The Adventures of Frankie – 9 – Bad Hair Day

Frankie’s dad ruffled his hair as he walked by the breakfast table, “Get’n a little long there kid.”

A flat spot on one side from sleeping on a wet head, Frankie pushed aside the curls so he could see his Fruit Loops.

“I want you to take your brother to the barber shop to get a haircut after school. I know, I know, your mom always takes you to the beauty shop place. She can’t this time. She’s gotta work every night this week.”

As if they were twins, the boys dropped their spoons at the same time and stared at their dad in disbelief. That place is creepy!

“Relax you two. This will be fine. Don’t look at me that way!”

Frankie and his little brother took their sweet time strolling to the barbershop. Floyd Eugene Dwyer had been going to the same barber since he was a kid. And Frankie was sure of that when they stepped inside the door. The old shop was only a few blocks from their house, but it was like a time machine threw them back a hundred years! Frankie glanced over his shoulder, out the door. Their mom’s beauty shop was just on the other side of the street, but they were forbidden from crossing the busy highway that led straight into the village. An old fashion bell clanged as the door slammed shut, surely the years of dust layered over its tarnished finish long since muffled the once pleasant ring that announced the arrival of customers. A couple of freaky old guys looked up from their magazines then went back to reading. The place smelled of cleaning supplies mixed with nicotine that coated everything, even though no one had smoked there in years.

The old man cutting hair looked them up and down as he reached into a tall jar filled with blue Kool-Aid and combs. Tapping it on the side of the counter then wiping it off on an old rag before dragging it over the little bit of hair left on his customers head, he said, “You Floyd’s boys?” Not waiting for an answer he pointed to a line of chairs along the wall, “Sit over there.” Frankie’s little brother’s eyes never blinked and remained glued to the scary old man with even less hair then their father.

Their pace was quick on the way home from the barbershop. Frankie finished adjusting his little brothers hat so it wouldn’t fly off in the wind, then tugged it down over his now much smaller head. Not wanting to look into his eyes for fear of seeing tears, he offered a few words of reassurance, “Don’t worry, it’ll grow back.” When they got to the end of their driveway, the little boy broke from his brother and didn’t slow down till Frankie heard his bedroom door up on the second floor slam shut. He wanted to bolt, too. At least his brother had a hat. What if Scrawny saw him? Or the new kid? They’re never gonna let him live this down. With a glimpse of Paulette’s house out of the corner of his eye, he too picked up his pace.

Even Mr. Dwyer was taken aback when he got home. At least by then Frankie had settled down enough to see the situation with a little humor, “Thanks a lot Dad. You didn’t tell me that guy was part Indian. HE SCALPED ME!” he yelled as he ran his fingers over the bristles left on the top of his head.

But Mom’s shock was the best; she actually dropped her purse on the floor as her jaw hung open, “What happened to your beautiful curls!” She grabbed both sides of Frankie’s head as if to search for his missing hair.

With dinner all but finished, Dad finally worked up the courage to broach the subject. Looking directly at his wife he painted on his best little boy face, “I told the barber how to cut the boy’s hair the other day when I got mine trimmed. He glanced up as if he could see his own hair, although no hair had hung in front of his eyes since he was in his early 20s. “He promised me he’d take care of them. Besides, I gave Frankie instructions, too.” Sure that his oldest son had messed up, the eldest Dwyer turned to his boys ready to scold. “Did you learn anything from this experience?” Dad was feeling a little better thinking that he had deflected the wrath of Mom until Frankie opened his mouth.

“Yeah, I learned something; don’t let a bald guy cut your hair!”

Weeks and weeks and weeks later, Frankie sat at his desk waiting for the end of class bell to ring when he felt something on the back of his neck. At first he tried to swat it away. Then he felt the warmth of Paulette’s hand. Leaning back ever so slightly he could feel all of her fingers entwine in his hair.

She leaned forward whisper in his ear, “Your curls are coming back.”