Abby.

“You told me things weren't going well,” I say to Milton above the booming reggae music.

He smiles at me while pushing a machine in a man's head. “What can I tell you? I might have told a friend of a friend who told their friends that I hired extra help.”

I don't understand what he means but I nod. When I came in this morning around ten, it was quiet. Milton had time to explain to me the basics of running a barbershop. I have never given anyone a haircut except cutting mom's split ends, but that's as far as it went. I was honest with him, and he showed me the simple brush cuts or hair trims. He said I would get the hang of it with time, but I should stick to the simpler stuff.

Around eleven, he released me for an early lunch break because there was no one. But when I return, the spacious space seems to have shrunk because almost all the seats are filled now.

The place needs some retouching and I hope I will get close enough to suggest that to Milton. It's in a nice and busy spot in town if he renovated the brown walls to something fancier like peach black or ambient yellow,  it would be perfect.

“Hello.” I stand behind the woman who has been staring at her phone since the time I walked in.

“Hey,” she says, looking up. Her eyes meet mine through the mirror, and I put a smile on my face.

“I'm Abby, what would you like to get today?”

The woman chews on her heart-shaped lips for a while before shrugging. “I don't know, can you do like yours?”

I look at her black hair; it's long and thick. I don't know how to tell her that I am not very experienced with perfect trims. But that's outright crushing my ego, so I wrap a black apron around her neck and don one myself. I look over at Milton, hoping he will stop me but he is too busy to notice. I grab some scissors.

I have no idea what I'm fucking doing, and neither does the woman. She keeps her eyes on her phone, watching reels on sewing videos. I'm glad and nervous that she is not looking, because when she looks she will cry.

My mind wanders to earlier this morning, Simone's face popping up in my head. She looked carefree until she saw me; it was as if she had come face to face with her worst nightmare because she looked away as fast as she looked at me. It hurt to see her rip her eyes from me like that.

I know this is a mistake. I should ask Milton for help, I should drop the scissors and just—-

Too late, I've cut a huge chunk of her hair without meaning to, and now the back side is way too short. I don't know how to fix this, but it's not like I grew up with scissors.

I think Milton will fire me after this, I brace myself and continue cutting.
The end product is horrendous, and it looks nothing like my hair. I want to run and hide, but I brush the hair off the woman's shoulders, and that propels her to look up in the mirror.

The expression on her face is unreadable. I can't tell what she is thinking or feeling, but I know what I'm feeling: dread.

“This...” She pulls on her hair. Now, when she is looking up, it is too short; it's almost just under her cheek. “This is too short, what have you done?”

“You—”

“Oh my god!” The woman is screaming and she is making a scene. Trust me I would too. I stay still and watch her rant. “Do you have any idea what you were doing?”

Milton comes to my aid, I hope because he stands next to me, equally watching the woman in shock.

“What the hell is this?” He leans into my ear.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper back.

Milton looks confused and pissed. I'm afraid he might slap the hell out of me. Instead, he places his hands on the woman's shoulders.

“I'm so sorry, Ma'am, my new employee is just starting to get it. I can fix this,” he says, confidently.

The other people are now staring at the woman and are waiting for her response. But she just slumps into the chair.

“I should sue her for this.”

“Yes, you should,” Milton says, and I can't tell if he is serious or not.

I stand still.

“You guys should refund me for this!”

“We totally will,” Milton says, and I know that's right off my paycheck if I get one after this.

I blame Simone for this; if I didn't think of her so much, I would not have made this mistake.

Milton works his magic, and before we all know it, he has turned the woman's ugly cut into something hot and awesome. It's a pixie cut and I think it makes the woman ten times cuter.

I think she knows it too because when she lifts her eyes to look in the mirror, there's a ghost of a smile on her face even when she says, “I haven't forgiven you.” She glares at me.

I nod. I don't expect her to, I would not forgive anyone who would do that to my hair.

The woman dusts herself and leaves. I turn to Milton, ready to beg for his mercy. I'm not ready to go job hunting again, it's a stressful process.

And I'm already stressed as it is.

“Milton, I'm so so—”

“Go home and think about what you've done,” he says like he is my father scolding me. “You could have cost me everything today.”

I nod. He is right. Maybe I should just quit.

Without another word, I turn to leave.

“I expect you early tomorrow!” Milton screams after me and it makes my cheeks warm.

I look over my shoulder, there's a stern expression on his face but his eyes are still warm. “You got it, boss.”

I told the sitter I would be home by six or seven, but it's still not that late. I can spare a few minutes, so I make my way to the bar down the street. The woman behind the counter is that scary, huge one; when she sees me, she offers something close to a smile.

“What can I get you?”

“Just a beer,” I say.

“You've got to be kidding me,” A familiar voice I've heard all afternoon erupts from beside me. I look up to find the woman with the hot pixie cut.

“Oh, this is not—”

“Are you following me? That's sick you know?”

“Look, lady, I'm sorry I cut your hair and all but I'm here with completely different motives. I'm just grabbing a beer, I had quite a day.”

“Prove it.”

“What?” My eyebrows furrow.

She scoffs. “I thought so.” Then she stands up, gathering her things to leave with a half glass of her drink.

“Hey, hey, hey.” I stand in front of her, blocking her way. “Can you at least give me a chance to prove I'm not a bad person and I cut your hair by mistake?”

“Now why would I do that?” Her frame is so petite even when her moth spits words like she practices everything.

“Because I said I was sorry.”

She squints her dark eyes. “I didn't hear that.”

“I'm sorry.”

She looks at me, a thorough head-to-toe examination before she sits back on her bar stool. “You have five minutes.”

Unsurprisingly, five minutes turns into a full hour of us drinking and laughing. She tells me her name is Kenya and she works in real estate. Kenya is a delight to be around even when I admit; my eyes keep running back to her busty chest.

I need to stop this; I need to stop finding any woman I meet attractive because I'm bored and lonely.

When I glance at my time, it's way beyond what I promised the sitter so I tell Kenya I would see her around. We exchange numbers and I leave.

But my mood changes when I get home. Home means Beth, and home means Simone.

Home means reality.

Reality hurts.

++++

Hi gentle reader.
We can all day hi to Kenya 🤭

NOMMY 🔥