Tag / tales

by Janet

Amazing Grace

-Barbershop Tales-

Chapter 1

“My husband’s having an affair,” Grace mumbled, her eyes fixated on the floor. 

A single tear slid down her cheek as she clicked her sandals together – shaking off remnants of freshly cut hair that had managed to land between her toes.

Grace was one of Floyd’s first clients and she saw him religiously – every other Friday. Normally, there was nothing but small talk between the two, so Floyd was quite surprised when Grace decided to unload.

Her hair was long and tired, and she’d kept her natural color (salt and pepper tones) for nearly a decade. She was aching for something new, something dramatic, but every time she got to Floyd’s the panic would set in. 

Grace’s heart would race, her palms would sweat, and her knees would wobble as she walked to the sink. “A simple trim and blow dry will do” she would always say. 

But this time Grace was different. Having said, out loud, what her husband had been doing, she felt stronger – more courageous. She was angry, too, an emotion that had been trapped inside of her until now, imprisoned behind her silent sadness.

“You have my permission to go wild,” she said to Floyd. “I want to feel beautiful again.”

Floyd was ecstatic. There was nothing he loved more than creative freedom. He bluetoothed some classical music to the barbershop speakers, turned the chair away from the mirror so that Grace couldn’t watch, and he began to work his magic. 

Large locks fell to the floor, Floyd brushed on dye from two bowls of color, and a couple of hours flew by as Grace talked about her situation at home. Soon, it was time for the big reveal.

“Close your eyes,” Floyd said, slowly spinning the chair toward the mirror. “Ready, set… Ok, you can look now!”

Grace opened her eyes and stared, taking her reflection in with awe. She barely recognized herself.

The bell over the door jingled as Floyd’s next customer walked in. Grace was so absorbed in the mirror that she hadn’t even noticed, but when she got up to thank Floyd she saw someone seated in the waiting area.

The man was leafing through an old newspaper when the woman rose from her chair. As their eyes met, there was an air of familiarity about them.

“Peter?” Grace questioned, even though she knew it was him. She could never forget those eyes. 

It was Peter McGuire, an old flame from high school. He had moved to Utah after graduation, and the two hadn’t seen each other since. They stayed in touch briefly – a few calls and letters – but eventually, as with everything else in Grace’s life, the romance fizzled out. The two went separate ways… each in search of a more convenient, and more local, relationship.

Peter nodded, still searching his mind to recall who this woman was. Then it hit him.

“Oh my God! Wow. Grace, you look amazing!”

Floyd swept his station and then hid in the back, giving the two a few minutes – and a little privacy – to catch up. 

The door jingled again, and Floyd came out to find the shop empty. “Amazing indeed,” he said, smiling to himself. He turned the sign at the door to read Closed and grabbed his keys to lock up.

TO BE CONTINUED

That’s about all for the letter “G” – a little intro about “Grace,” one of Floyd’s (many) loyal customers. This is exceptionally fun, because stories about each character can change, grow, or even end… the sky is the limit. We may or may not find out where Grace and Peter ran off to. Maybe we’ll meet her cheating husband? You just never know.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed tonight’s chapter… I’ll see you again soon for the letter “H.”

Until later,

Peace & Love!

by Janet

Floyd’s Place

-Barbershop Tales-

Prologue

Secrets were never safe in the town of Jagger Hills. Gossip traveled so fast that the phone lines buzzed. Tourists – who didn’t know any better – would often duck and run, believing that a swarm of bees was overhead. Then, after a while, people got tired, or hurt, or just plain angry, and they all stopped talking. For about six months, the phone lines were silent. That’s about the time that Floyd’s moved in.

Floyd’s was the town’s first (and only) barber shop, and Floyd’s reputation grew about as fast as gossip used to travel. It wasn’t just the haircuts that people were raving about, either. What really had the town buzzing again was the fact that Floyd was a great listener. And, as rumor had it, he assured every new client that their secrets were safe with him. “What’s said in the shop, stays in the shop,” he would say.

And so the story begins.

TO BE CONTINUED

Well… I’m on the letter “F” right now and I thought that Floyd’s Place would be a good way to ease my way back into fiction. It’s a slow and short start (as you can see!), but I think it will be a fun and entertaining story full of “quick to read” snippets.

I had a good time creating the illustration for this as well – and I’m looking forward to some more ‘in the salon’ artwork.

That’s about all for now. I hope you enjoyed the intro – and I’ll see you again soon for Chapter One of the story… and the letter “G.”

Until later,
Peace & Love!

by Janet

The Dumbbells

I’ve been trying to figure out how to keep this short story in present tense (somewhat, at least), while being able to move through time rather quickly in parts. This is all new to me, so don’t judge. Anyway, I came up with what I thought was the perfect plan for this one – which is kind of in a diary format. Kind of.

Anyway, I’m going to keep the older portions running below so I can see how the story moves backwards. In time that might need to change. This one might have basic illustrations (like below) due to time restraints and my desire to rebel. Ha!

Also, I’m still using the Daily Spur’s word prompts, and today’s word is incident.

I’m super excited about this one and I hope you enjoy it!

June 14, 1974

It’s been three years since dad died, and mom said it was time to go through his things in the garage. I knew she meant “me,” because she doesn’t like to go in there. It makes her too sad. “That’s where the ‘incident’ happened,” she always says. She calls it that because she doesn’t want to talk about how he died. Not to anyone. 

I had a pretty good donation pile going when I came across his old dumbbells. They were in bad shape, but nothing that a good scrub wouldn’t fix. The weights were another story. One of them was so heavy that I had to drag it across the floor. That’s when the garage started to smell like orange and vanilla, and I felt his shadow over me again.

“Let me help you with that son.” 

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I told you I’d see you tomorrow,” the old man laughed, “and I always keep my word.”

He helped me get the weights into the corner, and the boxes into my wagon, and we headed down 3rd Street toward the church’s donation center. 

“Mom said I can use part of the garage,” I told him. “I’m going to set up a pad, and maybe get one of those old benches, and I’m going to start lifting those weights.”

“That’ll do just fine,” he said with a smile.

June 13, 1974

The old man showed up just after Billy Clyde knocked me out. School let out early and it was too hot to take the bus. Burt, the driver, always sweats real bad, and on days like this he would stink to high heaven.

I was outside of Cassiel Park when I saw Billy catching up to me, so I made a beeline for the gate. I figured I could lose him by the horseshoe pit. There’s a small hole in the chain link fence, behind the bushes, and nobody else knows about it. Even if they did, most kids are too big to fit. If Billy followed me there, I could squeeze through and leave him in the dust.

My plan didn’t work though. Billy disappeared after I crossed the playground and I didn’t see him again until I was at the bridge. I don’t know how he got ahead of me, but he was right there, just waiting for me. There was no way for me to get past him, and I didn’t want to look stupid, so I put my head down and raced toward him just as fast as I could. Then everything went black.

Billy was gone when I woke up. My ears were ringing and my face was covered in dirt. The sun was so bright that I had to squint just to see. I closed them again, and started picking the grass burrs out of my hair when I felt his shadow over me, and the smell of orange and vanilla filled the air.

His voice was loud and deep. “Let me help you up son.”

All I could really see when I looked up was his big white beard. I made my way up his wrinkled face, and then his bright blue eyes came into focus. He had an old red fishing hat on with its strap hanging down past his shoulders. He helped me up and walked me to the gate just to make sure I got on my way, and then he waved and said the darndest thing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”