...The Salon...

The Salon

(for my good friend, Peej.)

Damien stared at his own reflection in the mirror, not minding the blur of people moving up and about. "This is the last time I'm getting bullied into getting a haircut.", he thought to himself, as this was the nth time his mom bribed and forced him to get one. It was beginning to be a ritual that he was starting to get sick of. His mom's voice resounding like a horrid echo, "I guess unruly hair really runs in the family, and I'm not planning to have cave man for a son."

He was getting tired of the waiting but didn't plan on associating himself with the magazines and other publications available at his tableside. An attendant tapped his shoulder,"Sir, lipat na lang po tayo dun sa may likod para masimulan na po natin ang gupit nyo.", and signalled him somewhere three chairs away from where he was sitting. Damien sighed at thought of having to carry his heavy backpack and transfer. He then picked up his stuff and dragged his feet, found the seat, dropped his yellow Jansport on the shiny tiled floor, and slumped on the chair. Damien then started to look again at his reflection in the mirror and made faces, turning his face a little bit to the right and again to the left. Grinning like a school boy and the other moment like a dashing cavalier. He then looked for his best angle, moving his head up and down, right to left again and smiling like a fool. It was when he swung to the left that he noticed a pair of eyes staring at him, through the mirror. All of a sudden, he felt the need to straighten up and sit properly.

The bells then chimed as a customer walked out of the salon, Damien saw this as a good opportunity to get a better look at his audience. He then pretended to get something from his backpack and tried his best to get a glimpse. His audience turned out to be a man around his age too, much taller, wearing thin-rimmed glasses, garbed in light blue long sleeves and black slacks. Damien turned his gaze at the man's shiny and pointed shoes and found it amusing. "Must be Italian.", Damien mumbled to himself. But he took so much time admiring his stalker that the man lifted his eyes from the magazine that he was leafing thru, and met Damien's eyes.

For once in his life, he felt vulnerable, as if the whole world suddenly melted away into nothingness and he was face to face with Cupid himself. Damien opened his mouth but no words came out, and all he could muster was a big smile. The man returned the gesture and gave him a wink, removed his glasses and continued to stare at Damien. At that moment, one of the attendants approached the man and gave him his receipt and change. After the attendant walked away, the man slowly picked up his glasses and briefcase on the side table.

"I have to think fast." , Damien thought to himself. Then he met the guy's gaze again and smiled. The man then gave him a sad puppy dog look, as if to signal his departure. Damien then reached for his phone, fumbled with the keypad and found his phonebook. He then held it up at the man and whispered, "Can I get your number?". The man's smile widened at those words and walked over to Damien's side of the room and reached for the phone. The man then consciously brushed his hand against Damien's wrist before getting the phone and typing in his contact numbers and putting in his name. He then gave the phone back to Damien and gave his last smile before walking out the door, with the bells sounding his exit .

Damien couldn't believe what he just did, and he could still feel the electricity from that brush of skin on skin. He could still feel the heat emanating from his phone, and remembered that the man left his number. On the screen he found heaven, NATHAN 09212609595.

"I guess having a haircut isn't really that bad.", he thought to himself as the attendant started to snip here and there. Damien then smiled at his reflection and grinned like a school boy in love.