The Barber

The little village where I am from was shielded by big branded everything. There wasn’t any Guccis, Pradas or any luxury. Everything was affordable to any normal day today person. The supermarket and the farm were the Sunday shopping destination for moms and dads to get their weekly or monthly groceries and their list often included in basic, fresh and nutritious food which are essential. There was no big malls in the town but there was a little shopping complex with a few 20 to 30 shops all smaller than your living room. There was a stationary shop, pharmacy, gift shops, grocery shop, three barber shops and several other different kinds of shops. But my emphasis goes to one specific barbershop. It is true that I buy goods from many regular shops in this complex but this specific barber shop was my favorite. Ever since I could recall my memories as a child who moved to this city different shops came and went in this shopping complex but this specific barbershop was here ever since I could remember. I recall I and my father going to get my haircuts here. The guy was a middle aged, spectacled dark skinned guy who might look mysterious with his stares but actually those stares meant friendliness. I remember my sister crying out loud when she went to get her hair trimmed. And as a big brother I was always glad to be the “boss baby” and show her how it’s done although I hated the itchiness after the trim, the cold after the trim and the certain pain when the razor blades give me. When I was small we would always visit him on Sundays or Saturdays. I can still feel the weekend heat of the sun and the smell of the Sunday newspaper. There was a waiting area for people to stay until the current guy finish his haircut and there were always a ton of reading material in the waiting area.  My dad would always use the waiting time to capture all the news and most people like my dad didn’t mind waiting for the haircut because the time was plenty to grab all the political nonsense they loved to read about. Some days when there were less customers my dad doesn’t get much time to finish the paper. So he would get his haircut and return back to the waiting area to finish reading the paper. I remember both of us saving phone numbers of cars that were for sale off the Sell and Buy section of the newspaper. I didn’t like politics but I loved cars, gadgets and amazing news around the world. So I was soon addicted to this habit of grabbing a newspaper when I enter the barbershop. My barber would always talk to me but I was too shy to talk back with him and I really didn’t have anything to talk with him. Usually my dad stayed with me until my haircut was done and we would leave together but I hated it when he left me to get the haircut saying he will return when my cut is done. Usually he is late and I would either stay on the balcony watching cars driving by after finishing reading all the magazines and newspapers.

I could say all moderately significant milestones of my life passed with this barber. When I was in elementary haircuts were not that significant as long as it was short and formal but when the nuke of adolescent hit the hormones of the pumped up youth, boys wanted long hair, stylish haircuts and hair was the number one matter for many guys. It was true that I didn’t care much about any style. I would comb it with my hand and run to school and I always had my hair trimmed that no teacher could scold me for bad hairstyle or long hair. The other two barbershops in the complex were much more advanced than my one. There were two young guys and they had the good hairstyles, machines and the 21^st century vibe but with a bit higher price tag. Most guys would choose those barber shops because of this. When kids ask me from where I got my haircut I would mention my place. “He doesn’t know how to style it well” The kids would say. “Look he ruined your hair and that’s not stylish” I didn’t mind their comments. I mean the hair was fine to me. Fine to school and he was my favorite barber. It was true that I had visit the other barbers too but they were not friendlier and although they do a good job they didn’t knew me as well as my barber did. It felt like my barber knew every inch of my hair and I was never scared to let him do his job. I never trusted the other barbers around my hair. The only con of my barbershop was the electricity. Power cuts were common around my town and it was no exception to my barbershop. When the power goes out it was a mess and it was a even bigger mess when I couldn’t get my hair trimmed by Monday because I couldn’t go to school having my hair grown like a hobo. When the power is out the door of my barber is usually closed but like I mentioned before the other two barbers had generators allowing them to work non-stop. So that were the handful number of days I went to those barbers. Yet the trims never felt the same. When I were old enough to handle money and travel to places alone I was able to ride my bicycle to the barber shop. There was a little bicycle parking spot near the stairways where I would lock it up and go to the barbershop. When I come alone he would put on a surprised face and ask

“Wow did you come alone?”

“Yep”

“How? Did dad drop you?”

“No I rode my bicycle here”

“Oh good. Did you lock it well?”

That was the usual talk we had. He would appreciate and say I am grown up now and I would pay him and leave like a grown up. I always loved cycling after a hair cut because it makes me sweat and I love a cold bath on Sunday after a sweaty bike ride. I also made sure to buy a magazine or a newspaper while my ride back home.

                                                                        This barber was close to me and was my best friend in the shopping complex yet I never knew his address, what he rides, how he eats etc. My dad knew these information but I never bothered to ask. Some days I would see him on his balcony and he would wave at me. He always thought I was cute and innocent even when I was 20. The shopping complex was also a regular hangout for level 1 gangsters and junkies. There would be fights that include school kids and my barber knew all about this. He was always on watch out if I was in one of these fights. He knew everything about my family and he would tell stories of how I visited him with my grandma when I was little. He also remembered my elder sister who used to trim her hair when she was small and still to this day he can sight her anywhere although it has been years since she last visited him. Like I mentioned before most milestones of my life revolved around my barber. I would get hair cuts for special events but still I never preferred any specific style because of my preference and the rules of the school but when I my school life was over my hair and styles belonged back to me again. “What do you say we do a little style to your hair since you don’t have school anymore?” He asked me when I sat on the chair with my hobo hair.

To be honest I always dreamed of having a hair style but I didn’t dare to tell it to him. I nodded and he started the hum of his trimmer. Pieces of hair fell down and with 20 minutes he gave me the most common hair style kids of the say would cut. It was a serious trim around the head leaving the top with a little more hair. It was kinda like the hairstyle Frankenstein’s monster would ask for if he was a guy. I liked it and it was alright to me.

                                                                        Life rotated around me and my town until it was time to leave everyone behind. I was going to leave for college and it was hard for me realize my life alone. I went for my haircut… probably my last one in town. I was now more conversational and friendlier with him than when I was kid and we would even talk about current social and political matters. We never could have eye contact but we always did from the big mirror in front of me.  Today I revealed him my trip to college and I could feel his happiness erupting from the heart. He wished me and I felt it. It was weird but refreshing. I told him I would be back next year for another haircut and that’s when he gave me his usual unpure smile.

“Son I didn’t tell this to anyone yet but… I am moving to Italy in December…”
That’s how hair and a trimmer brought two strangers together.