Johnny Cash

It was 1971 when the boy decided to get his hair cut at Larry's.

            Larry's was in the mall, in the interior part, at the top of the staircase that led down to the men's room where perverts hung out. He passed Larry's whenever he had to pee bad enough that he knew he couldn't hold it until he got home. But Larry's didn't seem to be a part of all that. The sign above the door was black and said Larry's in gold cursive lettering next to a drawing of a pair of gold scissors. Inside was bright white and clean, with a row of three red leather barber's chairs and a wall of mirrors that made the place look larger than it was.

            He had a paper route, so money wasn't an issue. His mother had always been the one to cut his hair before, but the world was changing and he wanted to grow it longer and she didn't want to let him, so he decided to pay for his own haircuts from now on. He was in eighth grade and wanted more control over his life.

            Besides, his mother had it wrong. He didn't want his hair to be long like a hippy's hair. Hippies didn't look cool to him, although he sometimes thought it might be cool to be one because they seemed to have a lot of sex, but that could have been a lie. Hippy propaganda. No, he wanted his hair to look like Johnny Cash's hair. Johnny had recently started letting his hair get a little longer. The boy had seen Johnny's photograph on the cover of the album that his dad had just purchased a month or so ago and his hair was definitely getting longer. It was long enough to cover at least half of his ears, but Johnny didn't wear it that way. Instead, he had it pushed behind his ears in such a way that it rested right on top of his ears, as if it was being held there in a swept back way that gave the impression of Johnny always moving forward. It was a look that really appealed to the boy.

            He had been building up to it for a few months, pushing his hair behind his ears as it got longer, and using Brylcreem to keep it in place so as not to alert his mother to how long it was getting. During Christmas break, he began experimenting with putting it over his ears. He was astonished to find that it now covered nearly his entire ears. His hair had never been this long before. He was so impressed with it that he wore it that way when he returned to school after break, keeping it pushed behind his ears until he left the house for school and then pulling it down over his ears on the way to the bus stop.

            The other kids at the bus stop stared at him and made comments. Some of them threatened to tell his mother. Even the bus driver seemed to frown at him as he boarded. But he didn't let these things deter him. He had plans. He wanted Grace Pauley to like him and thought that this would happen automatically when she saw what he'd done. He even hoped that he wouldn't have to do anything, that she would be so smitten that she would ask him out without him ever having to say a thing. He was too shy to talk with her and wanted the new hairstyle to do his work for him. In French class that day he made a point of clearing his throat a lot to try to get her to look his way, but she never did. She didn't really seem to notice.

            He spent the rest of the school day feeling sorry for himself and when he got home that afternoon, he had forgotten all about his hair and left it over his ears and his mother noticed the second he walked into the house.

            "Get it cut, or I'm going to cut it," she said.

It was a cold 1971 January Saturday when he went to Larry's for the first, and last, time. He stood outside with his hand on the door handle looking in. There were no other customers in the shop. Larry was standing by a red barber's chair smiling at him through the door, so he took off his long red stocking hat and went in. Larry was older than the boy's father, with a bushy salt and pepper mustache and hands that smelled like cigarettes and hair products, and that other smell that older people had sometimes.

            "What'll it be, son?" Larry was trying to be friendly as he wrapped a sheet around the boy's neck and draped it carefully all around him. Business had been slow lately. He had been struggling since before the holidays, as if nobody wanted to get their hair cut anymore, and his wife had racked up some medical bills with her recent sickness.

            The boy looked at Larry in the mirror and told him how he wanted his hair cut.

            "Over the ears, like this," he said, demonstrating for Larry how he wanted it to look like Johnny Cash's hair. He didn't mention Johnny Cash by name. He figured that Larry already knew about Johnny Cash and what his hair looked like since he probably had to keep up with the current trends in celebrity hair as part of his business know-how. It seemed natural that Larry would know exactly what he meant, Johnny Cash and all, and would do the right thing. He had already pictured it happening before he got to Larry's, while he was on the bus on the way to the mall, and in his mind, Larry got it just right. But apparently, what he meant by "over the ears" and what Larry thought he meant by "over the ears" were two different things, because Larry immediately picked up the electric clippers, turned them on and mowed the entire right side of the boy's head in just a few seconds. The boy could hardly believe what he had just seen happen in the mirror.

            "Wait!"

            Larry's hands backed off. They hovered there as the boy stared in horror at his shorn hair tumbling slowly down the side of the sheet and onto the floor.

