© Sauce*Box, Summer 1998. All rights
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Tumble
by kristi
Every day, I get up and walk through the fog to my shop. I cut hair. I have been cutting hair for only five years.
For a few days, a woman sat on a bench outside my barbershop. Every morning at eight she arrived and sat there a long, long while. She was waiting, but no one knew why or for whom. For two days I watched her,watched the golden hair on her head melt in the heat of the day and become limp with perspiration. But don't misunderstand me, her beauty remained despite the filth on the bench outside my store. She spoke to no one for the first two days. She stared at every passerby, waiting. On the third day, she was still there. That is the day we met.
Her name was Margaret. Her face was beautiful, but the weight of the world seemed to be settled on her. It was a slow day and I sat next to her on the bench.
"Hello," she said, staring into my eyes as one stares into space while contemplating the meaning of life.
"I've been watching you. You've been sitting here for three days. Did you know that?"
"Yes. Yes, I know." Her smooth, young skin shone with a sheen of sweat as she crossed her arms and pushed me out of her consciousness as easily as I let myself back in.
"I don't know why, but I have the feeling you're waiting for someone." It was almost a question and I looked away, not wanting to see her disgust with me asking personal questions. She surprised me.
"I'm looking for a man whose mouth is soft and whose arms I slept in for some time this past week. I know he will be here. He comes here frequently."
"Tell me more. What does he look like?"
"He is a man. Tall, like you. What I know is not a description, but a feeling."
"Tell me. I have time."
"We were lovers. He took me one morning when I was awakening. His mouth was on my breasts with a hot liquid steam that shot through me and commanded every single atom in my body to pay attention. Do you know what that is like?"
My face turned red. What could I do? I swallowed hard and looked around,but there was no one to save me, to keep me from a conversation that could possibly make it hard for me to work. Her beauty was intensified by the melody in her voice. I stared at her. "Miss, I'm not sure I'm the one to talk to..."
"I must tell someone. This love is burning inside and I want to find that man...."
"I understand, but many men come here during the week. Some of them only once a month. How do you know..."
"I know."
"Yes, but if you could tell me what he looks like, or what his name is..."
"It doesn't matter what a man looks like. Only how he thinks of himself and what he does. I remember one morning he managed to bind my hands without me waking and when I woke, he was already diving with his tongue deep inside me. I was screaming." The woman looked off dreamily.
"Look, Miss." I was still flush with embarrassment, but she didn't seem to notice or care.
"Margaret. Margaret Mills."
"Margaret, would you like to come inside? I have coffee..."
Margaret still seemed lost in thought. "He brought me flowers, once. He put them on the bedside for me and the next thing I knew, he lifted my legs and wrapped them around me, thrusting furiously until we both..."
I was getting riled up, but to cover the obvious interest, I protested."Margaret, I don't want to know what happened. Please, come inside and I'll make you coffee."
"All right, then." She picked up a package that I hadn't noticed before and gave me her hand.
We both stood, and I took her soft, supple hand in mine and escorted her into my shop.
"How is it that you don't know who he is or where he lives? Surely he gave you such information in the time you spent with each other."
"When you are busy fondling, caressing, kissing and holding, all of the mundanities get lost. It's not important, those things. But he disappeared. He spoke briefly about a need for a haircut. I know he will come back because this is where we met."
Well, frankly, I couldn't remember any of my customers talking about a woman with such beauty. I couldn't imagine who it might be that would offer such gratification and not brag about it to me, his barber. I gave her coffee and instead of waiting outside, she waited just inside, on a chair that faced out from the wall. She could see everyone who came and went; she could see me as well as the passersby. But I couldn't allow her to be in the shop the rest of the day.
"Frank! It's good to see you. I need some taken off the sides. Got me a great job interview in town today. Can ya make me look good?"
It was Harry. Harry, who always said the same thing every time he walked through my doors. It was a joke between us and when he said it, he glanced briefly at Margaret and then at me, raised his eyebrows and said nothing.
I couldn't concentrate on cutting Harry's hair. I did such a lousy job that Harry cursed me and I let him go for free. Margaret looked at me with each snip of the scissors. I imagined her body lying next to mine, her legs wrapped around me as I caressed her body and buried my face between her breasts. I could not hold the scissors straight.
"Margaret," I told her gently, sitting in the chair next to hers after Harry left, "you are ruining me. I can't concentrate."
Again, she looked at me and could not do anything but talk about the man who'd disappeared. "His tongue. He ran his tongue from my feet to my head, slowly, like a man who isn't in a hurry." She turned and stared again out the window as if looking for someone.
I stared at her breasts and my whole body shuddered with desire. At that moment, I closed the shop, turned out the lights and led Margaret to the barber's chair.
With each thrust into the moist, hot opening that welcomed me, I heard her say over and over, "Frank, Frank. Don't you recognize me?"
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