Death Benefits by Sarah N. Harvey

tangy—ammonia maybe, or peroxide. “Time for a change?” she asks me.
    I shrug. “Maybe. What do you think?”
    â€œDefinitely,” Kim says, leading me over to a shampooing station and draping a zebra-print cape over my shoulders. I lean back and close my eyes as she wets my hair and massages shampoo into my scalp. Her breasts are only inches from my face. It doesn’t take long before I am deeply grateful for the voluminous cape covering my lap. When she is finished, we make our way over to a cutting station where I adjust myself surreptitiously while Kim assembles her tools and combs my hair. Arthur has taken up residence on a white leather couch and appears to be asleep.
    â€œSo…what were you thinking?” Kim asks.
    â€œI wasn’t. Arthur was.”
    â€œArthur.” She laughs. “What a character.”
    I nod at myself in the mirror as she runs her fingers through my wet hair. Her lips are pursed and she is frowning slightly, as if my hair is confusing her somehow.
    â€œTake it all off,” I say. I have no idea why I’ve grown my hair this long, and I have no idea how I know it’s time to cut it off. I just do.
    â€œYou sure?”
    â€œYup. All of it. I want to see what my skull looks like.”
    â€œJust what I was thinking,” Kim replies. “You have a beautiful skull. Let’s get it out of hiding.”
    It doesn’t take long. And as it turns out, I do have quite a shapely skull. She has left a bit of fuzz—for girls to touch, she says, although I have my doubts about that. I run my hands over the fuzz and stare at myself in the mirror. I look completely different—older, for sure, and tougher.
    Arthur wakes up with a snort and glares at me.
    â€œYou joining the army, boy?”
    â€œOh, Arthur,” Kim says. “Stop your nonsense. He’s gorgeous. Just look at that shape.” She glides her hand over my fuzzy head and gives a small shiver. “Gorgeous,” she repeats. “Your turn now,” she says as she helps Arthur to the shampoo station.
    â€œWhy don’t you get yourself a coffee next door, Royce?” Kim says as she snugs the cape around Arthur’s scrawny neck. “Just tell them to put it on my tab.”
    I nod and go to the coffee shop, where I’m pretty sure the barista, a guy about my age, is flirting with me while he makes my drink. It’s not my scene, but even so I take it as confirmation that I’ve done the right thing. It’s weird to feel the air on my scalp. Exposed, but also free. Free of what, I’m not exactly sure.
    When I get back to the shop, Arthur is bald. Totally bald. No fuzz even. Shaved to the skin. Shiny. And grinning from ear to ear, which is almost as scary as his bald head. His teeth aren’t exactly white. The term death’s-head comes to mind.
    â€œHoly shit, Arthur,” I say.
    â€œHoly shit, indeed, Royce,” he says. “Where’s my coffee?”
    â€œCoffee?” Was I supposed to get him a coffee? I can’t stop looking at his head. And mine. Side by side in the mirror I see something even scarier than his bald head: a family resemblance. My head is the same shape as his, from my wide, high forehead right down to a couple of prominent bumps at the base of my skull. Our noses are identical—the Jenkins beak. I run my hand over the back of my head and he cackles.
    â€œBonking bumps,” he says.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThey’re called bonking bumps—the ones at the base of your skull. Size does matter. I had a girlfriend who believed in phrenology. We tested her theory—often.”
    Kim rolls her eyes and helps him out of the chair. He pats her ass, and she winks at me and says, “Runs in the family, then, does it?”
    Who knew an entire head could blush? Or that a wink could be so welcome?
    When we get home I give Arthur his lunch, and he sleeps for nearly two hours. When he