The Mannequin
Zelda is driving Bascom Avenue in a fierce rain when she
sees a man in a long black coat fighting his way along the sidewalk. She spots
his British cap in the rear-view mirror and hits the brakes, sending her car
into a thirty-foot slide. She pulls to the curb and hits the button for the
window.
“Edward!”
Edward freezes, then keeps on walking. Zelda slams the car
into park and runs to catch him.
“Edward! Where have you been? Jackson needs you, he’s worn
out and he’s worried about you, and I’m really sorry if we embarrassed you.
Edward!”
She races in front of him and stops. But his eyes are down,
he doesn’t see her and knocks her to the ground. Zelda squeals and falls on her
butt. Edward looks at her, expressionless, and reaches down to help her up.
Then he keeps walking. Zelda tries to think of something that might make him
stop.
“I… I liked your poem!”
He takes two more steps, pauses, takes another step, and
stops.
“It was very touching. I… didn’t know anyone could see how
sad I was. And I liked it because it was funny, too and it wasn’t easy. Because
life isn’t easy.”
Edward’s upper lip twitches, as if he’s about to laugh.
“I guess you know that,” says Zelda. “That life isn’t easy.”
He turns his dark eyes on her, maddeningly inscrutable. He
tries to walk away, but Zelda is holding his hand.
“I’ve got an idea, Edward. Come with me. Just for an hour. Come
on, you owe me.”
They stand there for a long time. Edward looks across Bascom
at a hospital building, then down at their hands. He unwraps her fingers from
his, and walks to her car.
After navigating San Jose City College’s convoluted parking
system, Zelda manages to coax Edward to the cosmetology department. They are
greeted by Cecily Flores, who cocks one of her expressive eyebrows in Edward’s
direction.
“Um. You do know that this will take a while. At this point,
I am very slow.”
Zelda pulls her far enough away to keep Edward from hearing.
“I was actually hoping I could pull a switch. My friend
Edward needs a cut much more than I do.”
Cecily purses her lips, producing a duckbill effect. “Ooh! I
mean, I’d like to help, but I haven’t even done a man’s haircut, much less…
that.”
“Charge me double. And think of it this way. Whatever you do
is going to be an improvement.”
She gives him another look.
“Well. Okay. I could use a little spending cash. You are
throwing me way out of my comfort
zone.”
Cecily puts on her easy smile (another point of envy) and
heads toward Edward.
“Hi, Edward. Why don’t you give your cap and coat to Zelda
and follow me. Oh! You do have a lot
of hair.”
She gives Zelda the side of her eyes and walks them into the
work area, where a dozen students in pink and purple scrubs are working on
clients and maintaining a low-level chatter. The counters are littered with
mannequin heads, which endows the place with a creepy fringe. After giving
Edward a thorough shampoo, Cecily stands behind the chair and flips his ragged
locks this way and that.
“So. Edward. Any ideas on how you’d like it? Short? Not so
short?”
Edward stares into the mirror, at his usual loss for words.
After a suitably awkward pause, Zelda jumps in.
“How about something like this?” She hands Cecily her
iPhone, which shows the photo from his reunion.
“Well,” says Cecily.”I can’t actually make you look this
young, but this is a good style for
you.”
She fetches one of her teachers, a big-breasted Mexican lady
with black-rimmed spectacles. She studies the photo and smiles. “Okay. Let’s go
with a scissors cut. It’ll take a while, but have patience, keep looking for
your guide, and call me if you feel stuck.”
“Okay.” Cecily pulls a section of hair through her comb and
snips the ends, then gathers up another. She calls for more help around the
ear, and on the bangs. At the end of a three-hour session, Edward’s coiff has
been adjusted by five different teachers. When she gets to the trimmers, Zelda
gives the okay, and she removes his week-old beard.
Edward is passive throughout. Once Cecily’s teacher gives
him a final polish, he gets up and heads for the restroom. Zelda and Cecily
walk toward the lobby.
“Why do I feel like I’ve still only done cuts on
mannequins?”
Zelda hands her two twenties. “You would be shocked if you saw him dance.”
“Ah-hah! Somethin’ goin’ on here? Boyfriend in training?”
“Yeeesh – no! He’s a regular at the coffeehouse. I was tired
of lookin’ at his sorry mop.”
“I don’t know, sistah. Under all that muck, he’s got sort of
a cute undead thing goin’ on, like Edward Scissorhands. And you know how cosmetology students feel about
Edward Scissorhands.”
“I could make a guess.”
Cecily gives her a hug and retreats to the work room. Edward
appears at the end of the lobby. Far away, he looks a hundred times better.
Closer, the cleanup has served mostly to accentuate his lifeless eyes, the
unsettling lack of facial expression.
“You look great!” she says. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”
He shakes his head. She hands him his cap and coat. He puts
them on, looks at her for a moment and leaves, crossing the courtyard toward
Bascom.
“You’re welcome,” she says.
Photo by Sonia Cuellar
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