Boycuts
The Squat.
“May I read in here?” Kid was standing at Jerk’s open door. They were wearing sweatpants and a tattered vintage Institute hoodie Jerk would have written off as a rag if they didn’t wear it almost every night.
Jerk looked around his room. His desk and chair were as over-encumbered with books as his shelves. Stacks of comic boxes covered an ottoman he’d gotten from a tenant who moved out. There was only one comfortable place Kid could read. He looked around again, like an alternative might appear. “You mean next to me?” His eyes were wide.
“I could sit on a pile of books if you want.” Kid pointed to a stack near the door that Jerk had dirty clothes on top of. “The textbooks could work.”
Jerk looked at the pile of textbooks, and then at Kid. “You’ll get sore fast.” He moved over and rearranged the pillows to give Kid room. They slid onto the mattress next to him with a few zines they’d gotten at the record store. Jerk reread the same two pages three times before he remembered to turn the page.
“Hey, check this out!” Kid leaned over, showing him a zine. “Boycuts for Butches!” The first article had photocopied photos drawn over illustrating a technique for a ‘Boy’s Cut’ and the next an article was a crudely detailed buzz-cut technique. “I could cut my own hair!”
“It’s easier if someone helps you.” Jerk pointed to where those exact words were written boldly and underlined. “Anyway, just go to a barber.”
Kid made a dismissive noise. “They figure out I’m queer and ‘not a guy’ and they’ll refuse. ‘We’re not trained to cut your hair.’ ‘There’s a great salon down the street, honey!’” Their tone dripped.
“Even at Dapper Jack’s?” Jerk went there.
“Especially at Dapper Jack’s.” Kid grimaced like they were tasting bile. They rubbed their cheek. “I need to get a consistent supply of juice, then I’ll pass and…” Kid’s words trailed off and they sat in silence. Jerk closed his eyes, leaning back and listening to the rasp as Kid turned the pages of their zines.
He felt their hand slide into his. He stirred and opened his eyes. “So what’s this?” Jerk squeezed Kid’s hand. “Keeps happening.” Kid squeezed back. “Afraid of getting lost?”
“It’s comfortable. You’re… comfortable.” They sighed through a half smile before looking faux serious, their voice low. “And as you may have noticed, I’m not like the other guys.” They leaned their head against him. “Anyone ever just… felt right?”
“Once.” Jerk stiffened at the memory. “No, twice.” He squeezed their hand. “Right-er the second time.”
“You don’t mean?” Kid smiled, bright eyes dancing.
“Maybe.” Jerk turned pink and looked away.
Kid squeezed his hand. “Clark was the first?”
“Dammit Late.” Jerk swore under his breath, still looking away.
“Not Late. You.” Kid squeezed again. “You’re not the black box you think you are.”
Someone honked down on Vonnegut, then again after a minute, leaning on it the second time. Cabbie picking up a fare.
“Clark… We could talk for hours.” Jerk couldn’t meet Kid’s gaze. “He knows so many things. I thought he was like me. I could talk to him from the end of my shift until his shift was over. I’d forget to go and sleep. I…” Jerk sucked in his snot before clearing his throat, an ugly sound. “Fuck you, Clark.”
“Jerk, don’t–” They didn’t finish.
“He told me he was going to leave his girlfriend. Move into The Squat. We’d…” Jerk’s eyes wavered. “We didn’t talk about what would happen next. He’d push it off.”
“And then?”
“Then one day I find out his ‘crazy girlfriend’ is actually his devoted fiancée when she shows up to post bail for him at the same time I do.” Jerk looked away. “I wasn’t special. He was never going to choose me over her.”
“So why hire him back after Tiny fired him?”
“I… He knows the job?” Jerk didn’t even know. “I froze. Giving him a job seemed like the quickest way to make him go away.” He shook his head. “I’m an idiot.”
He reached over Kid and picked up ‘Boycuts for Butches.’ He flipped through.
“Would you cut my hair? If I cut yours?”
Kid blinked. “What?”
“Would… you… cut…” Jerk began repeating each word clearly and distinctly.
“I know what you said but what? Why? Go to Dapper Jack’s.”
“If they won’t cut your hair, I don’t want them cutting mine.” Jerk pointed at his head, where his habit of running his hands through his hair had made his cowlicks stick out defiantly. “It’s not like you’ll make this mess any worse.”
“What if I mess up?”
“That’s why they give you buzz-cut directions.” Jerk pointed at the pile. “Any other cool zines in there?”