Creative Writing: Sunday Afternoon

A man who looks Middle Eastern walks into the salon Sunday
afternoon with his pretty 9-year-old daughter. Amalia sits him down
and begins to chat with him and trim his graying hair. The little
girl has a phone pressed to her ear, gabbing away with a friend,
and sits herself down near her father. I wonder what a 9-year-old
talks about on a cell phone, but I can’t hear what
she’s saying.

Two young women walk in and sit across from me. Bits of their
conversation reach my ears. They talk about people, their girl
friends, their hair, their bodies, working out and clothes. Nothing
of substance. They’re waiting for Amalia.

An attractive Hispanic young man walks in wearing a long-sleeved
blue shirt. He could be a model. His hair is not too long, but the
blonde 30-something Caucasian lady with him wants it shorter
““ I personally don’t think it will suit him. The
relationship is strange. He doesn’t speak very much English,
and by the snippets of conversation, I gather that he is Mexican.
The lady talks to the hairstylist as to how she wants the young
man’s hair to be cut. She’s in charge, and he goes
along with it. It’s as if he’s her project.

“I want something professional,” she says. “Do
you want her to use the razor?” she asks him. He gives her a
blank look. “Razor? Machine? Machine?” Lady, the louder
you say it doesn’t make him understand it any better. A part
of me wants to interject and translate. Somehow, he gets it and
shakes his head.

A young Caucasian man is also with them, in his twenties,
wearing a pretentious plaid hat and sunglasses. It’s not even
sunny in here. I wonder what they need the young man for. He should
not be treated like a pet.

Meanwhile, the young women have their turn with Amalia. One of
them wants layers. They talk about random things, but I’ve
been too preoccupied with the young man to listen. They don’t
talk much anyway. Amalia does her job.

I don’t like how the young man’s haircut is turning
out. His jet-black hair is much too straight for it. They’ve
cut away his personality. The stylist takes him to the back to wash
his hair out, while the lady and Hat-and-Sunglasses discuss his
haircut and how they could comb it. He is not a doll, I think to
myself.

“We’re gonna change your hair product,” the
Caucasian lady tells him. And then, “What’s a cheaper
wax that we could get for his hair?” I wonder what he’s
thinking. Is he overwhelmed? Offended? Bewildered? Indifferent?
They finish up, and no, he doesn’t like it. He indicates that
it’s too big on top ““ there’s nothing to weigh
down the volume. He leaves dissatisfied; his expression tells me
so.

Munguía is a second-year English student. The Bruin
welcomes submissions of short fiction from members of the UCLA
community. If you would like to have your work considered for
publication, e-mail a manuscript of between 1100-1400 words to Jess
Rodgers, the arts and entertainment editor, at
[email protected], or stop by 118 Kerckhoff Hall. Please
include your name and phone number with each manuscript. Not all
manuscripts submitted will be published. Authors may be asked to
edit their work for length and clarity.