Author's note:
First of all, I never saw the place myself and I had never heard it before. I just google mapped and found some pictures for a place that would fit this short story. So, none of the places or characters in this story are real. Not to cause any similarities, I changed the place name a bit.
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As if Tim's parents were adventurous types, they listened to some of their friends and chose this town (or village?) Chunyanthia to stay. Their friends were off-roaders, travelled to every spot without thinking. His father was an architect and his mother was a modern-arts instructor.
And, they were in this place, staying at a primary school which they used to turn into some sort of a hostel during summer. Why? Because their friends set up a tour guide to visit Yucatan archeologic sites and he suggested them stayed in this place. Because, he thought it would be more authentic.
Anyway, Tim didn't make any comments, since he was fine with that. They always visited cliché places like Paris, Amsterdam, so, he found this appealing. When he saw the place, he was a bit disappointed but, they would be staying there only 4 days and he didn't care much. He was an easygoing kid.
He just chose some of the sites they were planning to visit and they agreed that he wasn't going to be with them the whole time.
He hated spending his vacations on a bus, rushing from one place to another, just to see the same things over and over.
In fact, this was the extension of their initial plan. One of his father's friends invited them to his daughter's wedding in Mexico City.
His folks decided to add a few days to that trip and see some historic stuff, which was a clever idea.
He just turned 18 and in their first day in this town, his father decided to find a restaurant to buy him his first cerveza.
Unfortunately there was no such place, so they bought beer from a small store and celebrated it at the school/hotel.
In the morning, they went on their first tour.
When his mother was taking his pictures, she said "Get a haircut, if you don't want to attend the wedding like a mongrel stray dog."
On their way to another site, they dropped Tim in the town, as planned.
He decided to wander around, to see the town. It took 10 minutes.
It was so small that there were no barber shops in it.
On his way back to the hostel, he saw a grocery store. In fact, it said 'Comestibles' in the large sign but he guessed it, looking at the vegetables and fruits piled up in cases in front of it.
It looked more like a shack than a 'tienda'. When he saw the sign that read 'Haircut' in English on the window, he thought he was very lucky. Probably only tourists needed haircut there.
He walked in.
There was a grumpy woman sitting behind the counter, reading a newspaper. Probably around 50 but he first thought she was older.
"Is it possible that I have a haircut? Err, por favor?"
"If you don't have money, get lost. Vete a la mierda." She had a sour voice, a bit annoying. And, rude.
"I-I do, I have money. Why..."
"Then why are you begging for a haircut?" she dropped the newspaper and walked to the next room, mumbling stuff.
Tim stood there, looking at the room she disappeared in.
He thought of leaving, considering the place and the woman. His mother could cut his hair and probably it wouldn't be worse than what that grocer woman would do. But it was a very small town and he could come across...
"What are you waiting for? Come in here!"
He timidly walked in. It looked nothing like a barber shop.
There wasn't even a barber's chair or a mirror in there.
Just a very low stool, placed in the middle of the room and some old newspapers spread under it.
Looking at the newspapers he thought 'At least, it's not like she's doing this the first time'. She had developed a method to do this, as her conditions permitted.
He sat down.
She brought a washbowl and put it in his lap "Hold this tight, don't let it trip or I'll make you wipe the floors."
Up to that age, even his mother or his teachers didn't talk to him like that. Even in their angriest moments, not even using a civil, elegant style.
They chose to say "Don't you think this was a bad idea? Please take some time and consider what you have done." at most.
He was very uncomfortable, still looking at her, holding the bowl without care.
"What are you looking at? Hold it straight, boy! And move your head to the front; I'll wash your hair."
He did as he was told.
He felt how strong and rough this woman was, when she was rinsing his hair.
She had no intention to treat a customer in a gentle way.
"Hold your head tight, don't move it around, you're wetting my floor!"
"S-sorry."
His apology only caused her to grumble, increasing her roughness on his head "I said keep that straight, are you thick? You were almost spilling water!"
He already regretted stepping into that store.
When she was done, she put the kettle on the floor, found a towel to dry his hair off. Then she took the bowl from his hands, emptying it into the toilet across the room.
He hadn't noticed there was a toilet there.
She was walking around, gathering her stuff such as scissors and comb, etc.
She had an insignificant dress on her, showing her curves as she moved around. Not that she had a great body, not at all. If he saw her picture online, he wouldn't spend a split second to look at it.
But being in that awkward room with her, being close to her in person, that was different. He was examining such a body for the first time. Her belly wasn't flat like his mother's, her buttocks were bigger than hers and it was obvious that they never experienced those squads to give them an artificial but perfect shape. They didn't have a perfect shape, they were just...
He thought she had a more womanly body. Not that feminine, but natural.
Her legs looked strong and fine. She had delicate ankles and matching feet. Then he noticed her old slippers. From head to toe, he could see that she didn't spend a minute to look good.
He lost his thoughts when she started clipping his hair. In an interesting way, he had a feeling that she was experienced about it.
The frequency of the clips, the way she was holding his hair, they weren't much different from his regular barber at home.
Of course, he wasn't feeling like his scalp was about to tear of at home.
When she took a break, he waited like that.
Until he heard the sound of a lighter.
He looked up. Her head was almost right above his.
The stool was so small; his face was almost at her waist line. She was looking down at him.
As he was looking up at her face, she inhaled from her cigarette, looking at him. She wasn't in a hurry, watching him look up to her, smoking.
She was shaking one of her legs, looking in his eyes. She had one arm hugging her waist, the other elbow resting on it, as she kept the cigarette close to her face.
Normally, Tim would never stare. At least not that long.
But the way she was staring back at him, he couldn't turn his head away.
This woman was different from any woman he ever saw.
Looking at her, he was thinking that he had to travel a lot, that he was living in a very safe and protected environment. The world was different and interesting. This woman was interesting for example.
