Sasha Green loved being a barber, everything about it made her revel in joy from opening the shop in the morning, to the long walk home in the evening. She would spend any moment not spent barbering imagining new and better ways to cut hair, shave stubble, and what lotions would go best with which people, because she believed that each concoction of oils and lotions was much like the people she applied them to, no one exactly alike and each of them beautifully special in its own way.
The customers, oh how she loved the customers; the smell of their hair, the sometimes nonsensical contours of their skin, and her job afforded her a level of intimacy that would certainly not be abided in any other profession. People listened to her when they sat in her chair, and why not? When she spoke to someone in that chair, her word was practically law; she would have the very last word on any new style a client wanted to try, any brash and daring colors they wanted their hair to be, and no one dared question her. After all the decisions were made, she would delve deeper, beyond and below the fragile surfaces that she sculpted and repaired, and partook in deep and meaningful conversations with the customer, from the monotony of their weekly lives, to their fondest memories, their deepest hopes and their darkest fears. They trusted her implicitly, their head cradled in her tensile and deliberate fingers, fingers holding the sharpest instruments you'd ever hope to find, and yet in Sasha's care, not one customer in her tenure had left with so much as a scratch.
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Her chair, the only chair in her cozy little studio, was a fine restoration of an old Prohibition-era model, with solid polished oak frame, and upholstered with a warm chocolate-brown leather that made it seem so inviting that it might as well have a voice of its own, beckoning every passerby to come and have a sit. She had a large window installed to replace the wall separating her studio from the street outside, in the building's old age, the wall had become infested with nasty molds of various colors, and rather than spend exorbitant amounts of time and money to remove the molds, she'd simply had the wall removed entirely to be replaced by a large pane of solid (and quite mold-proof) glass. This seemed to help her business in other ways, with the natural light coming in during the day, her customers could see their new looks as the light of the sun hit them, a sensation she equated to "seeing yourself for the very first time", and her customers loved the sense of rejuvenation and renewal that it granted them.
Sasha's daily routine was always the same, and yet always different; from open to close her chair was full of people who wanted touch-ups, trims, shaves, dye jobs, and at odd intervals the "complete change-up makeover". None of which ever happened without Sasha's approval, she'd never allow someone to leave her studio looking foolishly groomed. Today was the second Tuesday of the month, and aside from the steady stream of tourists seeking her skills, her regulars would include Tom Rinner for his bi-weekly hair cut, Ida Moffat for a trim of her much-hated split ends, Susan Nolton for another phase of an ongoing technicolor dye job, the end result of which would make her hair appear to be a cascading rainbow that Sasha found immense fun in undertaking, and finally Old Man Jenkins for his weekly application of Dr. Gold's Beard Taming Oil, a ritual he'd remained faithful to since his sixtieth birthday at which he decided that he would grow a beard and answer only to the name Old Man Jenkins, rather than his previous Ivan Pharrel. Of all Sasha's clients, he was one of her favorites.
With her in the studio, as always, was Sasha's assistant, secretary of appointments, hair sweeper, coffee getter, and idle debate opponent, the multi-talented yet slightly overworked Jacqui Lawson. Hired around the time Sasha's independent venture had blossomed into a legitimate business, it was Jacqui's duty to see to all affairs while Sasha's hands were full, that being a rather large portion of the day, and as conversations with the clients only lasted until they left the chair, to help in exercising Sasha's mind (which on the slower days was prone to wander) with stimulating conversation and intelligent debate. The fact that this also kept them both cheery through the day was a most welcome side effect; before long into Jacqui's employment, the two had fostered a unique and highly cherished friendship.
As with most second Tuesdays of the month, today seemed as predictable as always, with just a few small wrinkles. Sasha couldn't exactly identify what it was, but something on this day was definitely peculiar, in that vague, itchy, shifty way that told you your day was strange. It took the two of them about three hours into the day, being sidetracked by regulars and conversation, before they realized what one of the particular oddities was; glancing out the large window, everyone walking the street outside was walking in the same direction. Odd, since a variety of businesses peppered the neighborhood and pedestrian traffic was always an erratic dance of dozens of people going from personal point A's to point B's. What could be happening to draw everyone to the same direction? This confounded Sasha, and while Jacqui knew she was free to simply step out of the studio and ask someone, it was much more fun to try and come up with increasingly preposterous explanations while Sasha performed her craft, trying not to laugh too hard at Jacqui's silly theories.
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"A mind-controlling fungus, Jacqui?" Sasha began to argue, "honestly I thought you said you were going to give those old sci-fi movies a break. And besides, the nearest lake is east of here, why would fungus living in people's brains move west, away from the nearest source of moisture?"
"Well obviously the fungus knows everything that the people know," Jacqui retorted, "and one of those things happens to be the fact that we have irrigation systems and handy bottles full of water, the nearest stockpile of which is the grocery store, the one just a few streets west of here."
