Chapter 28: Closed for Thirty Minutes
The Dream House
Book One
Wednesday afternoons were usually the quietest.
At least...
That's what Ruth always said.
"It's the only time I can actually breathe."
She tightened the final braid of her client, dipped the ends into warm water, gently patted them dry with a towel, then turned the chair toward the mirror.
"There."
The young woman gasped.
"Oh my goodness..."
She slowly turned her head from side to side.
"I look like a completely different person."
Ruth grinned.
"No."
She handed her the mirror.
"You look like yourself."
The client stared for several seconds before smiling.
"I needed this."
"So did your hair."
They both laughed.
After the woman left, Ruth stretched her arms high above her head.
"My back is officially sixty-two years old."
Sinnad looked up from sweeping loose hair off the floor.
"It was sixty-four yesterday."
"I'm healing."
"Miraculously."
She picked up a broom.
"Don't make me throw this at you."
"You'd miss."
"I absolutely would not."
"You've got terrible aim."
"You've never seen me throw anything."
"I've seen you play basketball."
"...That doesn't count."
The shop erupted into laughter.
Even the elderly gentleman waiting by the window chuckled.
Business had slowed down enough that only one barber chair was occupied.
The music played quietly.
Sunlight poured through the front windows, warming the wooden floor.
For the first time all week...
Everything felt peaceful.
Sinnad glanced at the clock.
"Alright."
He clapped once.
"Closed."
Ruth blinked.
"What?"
"Thirty minutes."
"We still have appointments."
"In thirty-one minutes."
She looked confused.
"What are we doing?"
He reached behind the front counter.
Pulled out a worn cardboard box.
Inside were sandwiches.
Fresh fruit.
Juice boxes.
Granola bars.
Ruth smiled.
"Oh..."
"You forgot."
"I thought we were doing it tomorrow."
"So did they."
He nodded toward the front window.
Across the street...
Three teenagers sat on the curb.
School backpacks.
Worn shoes.
Sharing a single bag of chips between them.
Ruth quietly grabbed the box.
"You know..."
She smiled.
"...one day I'm going to stop crying over this."
"No."
Sinnad locked the shop door.
"I don't think you are."
The teenagers looked surprised when the two crossed the street.
One of them stood immediately.
"We're not asking for money."
"I know."
Sinnad handed him a sandwich.
"I'm asking if you've eaten."
The boy looked down.
Then quietly admitted,
"...Not since yesterday."
Ruth didn't say anything.
She simply handed juice boxes to the other two.
The smallest girl couldn't have been older than thirteen.
She whispered,
"Thank you."
Then hugged the sandwich before opening it.
Not because she was dramatic.
Because she was hungry.
Very hungry.
Ruth turned away.
Pretending to look at traffic.
She hated when people saw her cry.
Sinnad pretended not to notice.
He respected that.
Instead...
He asked the oldest boy,
"School going alright?"
The boy shrugged.
"I guess."
"You still drawing?"
That caught Ruth's attention.
"You draw?"
The teenager nodded.
"A little."
"A little?"
Sinnad laughed.
"You filled an entire notebook last month."
The boy looked embarrassed.
"It wasn't that good."
"Bring it tomorrow."
"What for?"
"I want to see it."
"No you don't."
"I do."
"It's embarrassing."
"So was my first haircut."
The teenagers laughed.
"I still did it."
The boy smiled.
A real one this time.
"Okay."
"I'll bring it."
Back inside the shop...
Ruth quietly sat in one of the barber chairs.
Watching the empty room.
Watching the sunlight bounce off the mirrors.
"You know..."
She spoke softly.
"...I never asked."
"What?"
"Why do you do this every week?"
Sinnad shrugged.
"Someone once did it for me."
"Your dad?"
He smiled.
"No."
"Miss Carmen."
Silence.
"I was fourteen."
He continued sweeping.
"She told me..."
He stopped.
Looked around the shop.
"...'If success only feeds you...'"
He smiled.
"...then you're still hungry."
Ruth slowly repeated the words to herself.
"If success only feeds you..."
"...then you're still hungry."
She looked around the barbershop.
At the chairs.
The mirrors.
The photographs.
The trophies.
The certificates.
Then she looked at Sinnad.
"I want my own salon someday."
"I know."
"How?"
"You've rearranged the waiting room six times this month."
"I was improving it."
"You were practicing."
She laughed.
"I guess I was."
He leaned the broom against the wall.
"When your salon opens..."
She looked at him.
"...I want my first haircut free."
"You don't even have enough hair."
"I'll still expect the discount."
She pointed a finger at him.
"Deal."
They shook hands.
Neither of them realized...
Someone had been watching through the front window.
A young man.
Sketchbook tucked under his arm.
The same teenager from across the street.
He wasn't looking at the barber chairs.
He wasn't looking at the mirrors.
He was sketching...
Sinnad.
Without saying a word.
Because sometimes...
The greatest influence isn't what people hear.
It's what they quietly witness.