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"Razor Burn"
by John Payne
Fall 1996
When I was 17, some thing awakened inside me; something primitive and hairy that bellowed to be unleashed. The thing came from MTV, on an afternoon when my soul had been lulled and hypnotized by the pulsing beats, so I had no defense against the monster. I was lying there on the floor, watching this video for a song called "Wicked Garden," and the singer, Waylan, had this close-cut, unruly beard that absolutely entranced me. With that wild scruffy ring of hair framing his face, he looked untamed and virile, like some proud, uncaged wilderness creature. A faerie voice inside me whispered the magical word, "cool," and I was helplessly spellbound, unable to resist. At that moment, more than anything else in this world, I desperately wanted a beard.
Before this, I thought facial hair was a mark of adolescent stupidity, mostly because Todd Winter and a couple of my other friends had these really bad teenage moustaches-- you've seen the type-- they let these 5 or 6 blonde hairs on their upper lip go unshaved for weeks, hoping that somehow these few stringy hairs will transmogrify somehow into a real moustache. Whenever I saw Todd, I would mock him-- I would make these buzzing electric razor noises and shave my lip with an imaginary razor. I had never given facial hair a chance. But as I saw that bearded wonder on MTV, I realized the difference between my Todd Winter's pitiful attempts and the mighty, burly thing that erupted from Waylan's chin.
My family was strictly clean-cut, though, and my parents would never understand my ridiculous dream. So I laid low and waited until Spring Break, when the whole family took off for a family reunion at Colter Bay. Fortunately, I had a couple of debate tournaments happening that week that I just couldn't miss, so I stayed home alone. While they were gone, my wild hopes became reality, and with the shadowy beginnings of a beard, my best buddy Kelly Wurtz and I gleefully celebrated for a whole week. We stayed up late and watched movies and lived off pizza and Yan-Yan's fine Chinese cuisine. Wurtzy even tried to get some scruff going, but the Angel of Puberty had passed him by so far, and nothing came of it. By Friday, though, I had shaved all but my chin, and had a real goatee. You had to look closely to see it, and even then it was scraggly and wispy and thin, and sort of an orange color, but it was there, and it was mine. Finally, I understood Todd Winter. He was just another poor enchanted soul like me.
Then the family came back. When Dad walked in the door, he gave a little start. He walked over to me, took my face in his hands and gave me a clinically examining look, frowning and making little "Hmmm" noises. Then he gave me a teasing smile.
"Son, what's that on your chin? Come here, m'dear," he shouted out the door to Mom. "look at this. It looks like your son forgot to wash his face this morning-- he's got a little dirt on his chin." He was chuckling and chortling like he'd said something really funny. I just waited and put up with it. Then Mom got in the act.
"Now John," she said, pursing her lips and putting her hands on her hips, and scowling at me, "We said you could only stay here alone if you promised to take a bath and wash your face every day." She wagged her finger at me, and I just rolled my eyes. Mom always thinks it just a hoot when she talks to us like we're 6 years old. Like I'm supposed to think that's funny. Like she doesn't treat us like that for real anyway. But I stood there and took it.
"Maybe that's why he gets whiteheads," Dad said. "He doesn't wash his face."
Right about then, Mom took her cue to grab me and start popping whiteheads on my face, and since there's no way I wanted her doing that, I pushed her hands off of me. Personally, I don't think I have a problem. When I look in the mirror, I don't even see any-- or not that many, for sure. Sometimes I think she just does this to torture me.
"No! Come on, leave me alone! I don't want you touching my face!"
"Don't you love your poor old mother?" Mom said, batting her eyelashes and smiling this smile that's supposed to let me know she's kidding around. Like I'm going to just smile and play along. Of course, I just didn't say anything at all. If I said yes, then she'd attack me again. And I can't say no. So I just gave her a look that let her know I was not amused by all this smiling and playing around.
I sighed in exasperation. "Mom, Dad, I know you think this is really funny, but you know that I have washed my face. This is not dirt on my chin. It's a beard."
"Well, if you say so." Dad shrugged and smiled. "Looks like dirt to me."
"Dad!"
"Just make sure you shave for church tomorrow," he said as he started unpacking all the stuff from the vacation.
Oh, I was mad, but I wimped out in the end and shaved it off. In a few days, though, I was trying again. I didn't have to shave every day yet, so I had a couple of days where I wouldn't need an excuse, and then I just had to "forget" or be too busy a few more times and I was in business. It doesn't take much scruff to make a fairly respectable high school goatee. . .
Want to read the rest of the story? Just let me know and I'll send it on out to you.
The Archive : Stories / Plays / Poetry / Essays / the Gold Monkey Project
The Archive : Stories / Plays / Poetry / Essays / the Gold Monkey Project
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