The Rhetorical Question

It was an innocent question. I was just making conversation, really. I had no idea what was about to unfold. I just needed to get my hair cut. Overdue, really. I couldn't make the long strands behave themselves any longer. I am still trying to find someone who makes me look perfect (right, like that's gonna happen), so I keep hoping with different hairdressers.

Today, though, I am constrained by time, so I take whoever is available. She came to greet me, and help me get settled in her chair. We briefly discussed the plan of action [take one aging and washed out gray-haired lady and turn her into the 21st century's idea of how not to look your age] while she fluffed and poofed at my scraggly locks.

The plan set, she got busy mixing goop and laying out gear. It will take an army to tame this old broad. I thought I would make some polite conversation. "So, how long have you worked here?" I should have known by the over long pause that I would not get a simple answer. She even prefaced her comments by "its complicated."

It was. Her life had been difficult and filled with pain and disappointment. The day before all her nail gear - over $500 worth - had been stolen. Her livelihood. Somehow I have the sort of face that people feel comfortable with, and soon she was daubing, folding, and crinkling my hair, and crying while she spilled out her story. Not that her life was all that unusual - I have encountered many of the same events myself. But sad. Especially for one so young. I doubt she was out of her twenties.

She finished applying color, offered me a cup of tea and a magazine, then sat down next to me and we talked - really talked - for almost an hour. The entire salon was empty and private. It was as if we had permission to take time out and deal with stuff. I didn't say anything, really. Just listened while she poured out her heart. We covered every topic from abuse to illness and death to unfair life events to boyfriends and quitting smoking.

She took her time about the haircut itself after the color had cooked. We had moved from the dark and hard things to the normal everyday topics. When at last I was staring at some stranger in the mirror, trying to take in my new look, she hugged me.

"Thank you for listening. I don't usually tell total strangers my whole life history. You're so easy to talk to. With my Mom gone and all, its been a long time since I had anyone to share with. I am so glad I met you, and I hope you will come again. I promise I won't be so weepy next time and talk your ear off." She expertly flipped a stray hair from my cheek with her tattooed hand.

I smiled and thanked her and hugged her tight for a long moment. We ladies have to be there for each other. Someday this lovely young woman will realize her full potential, a far cry from where she is right now. I am happy to have the honor of standing in for her Mom for a brief moment in her journey.