The Haircut by Emily Brady

  "If we shave your head," Marine explains to Jamie, "You will be so much more punk.  Who doesn't want to be more punk?"  Kate and I throw our arms around each other and giggle.

"Girls love guys in mohawks, I swear.  I love guys in mohawks, and you want me to love you, don't you?"

Jamie is new to our Friday night rituals, which are slowly causing the walls of Adam's room to yellow.  Each week, Adam walks two doberman pinchers for the neighborhood drug lord who in kind pays Adam with bags of tie marijuana.  Fridays after school, Marine, Kate and I take the crosstown bus west, straight to Adam's, where he's waiting, neatly rolled joints in hand.  Tonight, Kate and I are beside ourselves with laughter while Adam sulks, his back agains the wooden door.  Marine fixates on Jamie, some kid from the neighborhood, who is, of course, thoroughly entranced by Marine.

The moment Marine Luscious entered our classroom, a crown of dyed black curls, her uniform kilt five inches above her knee, hobnailed combat boots tapping against the linoleum, Kate and I arched eyebrows at each other.  When she she looked the harpy that is Sr. Donovan in the eye with her aquamarines and announced her unbelievable name in that Greek accent, we fell in love.

Marine lives on the East Side in a studio apartment with her mother and older sister, all of whom share a king-sized mattress on the floor.  None of us, including Marine know what has become of her father. Her Greek mother tells her he is a drug dealer, but Marine believes it's all a  lot more complicated than that.  Marine is sure he has a  job in the U.S. somewhere, working under cover for his government, and this summer, she's going on the road to find him.  Kate and I have no choice but to believe her--it's easier than contradicting her and besides her truth is as good as any other her mother or sister concoct.

So, it is no surprise that this new guy, Jamie, can't seem to keep his eyes off her as she talks of shaving off all his hair.  Marine has her hands on his head and is leaning forward so his nose nearly touches the third button of her white oxford blouse.  Acne litters his face which is flushing all shades of red.

  "Adam, where are your clippers?  This hair is screaming for me to cut it."  Jamie releases a noise resembling a whine, provoking even more giggles from Kate and me.  When Adam returns with clippers, Marine fixes her blue eyes on him.  She looks Adam up and down, taking in his wiry arms, sunken chest and bare feet.

  "Listen, why don't I do Adam first. It'll get me warmed up."  One shrug and Adam pushes Jamie off the chair.  Marine fiddles with the switch of the clippers until Kate scrambles across the floor to plug the cord into the wall socket.  The whirring noise comes suddenly and mesmerizes all of us.  Letting the blades clip the air, Marine turns to Jamie, who is prone on the floor where Adam shoved him.

  "I'm not going to give Adam the mohawk, Jamie--I'm saving that for you." And in one movement, she turns back to Adam and plows the clippers through his sandy curls.  A clump of hair falls off his head.

   "You're supposed to trim the hair first," Kate murmurs, but only I hear her.  In quick strokes and lengthy minutes, Adam's new haircut exposes a long thin scar that carves a path across his skull and winds around his left ear.  Swept clean of hair and covered only in dark stubble, Adam's head sits on his thin frame like a bald duckling's.  Marine closes her eyes, switches off the clippers, then returns to trace the path of his scar with her index. Adam leans his head against Marine's stomach and rubs back and forth.

  "You see how sexy Adam looks, don't you?"  Marine turns toward Jamie--fear is coming off him in waves that distort the air like a heat mirage.  She helps him to his feet and cups his head in her hands.  Ceding his seat to Jamie, Adam slouches in the corner, watching and smoking.  The switch clicks as Jamie takes the chair.  Feeling the vibration of the clippers, the ache returns, and I am reminded of the bite marks Adam left across my chest.  Outside on the street, a crazy lady is yelling in a language I have never heard.  At my side, Kate grips me, pinching my arm, as Marine drives the first stroke into Jamie's head.

  "I love you," Marine whispers in the boy's ear as she draws back for another swipe,

  "This is going to be the best thing that ever happened to you."

 **********

The telephone rings twelve times before Adam answers.  He returns to his room laughing.  Kate and I lie spooned in one twin bed while Marine is across the room, lying on Adam's bed, cigarette in hand.

  "That was Jamie's mother," Adam says, "She wants to know who butchered her son's head."  I laugh into Kate's neck, who muffles hers into the pillow,  but Marine is silent.  She stroked his head with those clippers time and time again, striving to cut the perfect lines into his hair--two perfect lines to slope the mohawk strip, but each attempt resulted in uneven patches, bald spots and finally a stubble strip reverse mohawk that revealed even more acne on his scalp.  Marine was furious with herself by the end but yet fawned on Jamie until he believed in his stupor that not only had Marine recreated him, but that she did indeed love him.