Short Story: When Tommy Cut His Hair

Short Story: When Tommy Cut His Hair

This piece has not been edited by the ShortbreadStories team.

When Tommy cut his hair, he cut it real short.

He’d had long hair since he was a kid. He’d been a cool kid for so long. It felt as if Tommy had vanished although he was still there.

His friends didn’t see Tommy for days, and then suddenly when he re-appeared, at the joint where everyone hung out, it was as if a Starship had dropped anchor, and Tommy stepped off.

Everybody stared, wanting to poke fun but Tommy was a cool kid. It wasn’t done.

“So Tommy, where you been?” Someone asked. “And what’s with the disguise?”

Tommy ran a hand across his head. It was possible to see scalp shining through.

“Something new.” He said, as if it was nothing and might have seemed that way if everyone else didn’t feel excluded from the decision Tommy had taken, independent of their advice.

“It’s nothing.” He reiterated.

Girls were looking, casting an approving/disapproving glance in his direction. Tommy turned his back. He wasn’t about to parade. He was a cool kid. The girls came over as if subtly invited by his lack of interest, and stood where they could gain the best impression.

“Tommy, let’s have a look at you.”

He picked up the beer bottle to take a swig, turning an eye in their direction before looking away. The girls laughed. They were fond of Tommy because he didn’t care if they liked him or not.

The most brazen girl in the bunch sized him up.

“I don’t like it.” She remarked.

“It wasn’t done for you.” He retorted.

“Who then – who?”

Everyone was clamouring to know, and it was a fair question but Tommy let it slide, taking a seat in one of the booths as the boys gathered around.

“I’m going into the army.” Tommy announced.

There was silence at first, followed by amused banter, but this quickly faded.

“That ain’t like you.” Someone remarked.

“The Old Man said I got to.”

No one spoke. They all knew how tough Tommy’s Dad could be.

“When do you ship out?”

“End of the week. I’m promised a party. It’s the least they can do before I come home in a body bag.”

“Ain’t necessarily so.” Someone objected.

Girls at a nearby table were staring, as if it was something they could all share in.

When the waitress came across Tommy ordered what he always had, and everything fell back into place.

“What about Nicki?” Someone asked.

“We split up. It’s for the best. She’s too young to wear Widow’s weeds.”

This time everyone laughed, although it wasn’t meant to be funny.

Tommy went home alone. Nothing he said or did was going to change his destiny. He fell asleep listening to the MP3, and in the morning woke to find he’d wet the bed.

That wasn’t like him. Tommy was a cool kid.

He stripped the sheet, turned the mattress, loaded the washing machine and stared out the window until his Mom came down.

“Mom, it happened again.”

His Mom stroked the fuzzy head.

“It’s just nerves. You’ll grow out of it.” She said. “It happens to a lot of kids. In your case you had to wait until you were eighteen.”

Tommy watched his Mom prepare breakfast. He felt certain he would miss all of this, and after that he’d be dead. He knew for sure he would die. The knowledge brought fresh purpose to his life. He had even stopped arguing with his Dad. He just hoped his death would be swift and clean.

When his Dad came down everyone ate cereal around the breakfast bar. It was then Tommy found a plastic toy nestling in the bowl.

“Look Mom I found a small soldier.”

His Mom was smiling, but he saw the tears glistening in her eyes.

Tommy returned to his cereal, placing the soldier on a shelf where his treasures were stored. It waited to be painted in the colours it would serve.

Later, when there was a knock at the door his Mom went to answer, returning after a while.

“There are some girls here Tommy, asking after you.” She said.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to them Mom – send them away.”

His Mom moved slow, hating to disappoint, and now felt she had few answers left to give.

Tommy stood at the window, watching the girls walk back down the drive. It was the usual bunch he’d spent time with at High School. He knew every single one; they had elected Tommy the coolest kid in school. Now had they come to take the accolade back? He doubted they would; they simply needed to know he hadn’t changed, but he had and pretty soon would wind up dead.

He found his Mom staring. “What?”

“It’s not too late to change your mind.”

Tommy shifted his gaze, observing his Dad, who stared back fixedly. Neither moved a muscle. It was not the done thing to back down.

Tommy shook his head. “Mom, you worry too much.”

Tommy went out onto the porch, picked up his old baseball glove and threw a few practise pitches against the wall. He watched his Dad reverse the car off the drive and afterwards caught the bus into town. There was one last thing he needed to do, and later emerging from a tattoo parlour examined the design impressed upon his flesh.

‘Death before Dishonour’ the florid script read.

It was foolish, impulsive, but it made him feel like a man and no longer the dumbass kid he’d been. He didn’t feel the need to be a cool kid anymore, and strode into a bar to order a beer. He was brought down to earth as the barkeep demanded ID.

Down on Main Street he watched the traffic; counting off blue cars like he used to do, waiting to catch the bus home. He spotted Nicki with her friends, and almost jumped off the bus to show her the tattoo, but they’d broken up. It would just cause a scene, and besides his arm hurt and he felt pretty stupid having to admit to such a small detail, when one day he might be forced to face a far greater dilemma.

His Mom was waiting for him as he got in. Beside her a man in military uniform was drinking coffee and chatting cheerfully.

Her words came out in a rush. “Tommy, this is Major Owen. The army can’t take you. They want you to defer enlistment until after you’ve been to college. What do you think?”

Tommy saw his Mom’s relieved face. What else was he supposed to answer?“Ok Mom – if that’s what everyone thinks I ought to do. What about Dad?”

“Leave your father to me.”

The Major handed him a form to sign, after which Tommy went into his room where he sank onto the bed. It seemed odd somehow to believe he wasn’t going to die – not yet.

Later, when his mobile rang, it was Nicki; she’d seen him on the bus, and wanted to talk things over. He knew she’d hate the tattoo. Staring at the script he felt a little stupid, certain he was no longer cool or the kid he’d been. It didn’t matter really, like his old hippy teacher used to remark. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life.’

He’d never seen sense in it before; now he understood. It was time to get started, and maybe believe in dreams once more. He rolled off the bed.

“Mom, I’m hungry – can I get a snack?”

She made a sandwich, and as he ate noticed the small soldier had disappeared from the shelf, jogging his memory.

“Mom, now I’m going to be staying home, can we change the cereal? I don’t like that stuff anymore.”

She smiled, and then frowned, noticing the tattoo on his arm. It was a tricky moment for them both.

“You know, you’ll live to regret it – don’t you?” His Mom remarked.

“At least I’ll live.” Was Tommy’s response.

“I suppose you think it makes you cool?” His Mom retorted.

Tommy smiled; he didn’t think that way anymore.