wesleybracken:

Commissioned by Anonymous

The bells above the door gave a dry jangle as the door opened, and Nick stepped into the barber shop. It was late afternoon, and the dust on the windows and in the air could be seen clearly in the evening light, giving him the odd impression that he’d stepped into a sepia photograph. The small room was empty for a few moments, until an older man stepped out from the backroom, the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up to the elbows, wearing a red and white bow tie matching the barber pole which had initially caught Nick’s attention outside. “Good afternoon, my boy—here for a haircut?” the man asked.

“Oh, well, no…” he said, looking around. He’d really only been interested in the older building’s facade, and had stepped inside to see if there had been any odd details inside which might be worth seeing. “No, I’m an architect—the facade caught my eye, and I thought I’d just take a look around inside, if you don’t mind.”

The older man shrugged, “You’re welcome to look around, if you’d like. Though if you change your mind, just say the word, and we can tackle…that.”

The smile that followed was genuine enough to disarm the slight insult, and Nick ran his hand through his hair, which hovered somewhere between disheveled and neck length. When was the last time he’d gotten it cut? He didn’t know—he avoided getting it done, really. It always felt like a chore, and it didn’t help that he never really knew what he wanted. Still, he had the feeling that he ought to say something—defend himself and his look—but the man had already turned around and gone into the back, leaving Nick alone in the front room.

He looked around, happy to see that details from the past design had been cared for, rather than removed and updated into a mish-mash of styles, like so many other older buildings in the city. Still, the same thing which had drawn his attention to the building in the first place was felt inside as well. The facade, while old, was difficult to place in time. Not quite Art Deco, not quite Streamline Moderne, with odd Nouveau touches throughout. It was old, and yet at the same time, oddly timeless. As he looked around, he caught sight of himself in the mirror, blushed and looked away, feeling a bit silly after the barber’s earlier comment. He did look like a mess, he realized, and certainly less than professional. He really should do something with it, but…what? He hated most styles that were popular these days, and the necessity of upkeep just bored him. He wasn’t a model, and he had no real interest in looking like one.

He walked back, found the barber at a small desk working with some receipts. “Pardon me, but do you know when this building was built?”

“I don’t, actually,” the barber said, “I inherited the space here from my father, but I’m fifty-six, and it was well established when I was a boy, if that helps. Still, even if it is old, it has a certain charm, don’t you think?” He rifled through some papers on his desk and came up with a photograph, “Here—this is my father out in front. I was about…twelve or so when that picture was taken, I believe.”

Nick took the old photograph and took a look at the older gentleman in the photo, the young boy standing next to him. He looked like a character who did not have much patience for play or small talk. Not necessarily mean, though perhaps a bit aloof. The beaming boy next to him seemed happy enough holding his hand. He handed the photograph back after a few more moments. “Nice looking man.”

“He certainly was—where do you think I got my own style?” the barber said, “Can’t say much for fashion these days—all these young men with their hair down to their collars…”

Nick brushed a hand through his own, “This isn’t a style—I just never get it cut is all.” he looked around the room, hoping to change the subject, “It’s funny, the whole building is an odd mix of styles—I’m having a hard time placing it in a period.”

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t be of more help with that.”

“I can find the blueprints and look it up, I suppose,” Nick said with a smile, “Sorry to interrupt your work—I’ll be on my way.”

“Don’t worry sir, it’s…refreshing to see a young man like yourself interested in something so old,” he said, getting up and following Nick to the front door, “Now, are you sure you won’t take me up on my offer?”

Nick paused at the door, blushing again. “Is it really that bad?”

“I’m not one to judge modern tastes,” he replied simply, but after a moment more, added, “But…I think you could do much better.”

Nick looked at the clock on the wall—he’d left work early so he had time to kill, and no plans for the rest of the evening. Who knows? Maybe the barber could work some magic on him that the chain salons couldn’t. “Why not?” he replied, stepping back from the door, and followed the barber over to a chair, sat down and allowed the man to throw a cape over him and secure it around his neck.

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