"On the House" by Phebe Jewell

On the House 

          Abe can read a man’s fate in his hair. Call it a gift or dumb luck. Maybe just leftover juju from Sasha the Psychic, Abe’s previous business partner.
For ten years they shared a ground floor office space in a four-story apartment building. When Sasha put away her crystal ball for good, she left the pink neon “Psychic” that hung in the window over his simple blue “Barber,” mainly as a gag. It brought in customers, so Abe left it.
One rainy October afternoon as Abe sweeps the floor, the bell jingles and a burly man pushes open the shop door. Long hair pulled back in a ponytail. A full beard spread over his broad chest. A tree planter, home from a season in the Cascades? A hopeful Alaskan fisherman, sprucing himself up before hitting the town?
Sizing up the stranger, Abe leans on his broom. Probably wants a shave and a trim.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“Cut all this off.” The man tugs his hair loose, “but keep the beard. Just trim it. Please.”
“No prob.” Abe sets clippers, scissors, and a razor on a tray by one of his barber chairs.
Unzipping his jacket, the man sighs. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve seen a barber. Guess I’ve been out of commission a long time.”
“Did you just get into town?” Abe wraps a cape around the man’s shoulders.
“Yeah. Trying to find an old friend, said he’d hook me up with a job.”
Combing out the man’s hair, Abe shivers. This will be the man’s last haircut. Abe can’t tell if the burly man knows he is about to die.
“What kind of work do you do?” Abe trims several inches from the man’s long hair.
“This and that. Pretty much anything that’ll pay, you know?”
“I hear you.” For several minutes, the only sound in the shop is the snipping of the scissors.
“Are you coming from far away?” Abe needs to keep the man talking.
“Montana.”
“Nice. I went fishing out there once. Pretty country.”
Abe slows down. He’s got time. His next customer isn’t for a couple of hours. He can make this haircut last a good long while.
“You know,” Abe shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I never told anyone this before, but I’ve got psychic powers.”
The man grunts. “That why you’ve got that sign in your window?”
Abe laughs. “That? It’s kind of a joke. I used to share this space with a psychic. I kept her sign when she left, just for fun, you know.”
The man shakes his head. “I don’t believe in that stuff. A load of bullshit.”
“What do you believe in?” Abe asks.
“I don’t know. Not any god or religious mumbo-jumbo. I guess I believe you’re only as good as your actions.” The man’s eyes search Abe’s in the mirror.
Abe nods, continues clipping.
When the man’s hair is short enough to cut with a razor, Abe shaves the man’s head. The man smiles as he watches the hair fall to the floor. “That feels so good. I’ve missed fresh air on my skin.”
Abe smiles, but his hands tremble as he reaches for clippers to trim the man’s beard. He can’t think of any other way to save him. Thinning, shaping the beard to a neat triangle, he pauses.
“What do you think?”
“Great. How much do I owe you?” the man stands up, brushing off hair from his shoulders.
“Nothing. It’s on the house. Welcome to Seattle.” Abe reaches for his broom.
The man hesitates, then nods. “Thanks, man.”
The shop door clatters behind him. Abe stands by the shop window, the dark, wet streets reflecting his blue and pink lights. He watches as the man makes his way to the corner and disappears out of sight.

Phebe Jewell

Phebe Jewell's recent work appears in Literary Heist, Dime Show Review, Maudlin House, Nunum, and MoonPark Review. A teacher at Seattle Central College, she also volunteers for the Freedom Education Project Puget Sound, a nonprofit providing college courses for women in prison.

Headshot: Phebe Jewell

Photo Credit: Jackson Purcell