            "That's not what I meant."

            "You said over the ears."

            "I meant over the ears," he said, demonstrating with his fingers how he wanted it to sit on top of his ears. It hadn't registered yet how permanent this was. He was still holding out hope that Larry could fix it. Larry was a professional.

            "Well, that's not what you said," said Larry.

            At this point, Larry started to get nervous. He tried combing the long hair from the other side of the boy's head over the place where he had just sheared it all off. It was a desperate attempt at a coverup and they both knew it. Larry's hands were shaking as the boy stared at him in the mirror, his horror beginning to turn to anger. It was odd for the boy to see an adult get so nervous on his behalf. It wasn't something he was used to. Adults had always held the upper hand and had never seemed to care very much what he thought or how he felt. He could hear Larry's breath coming out of his nostrils and through his mustache as he worked. The boy could have hated him for that alone, but he had other things on his mind.

            "A lot of kids are wearing it this way," Larry said.

            "No, they're not," said the boy, near tears.

            "Well, I think they are. You'll see."

            Now Larry sounded like he was getting angry with the boy for not being clear enough in his instructions and it started to make the boy feel like maybe it was his fault. He was making Larry look bad. Larry had a reputation to uphold. Larry did a few more snips here and there and then gave up in frustration, leaving the boy's hair totally lopsided. He seemed surprised when the boy paid him. He even tipped him. The boy couldn't help it. He had been raised in a world where adults were always supposed to be right and he really was starting to think that maybe it was all his fault and that Larry was more the victim than he was.

            He left Larry's and walked down the stairs that led to the men's room in the basement of the mall, but he didn't go in. He stood just outside, trying to figure out what to do. A few creepy guys went in and came out of the men's room while he stood there. Some of them looked at the boy like they wanted to ask him something, but kept walking once they saw his hair.

            After the boy's shock began to subside, he decided to go home. He pulled his stocking cap low over his ears, putting his humiliation into temporary storage. Even so, when he got to the bus stop at Filene's department store, he didn't want to wait in the heated doorway with everyone else, so he went around to the side of the store and waited in the cold, surrounded by piles of dirty snow that had been plowed from the parking lot. He could still see the bus approaching from there and it was his plan to wait until the last second and then make a run for it. He pulled his stocking cap down a little more until his ears were entirely covered.

            While he was standing there, a very short and very round man wearing glasses and a puffy blue coat, came up to him. He was about as old as the boy's father. He said hello. The boy looked down at him and said hello. He asked the boy how he was doing and the boy said alright.

            Then the round man said, "You hustling?"

            The boy didn't know what that meant, so he said, "No, I'm waiting for a bus."

            "Want to make some money?"

            The boy didn't ask him how, but the round man told him anyway.

            "Want a hand job?"

            The boy had already been conditioned by other incidents regarding the men's room in the mall basement, so the round man's request wasn't totally out of the blue. The boy even smiled a little politely as he told him, "No, that's okay."

            "You don't have to do anything. Just sit there. I'll pay you. My car is right over there." He pointed at the parking lot full of cars. "You can just sit there."

            The round man's breathing was increasing, steam coming out with his words. His neck hairs were long and scruffy like he needed a haircut.

            "No, I'm okay. That's alright."

            "Are you sure? I'll pay you. I have money."

            "No. Really. Thanks."

            The round man stood there looking at the boy for a few seconds, then said, "Alright," as if the boy was really missing out on something and the round man couldn't believe that the boy was being so dumb. "You're sure?"

             The boy only nodded this time. Then he reached up and pulled the stocking cap down a little further. He was worried that the round man would notice his hair.

            "Alright," he said again, shaking his head as if the boy had profoundly disappointed him. The boy watched the round man walk in the direction that he had said his car was in. Halfway across the parking lot, a family called out to the round man. A father, mother and two young sons. They were very suburban looking, probably from the highlands, with matching clothes and ready smiles, the kind of family whose lawn always looks just-mowed. The short round man was surprised to see them. He even looked back at the boy nervously for just a second before he shook hands with the father. Many times, as he got older, the boy would think about those hands touching each other.

            "What are you doing here?" said the father to the short round man in the puffy blue coat.

            "Oh, you know, just shopping."

            "Really? Us, too."

            They were still chatting when the boy saw his bus approaching. He waited for everyone from the heated doorway to get on and then he ran for it, his foot catching the bottom of the step just as the driver was reaching for the handle to close the door.

September 6, 2024