It
was time for Keith to have another haircut. It’d only been
about a couple of months since the last one but his hair grew
fast. Always had, always would. He could have let it grow out
but, working as a customer representative in a bank, he liked
to keep his appearance as sharp as possible.
Keith was a sharp kind of guy. He was in his mid-twenties, working
his way on up the ladder of success. He was hoping to make bank
manager in a few years. His superiors only had good things to
say about his performance – he was smart, ambitious, a “team
player.” He lived in a nice townhouse with the latest appliances
and a whirlpool tub. He dated several women frequently and took
them only to the finest restaurants. He dressed in the sharpest
attire, drove a brand new sports car and wore expensive rings.
Above all, he kept a sharp haircut.
Keith showed up for his haircut appointment, right on time. There
were two other adult customers in the salon. A very young boy
was being seated for his first haircut, a tangible look of fear
on his face. His mother stood beside him, holding his hands, telling
him there was no need to worry. Keith could smell the rotten egg
smell of fresh shaving cream in the air where another customer
was having his beard shaved.
The hairdresser sat Keith down, threw a sheet around him and tied
some tissue paper around his neck, making small talk the whole
time. “How are you today, what’s new, how’s
work,” and so on. The hairdresser sprayed Keith’s
hair down with water, grabbed his scissors, combed a handful of
hair up, and started to cut.
A blood-curdling scream pierced the air.
Everyone in the store, barber and customer alike, stopped and
looked at each other. Each waited for someone else to say why
they had screamed. No one said anything. The little boy, who had
already been sure this was a mistake even before the scream, bolted
from his seat and ran screaming from the place, his mother hurrying
after.
The adults who stayed behind asked each other, “Did you
hear that? Was that you?” Everyone had heard it and no one
confessed to it. Finally, they chalked it up to the boy. Maybe
he screamed and no one saw him, they said. Befuddled, the hairdresser
raised the scissors and began cutting Keith’s hair again.
This time, there were several blood-curdling screams, overlapping
each other.
The hairdresser dropped the scissors and spun around, eyes wide
staring. A crazy thought ran through Keith’s head. He knew
it wasn’t possible but he tested it anyway. He picked the
scissors up off the floor and raised them to his head. With his
other hand, he picked one strand of hair up and snipped it off.
A piercing cry split the room, slowly droning off into silence—like
a death cry.
All eyes on him, Keith dropped the scissors and ran from the place.
He jumped in his car and pulled out of the lot so fast he nearly
hit three other vehicles. He sped through several red lights and
almost ran over the neighborhood cat before he pulled into his
garage.
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