Intentional
The Squat. Bathroom. Late September 1995.
“Jerk, I am so sorry.”
“Why? Cowlicks are my hair’s personality.”
Jerk looked in the bathroom mirror again. His bangs were straight enough and the hair on the left side was tame, but the right? The hair stuck out from his head like shrub long gone wild. He ran his hand through the shrub. “If the other side did the same thing, it’d look cool.”
Kid shook their head. “Not really.” The cut Jerk gave them was a touch too short on the top, but they’d teased it and it looked great. Same directions. Something about the cut made their face look longer, jaw sharper. It fit them.
Kid considered his head, squinting one eye and framing his face with their thumbs and index fingers. “Got an idea. You trust me?” They began digging through trimmer attachments before he answered.
Jerk glanced at the mirror, then at Kid. “No reason not to.” The toilet lid made a sharp clack against the seat as he sat on it in surrender. He took his glasses off and held them in his hands. “Please don’t make me look stupider.” He said, looking up at Kid. Their shape was blurry, and he hoped he didn’t he look as nervous as he was. He felt as exposed as a rat in the middle of Livingston Alley.
Kids snapped on an attachment and switched on the trimmers. Jerk closed his eyes. “This will look intentional, promise,” they said, moving in with the trimmer. “Tilt your head.”
Jerk tilted his head and braced as the buzz of the trimmer grew loud in his ear, clutching his glasses tight.
“Do it.”