"Oh my god, what do you think will happen when the Mushroom People find their way to the produce section?" Sasha began to laugh, "When they see all the little mushrooms sliced, diced, and shrink-wrapped and- and probably on SALE, no less!"
"It'll most likely be a complete overreaction on their side." Jacqui began to hypothesize, "They'll most likely declare a full scale war on humanity and quickly conquer the world a-la Planet of the Apes. Honestly though, I didn't see Mushroom People as a possible apocalypse; mushroom clouds, but not Mushroom People."
Even after noticing the odd foot traffic of the people outside, something still made Sasha itch about today. She looked at the calendar, decorated with circles and arrows denoting important dates, but today was completely bare, there was nothing to forget, so why did she feel like she was trying to remember something?
The gentle jingle of the studio's doorbell broke Sasha's concentration as her eyes darted to see her next client, and to her surprise, the probable cause of the itchy feeling. It was Marcus Feldman, once one of her regulars, but for the past four months had not so much as set foot in the studio, or anywhere within sight of her window for that matter, how delightfully odd.
"Marcus!" Sasha and Jacqui shouted in happy surprise. With his brown hair down to his shoulders, it was clear that the young man hadn't been to see Sasha, or any barber for that matter, any time in the last third-year. Sasha had thought he'd simply moved to another town after his 18th birthday, as was the custom of many college-bound teens. To see an old regular again after such a long hiatus was something that always made her smile, but something about Marcus' demeanor told her that the feeling wasn't entirely mutual at the moment.
"H-hi Sasha... um... any chance you've got a walk-in slot available?" Marcus asked, his nervousness couldn't be any more obvious. "I... kinda need a haircut."
"Well lucky for you Marcus, today's been kinda slow. Everybody seems to be making their way west for some reason."
"Oh that's for my Grandpa's wake, he passed away last week and well, you know how everyone knew Grandpa Feldman, they're all off to pay their respects."
"Oh Marcus, I'm so sorry. I loved your grandpa, hell everyone did. He was practically the heart of the whole town, always had a smile on his face, inviting people to his barbecues, and as far as the rich and retired go I've never seen anyone as generous with their wealth as him." Sasha was about to ask if Grandpa Feldman went peacefully, but judging from how off Marcus looked, decided it probably wouldn't be very polite to prod any further.
"Yeah..." Marcus sighed, "Grandpa was a really awesome guy. Even up until he passed he insisted that nobody be sad on account of him, so instead of the whole traditional black funeral clothes he insisted nobody be let in unless they're wearing something they'd normally wear on a Tuesday, he even has my dad and uncles working grills so people can treat it like another one of his big barbecues. It's easier to remember the good times with him that way, which I guess is the way he would've wanted it. He even gave instructions to auction off his stuff and give all of the money to the local homeless shelter. Well, everything that he didn't specifically give away in his will. I suppose he wanted specific people to have special mementos of their time with him, he even left me his big armchair that he used to read stories to me in when I was little." Marcus casually thumbed away a tear at the memory as his voice cracked. "I never realized how much that chair meant to me until I saw that he left it to me."
The three of them stood in silence for a few moments until Jacqui spoke up. "Well someone once told me that some people bring joy wherever they go, some whenever they go. You're gramps really set the bar, Marcus. We're all gonna miss him"
"Thanks, Jacqui." Marcus said, cracking a polite smile. "That's actually a pretty good one, I might use that at the picnic to lighten the mood a little. Actually that's why I'm here, I'm supposed to give like, a speech or something in honor of Grandpa, I figure I owe it to him to look my best, so who else but Sasha Scissorhands?"
Sasha smiled at the mention of her nickname, it reminded her of people spreading rumors that the scissors stayed in her hands for such a long time that they bonded to her fingers.
"Well have a seat Marcus, we'll get you all gussied up for your big speech." Jacqui said, gesturing towards the only chair in the room.
"Thanks ladies, I really appreciate it. If either of you ever need a last minute favor-"
"Actually, there's something I'd like to know." Sasha cut Marcus off. "Marcus why haven't we seen you around lately? You used to be a regular but then you just up and vanished, and by the looks of it you haven't seen any other barber in the last four months and correct me if I'm wrong but I never took you for the type of guy who grows his hair out on a whim, what gives?"
Marcus lowered his gaze to the floor while Sasha fitted the large black canvas over every part of him from the neck down. It wasn't until she began cutting his jagged edges of hair that he finally started to speak again.
"I'm sorry Sasha, I wanted to tell you but... I was afraid."
"Afraid of what I might think? What do you mean?"
"Not afraid of what you might think, afraid of you."
"Why would you be afraid of me? We've known each other for... what's it been, Jacqui, seven years?"
"Eight years, I'm pretty sure." Jacqui confirmed.
"Whichever, still a long time Marcus, why would you just all of a sudden start being afraid of me?"
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"Well, if you want the simple truth, it was something Izabelle told me. She said I'd meet my end in a barber's chair. She didn't say when, but when my time came, I'd be 'sitting in the chair of a barber' her exact words."
