbled. "When can I meet you for a haircut?"

I grinned. "How about now?"

"Um, sure, I guess, yeah."

"Great." I asked him where he was and gave him directions to my house. He said he'd be there in about half an hour. I was thrilled. I ran and tidied up the bathroom, which doubled as my barbershop. I laid out my clippers and all their attachments. I even grabbed my dad's shaving gel and a fresh Mach 3, just in case.

Oh man! I couldn't wait. I got on my computer and passed the time by looking at different haircut pictures I had saved to my hard drive, trying to decide what kind of cut I should give Giles.

When he rang the doorbell, I ushered him straight into the bathroom, not wasting any time with pleasantries. He sat in the chair and I secured my vinyl cape around his neck. "Since it's my money, I get to decide what kind of haircut to give you, okay?"

He nodded. "Um, sure, yeah, just do a good job, I guess."

"Don't worry, I will." I had a great cut planned. He had only about an eighth of an inch of dark roots showing above the bleached part of his hair. If I gave him a fairly short flattop, the back and sides would be his natural color, while the top was still two-tone. Then if it didn't look good, I could clip off the rest of the blonde and leave it all one color.

I picked up my comb and began to sort out the haystack, relieved to find that the "wet look" was achieved not with grease but with copious amounts of gel or hairspray. With one pass of the comb, the dried hairspray flaked away and his hair instantly looked healthier. It rested softly on the cape. I traded the comb for the scissors and began to hack off chunks of his hair, about an inch from his scalp on top and a bit closer on the sides. I was careful to drop each severed piece on the counter out of his sight so he wouldn't panic, though surely he could tell I was cutting off a lot. When it was all roughly the same length I dropped the scissors and grabbed my clippers.

Giles turned around, wide-eyed, as the clippers began to buzz. As he turned he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and froze. "Dude!" he said. "My hair! You can't possibly cut it any shorter than that, I'll be bald!"

"You won't be bald, I promise. In fact I'm going to leave some of the blonde. It's going to look great. Now, can you keep still so I screw up?"

He muttered something about my having already screwed up, but faced forward again with a disgruntled scowl. He cringed as the clippers touched down on the base of his skull. I wondered if he had ever had a real haircut before. A small shower of inch-long hairs rained down on the cape. See, I'm not cutting off that much, I thought with a grin.

As I clipped the sides and back of his head, I could tell that his skull was a nice shape. It wasn't lumpy, but there was a definite ridge at the base of his skull, the "smart bump", I had heard it called. I remember reading that all the nerves in the body converged at this one spot. I gently stroked the newly exposed scalp and Giles relaxed a little bit. He had that great, soft hair that felt really awesome when cut short.

Once I had clipped the back and sides of his head up to the crown, I combed the longer hair on top of his head and got it to stand up with a little water. I slid the clippers across the comb, sending another spray of short hairs down over Giles' face. After I had finished cutting the top down, I went back and took it a bit shorter so only the very ends of the hair were still blonde. It was looking really awesome. The top was about a quarter inch, each hair half dark, half bleached, except in the middle where the close, dark bristles blended in with the clipper shaved back and sides. I ran my hand over his whole head. It was really a great cut. "Are you ready to see?" I asked. Giles gave a noncommittal grunt. I gave him my hand mirror. "Dude," he said, reaching up to feel his clipped head.

"See? Not bald at all."

"No not really. It's not bad, I guess." But I could tell, the longer he looked, the more he liked what he saw. "But, um, why did you have that razor sitting there?"

"In case I needed it," I said. "I cut hair the same way I paint. I have a general vision of how I want it, but I like to see what takes shape. I've never really made a mistake, either. Hey, if you want me to razor shave the sides, I can. It would make the flattop look even sharper." "Um, I guess so. It's not like you'd be shaving off very much."

"Great." I soaked a towel in hot water, wrung it out and wrapped it around the back of his head.

"That feels cool," he said.

"Hey, if your friends make fun of you, just tell them you scored with me afterwards," I said. "I'll go along with it."

"Cool."

I lathered up his head and dragged the Mach 3 up from the back of his neck, the tiny splinters of hair mixing in with the shaving foam and turning it a grey color. I made sure every spot on the back and sides of his head was completely smooth. Then I got the clippers and blended it some more.

"How's this," I said, showing him the mirror again. He smiled.

"Awesome," he said.

"Some of my finest work," I agreed, rinsing off the razor at the sink. "The only downside is you'll have to keep coming back to get it trimmed. But, it's not like I charge anything. Hey, that reminds me…"

"You can keep the fifty dollars," he said, still admiring himself. It was like he'd read my mind.

"Funny," I said, "I didn't really have fifty dollars in the first place."

- The next day at school, I passed Giles a few times in the hall. I imagined his friends had given him some grief about his new look, but he seemed quite happy.

As I was leaving school, however, Giles' dreadlocked friend Peter approached me. I guessed he was going to cuss me out for ruining his friend's long hair. But to my surprise, he said, "Hey, do you think you could hook me up with a haircut like Giles?" "Truthfully, I don't think I can," I said. "Your dreads are pretty close to the scalp. You wouldn't have enough hair for a flattop."

"Oh. Well, is there any kind of haircut you could give me?"

"Yes, but it would be shorter than what Giles has."

"Oh. I guess that would be okay. Do you want to meet after school?"

"Yeah, that would be great. I'll cut off the dreads and in a few weeks you'll have enough hair for an awesome flat. You'll look great."

"Cool," Peter said. "By the way, do you think you could show me that art project you said you were working on?"

I giggled. "Well, I think you've already seen him."