I've always hated going to the barbers. Maybe it dates back to some traumatic event in my childhood, like being dragged there screaming by my father, but truthfully, I just don't know. I just know that all through my school years I hated going to the barber.
I guess by the time I was in college I was old enough to get over that minor phobia, but I got through by snipping at my own hair, which was cheaper anyway, and having my sister cut my hair on holidays. When I moved town to start my first job, I happened on an ad in a grocery store for a hairdresser who worked out of her home. I liked that idea, called up for an appointment, and that was how I met Lynette.
So, for nearly four years no I've been visiting Lynette once every ten weeks or so, something that has never been a chore and it's a whole lot better than going to the barber.
The first time I arrived at her door her husband answered. He was a short, dorky man who seemed awkward and not very personable. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses his ferret-like eyes moved a lot and didn't meet mine, but he let me in to meet Lynette in their kitchen, where she worked on her customers. I liked the fact that there was no mirror in the kitchen and I didn't have to sit for twenty minutes and look at myself.
Lynette was almost a polar opposite of her husband, friendly, sincere, warm and very pretty. Lynette's features were stunning to my eye. She had beautiful, smooth skin, a wide mouth that smiled readily and a perfect small nose that joined with her gorgeous hazel eyes to form most of the expressions that I got to know over the years. Her hair was just longer than shoulder-length, a wonderful shiny light brown and framed her face with fringe that always tried to part in the middle. If there was a criticism to hurl at Lynette, it was that her clothes were always drab -- always good quality clothes, and she was impeccably dressed, but the colors she chose were always dark and seemed to hide away the bodily curves that she definitely had.
Lynette was at least fifteen years older than me but she was always someone I looked forward to spending some time with every few weeks. It was only a few minutes in reality, but it was always a good quality few minutes. I was always perplexed by why such a stunning woman would be with a dorky, almost strange guy, but as I grew in the world I realized that I'd seen stranger couples.
Sitting in Lynette's kitchen chair and having her walk around me and chop my hair was always a pleasure. We talked about any kind of news of the day, nothing too personal, and it was all so easy and comfortable. Her husband never came near us when I was in the kitchen and the most I ever saw of him was when he opened the door or when he called goodbye on my exit. That part of the visits never bothered me.
That particular evening I parked on the street in front of Lynette's house as usual but as I approached the door I noticed that her husband's pick-up truck was missing from the driveway. In four years of coming to see her, this was the first time the truck wasn't there.
The second unusual occurrence of the evening came when Lynette herself answered the door. "Hi Mike." She greeted me with a familiar smile. "Come on in."
As usual she led me straight through to the kitchen but even in those first few seconds I sensed a different air in the house, a different mood in Lynette. I sat down in the waiting kitchen chair and she threw a hairdresser's cape over me. The kitchen and what I could see of the rest of the house looked tidy and very much the same as I'd come to know, but there was a new aura and as we started to small talk while Lynette dampened down my hair, I was pretty sure everything I sensed was coming directly from her.
"How's work?" She asked. "Been promoted again lately?"
I laughed, trying not to move my head as she started to clip. "Not this month. Hopefully in a year or two." I'd been promoted to a Team Lead a couple of months earlier and shared the good news with her on my last visit.
I wanted to ask if there was anything wrong, but somehow didn't know quite how to approach the subject. I was customer and a fleeting friend and really didn't feel close enough to her to make such a personal enquiry. Lynette continued with her work, maybe a little quieter than normal, but not much. For the first time in all of my visits I did not notice how wonderful Lynette smelled, did not notice every time her thighs leaned against my arms or the curve of her breast brushed me as she moved around the chair and did her work.
When Lynette was finishing up I finally managed to pluck up the courage to ask her what was causing the tension in her that I sensed. "Is everything okay Lynette? You seem a little... distracted."
She came around in front of me and pulled the cape with her. She looked a little sad and seemed to search for words before she spoke. "Brian and I... broke up." She seemed relieved to get the words out. "Well, he left me. I guess that's what happened."
"What, today?"
Lynette handed me a mirror so I could check her work. I didn't take the slightest look.
"No, no, it was a couple of weeks ago. I've just not been able to talk about it much." She took the mirror back, either convinced I wasn't going to use it, or paying no attention to my movements. "It's been tough, I haven't been out for a week, but I'll get over it. I'm sorry, you don't need to know all of this."
"It's okay." I tried my best to be a sympathetic adult, a mode I was still developing back then. "I'm just sorry to hear about it. You always seemed so... comfortable together."
Lynette smiled a little at the thought. "Yes, comfortable. I guess I thought the same. Apparently not though, not for him at least."
"It's just a little unsettling." She started to tidy her combs, scissors and neck towels as she spoke. I didn't move from the chair. "I think it's not so much a surprise, when I think about it. It's just hard to deal with, hard to talk about, and I don't think I'm very good at talking with my friends about it yet. You shouldn't have to worry about that though. Your hair looks nice." She obviously tried to shake off the funk.
I knew, as I pulled some cash from my wallet, that I should probably just say "sorry" again and get out of there, but I really did want to help Lynette if I could. I didn't have enough experience of dealing with crappy situations like this, and didn't really know what to say. Fortunately I managed to find something reasonable to offer when I asked, "You know, I understand it's tough, but if you'd like to talk about it... I'm not family or friends. If you'd like to go get a coffee... we could talk a bit. And it would get you out for a while."
"Oh, don't worry about me." was her immediate reply. "I'll be fine. You don't want to waste your evening listening to my sob story."
"No, it's okay." I probably sounded earnest now, mostly because I actually felt like I was being true and did want to help her. "If you want to, we can talk. It will probably do you good; a change of scenery."
I could see her weighing the situation carefully as she used a brush to tidy up my hair on the tiled floor. Should she sit at home and cry all night, or go get a coffee and have a chat with a virtual stranger whose hair she knew a whole lot better than the rest of him? Well, that's what I thought she was thinking.
"Are you sure?" She looked up, broom still in hand and looking vulnerable and forlorn.
"I'm sure."