"Oh... I see." Sasha said, suddenly pensive in her combs and cuts.
Izabelle was a relatively old fortune teller and palm reader, normally a career that Sasha would shrug off as just an expensive way to kill fifteen minutes and get no useful advice or accurate forecasts even as far as an hour, Izabelle had an uncanny accuracy rating. So much so that it was rumored that she was the real deal. Sure some of the predictions she made never came true, like the winning lottery numbers spelling out the time of the mayor's death down to the minute, which prompted the mayor to hide in his office for 24 hours straight until that time had passed in every single time zone. But Izabelle's predictions were normally on point, which meant if she had something to say to you and you had a single brain in your head, you'd do well to listen. And unless you were a complete degenerate, you'd at least tip her enough to get some lunch.
"And so what prompted this sudden act of bravery? I've never known you to be one to tempt fate Marcus, always playing it safe, hell you never even crossed the street without the 'walk' signal on."
"Well actually, during the last few days of his life, Grandpa kind of imparted a lot of advice to me. He told me 'Marc, don't you ever let fear of death keep you from living. Trust me, the Grim Reaper's a nice guy, and if you got some good stories when he comes for you, he'll probably take you the scenic route on the way to the other side.' So I decided that even if I died here today, I'll probably just make some wise crack to the Reaper like 'whoops, looks like she took too much off the top!'"
Sasha and Jacqui both started laughing at that thought.
"Besides Sasha, you're the best barber the town's ever had, you've had literally thousands of people in this chair and you've never so much as nicked an ear in all that time, after a while I figured if I died in your chair, it'd probably be from something I couldn't avoid anyway; like an atom bomb or a fire or-"
"Or pissed off Mushroom People." Jacqui added, followed by a short pause, followed by laughter.
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"Well Marcus, I'm glad you could bring yourself to stare death in the face." Sasha said, spinning the chair around so that Marcus could face the mirror, "And I think you'll find the reward for such bravery is a pretty damn good haircut, if I do say so myself." And it was true, Marcus marveled at how, even with complete absence of instruction, Sasha had made him look exactly as he imagined he would.
Marcus let out a sigh of relief, "Well, this time at least, I guess I'll be tempting fate every two weeks for the rest of my natural life, huh?" Sasha gave a small smile as she removed the canvas and collected her fare, with a rather generous tip. "I'll see you both again next next Tuesday, go ahead and start putting me on the schedule." Marcus said as he strolled out the door, walking as though he had just dropped a giant boulder off of his shoulders.
"This town gets stranger and stranger every day, seems like." Jacqui said, sweeping up the loose hair on the ground. "But I suppose it's better than stagnating in some boring city."
"Exactly why you'll never catch me working at a Paul Mitchell." Sasha replied, "I live for days like these."
Again the gentle ring of the doorbell broke Sasha's and Jacqui's concentration as they saw their next client.
"Old Man Jenkins!" Sasha happily shouted, "The same old oil treatment again?"
"Damn skippy, maybe a trim too, I'm s'poseda give a speech at Old Feldman's wake, seein's how I knew him the longest of anyone else in town."
Sasha's face saddened at the mention of Grandpa Feldman's passing again.
"Oh now don't you start gettin' all sad on his account. Last thing he ever wanted you young'uns to do when you thought of him was frown."
Sasha took a deep breath and forced a smile out of her face, "You're right Mr. Jenkins, tell you what, you're my last appointment today, so after we get your beard in order we'll close up shop and all head over to the wake together."
"First of all, I don't know where this 'mister' business is coming from, you know damn well you say the whole thing; 'Old Man Jenkins'. Second, yes, a nice walk with you lovely ladies sounds pretty nice, provided those sons o' his don't run out of those pulled pork sammiches."
"So what do you think you'll say at the wake, Mist- Old Man Jenkins?" Jacqui asked, flipping the "OPEN" sign on the door to "CLOSED". "You probably got a lot of good stories about Mr. Feldman, right?"
"Missy I got enough stories about that old coot to fill one big-ass book, I swear that man never took a damn day to rest, even after he got the bad news from the doctor, it was like he was in a race with time over how much he could get done. He took classes, online lessons, got his PhD in Mathematics, his CPA, his real estate license, hell he was even a licensed barber!"
"A barber?" Sasha asked, while combing oil into Old Man Jenkins' beard. "I never knew he wanted to be a barber."
"Oh he didn't, never planned to actually do anything with it at least, figure gettin' the license was just something he could do in the amount of time he had left."
"Hey Sasha?" Jacqui piped, "I just got a shiver... you remember what Marcus said Izabelle told him? About the barber's chair?"
"I do." Sasha said, still combing Old Man Jenkins' beard.
"And what he said about his grandpa leaving him that old armchair?"
"...Well I'll be damned," Sasha said, with her smile completely vanished. "Sounds like I owe Izabelle a lunch."
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