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Lost inside the labyrinths of the mall, Bruno meandered past busy food halls and glittering boutiques. He wasn’t supposed to be there; he had a different place in mind. Well, sue me, Nostradamus for I have not foreseen, Bruno thought, recalling the anecdote.At times like this, he sometimes wished he could prognosticate like the French astrologer whom he studied.
Approaching the line of stalls beyond him, Bruno briskly strode the floor. Smart-dressed women who manned the stations with brochures tried to chase the speedy Bruno with compliments, or flirtatiously greeted with a smile; either way were eventually rejected with a reproachful wave. Admittedly, he viewed the strategy rather impressively. However simple, it has more magnetic power than any of their blinding LED lights. An easy sale for the lonely male, Bruno thought, but he preferred the solo life. He eyed the forming male-dominant crowd behind him, lurching towards the saleslady. As expected, they gave more praise to her contrived smile, failing to hear her satisfied giggle that meant her miniskirt caught a big one. Good for her. Bruno smiled, rooting silently for the clever saleswoman.
He brushed off his white polo shirt—mentally preparing a desultory excursion. Keeping his pace slightly faster than most, Bruno power walked his way to his unknown destination, taking random turns when he felt like he had to. He didn’t like this at all. If he had known his plan to have failed, he would’ve bailed without the slightest hesitation. A conscientious man, Bruno would always describe himself. Before taking his 8 hour sleep, he would have already ironed his clothes for tomorrow, locked every door and window, brushed his teeth and flossed, applied night cream under his eyes, reviewed his calendar, and double checked the doors and windows—just in case. In the morning, at exactly 5, he had already eaten his breakfast and was getting ready for school. His hair was kept in a slick back, propped his collar firmly, and fashioned his glistening black shoes. The days were of his planning a few weeks prior; and his month was already thought of a year before. Spontaneity was never in his vocabulary.
For him, he thought of his routine a pragmatic system, and should be obvious to the many that that is how one should go about their lives: efficiently. In his defense, the routine revealed neither vanity nor any obsessive disorder. It simply came to be his inveterate lifestyle because it gave him a sense of purpose. To live a happy life, we find ways for convenience. To live in convenience, we plan ahead. And so a planned life leads to a happy life. Am I right or am I right? Bruno would usually elucidate to those who question his habits.He is an avid fan of reason, as all should. But Bruno came to understand that only a few are—the reason why he chose to have no friends.
Bruno’s agenda for today was: to have a meeting with his professors to validate his thesis, get a haircut at his usual spot, and go back to campus to smile for his graduation photo—simple. But there were instances when simple became complicated; and when times get complicated, Bruno had to go about with instinct, impulse, and a little bit of faith.
At first, he knew his route by following the directions of the sign overhead, but, unfortunately, the arrow led him to an ATM machine. Hope appeared to him in the form of a security guard.
“Excuse me, sir. Would you point me to the nearest barbershop?”
“I don’t know about that one, boss. I’m new here.”
“Well that makes two of us, then” Bruno forced a smile as he said, holding in the thousand curses he would’ve flurried at the ignorant officer.
Presently, Bruno navigated his own way using nothing but luck—which had better chances than any bystander could’ve helped to provide, Bruno concluded. Wandering aimlessly, winding up on the wrong curb, and wasting much of his time grinded his gears royally. He quickened his already fast gait, making him sweat profusely. But after clearing all floors, a spiraling red, white, and blue pole lit at the end of the corridor, and he eventually found it.
“Bruno’s”, labeled the barbershop. Bruno smirked at the irony. I suppose the search for oneself is as tiring physically as it is mentally, panting as he thought. The chimes tolled a sweet hymn as he opened the wooden door. An old lady greeted him with a question.
“Here for a haircut, dear?”
Of course, I am. Why would I be here, then? But Bruno kept the thought hidden and respectfully acquiesced.
“There we are, love.” The old lady smiled, swung her cane pointing to an old man seated at the barber’s chair. Bruno looked curiously at the barber and balked.
“Are there any other barbershops around?” Bruno asked.
“Well, I’m afraid there are none. Our competitors have moved to the other mall near city. Lucky for us, customers will storm this place like an amusement park.” Bruno looked around and confirmed that he was, indeed, the only customer there. “No other scissors cut hair except here.” She proudly said. Even at her age, the lady seemed to be eager with her business and still has the fiery competitiveness of a young entrepreneur. Bruno kept quiet, concealing his languid spirit so as to not spoil the old lady’s mood.
Bruno started towards the silent barber. His profile looked young enough to cut hair deftly under time restraints. Furtively glancing at the mirror in front of the seated man, the barber was nodding off into a distant dream; a loud snore knocked his head back. Upon seeing this, the old lady sallied furiously at her only employee and slammed her walking stick to the metal footrest. The old man jolted back to life with animated eyes.
“I’m sorry about Julius, sweetie. You can take your seat now.”
Bruno sat there anxiously, took quick ganders at the slow-paced, tinkering barber. The old barber was a clumsy sort, Bruno deduced: The taper didn’t fasten well onto the hair clipper; the clipper didn’t work because it wasn’t plugged in; he scoured his equipment ham-fistedly; and he didn’t even ask Bruno’s preferred hairstyle, for he was too perplexed on how he should hold his scissors. After all of what he saw, Bruno was convinced of his impending doom.
The razor clicked and vibrated, “Ah, here we go.” The barber exclaimed.
“Wait!” Bruno suddenly said. “I like it tapered on the sides, and a slight trim on top so I can still slick it back.” Although Bruno saw no point in telling him, part of him hoped otherwise.
“Oh, is that the new trend lately? Alright, then.” The barber said.
Bruno closed his eyes apprehensively, wringing his fingers under the salon cape.
Spray. Spray. Buzz. Buzz. Snip-snip.
Bruno feared for his hair as he heard how each stroke of a clipper moved, combed and cut in a rapid succession. But he also felt the steady, stable hand of the barber, which reassured him slightly. Growing curious, Bruno opened his eyes and was relieved to see how the barber, with dainty fingers and pristine thoroughness, cut his hair with confidence. His ungainly start was easily forgotten.
“What’s your name, son?”
Bruno hesitated to answer. He was never one to engage in small talk, especially if an inept barber initiated it. But this one… he made an exemption.
“Bruno,” Bruno replied. “I would read yours. But your nametag’s backwards.”
“It’s Mr. Tholimer.” The barber laughed as he replied, while maintaining precision.
“Well, Bruno, welcome to Bruno’s,” Mr. Tholimer offered, noticing the coincidence. “Sorry about earlier. You know, an old man gots to rest, you know.” He guffawed, holding his clippers back. “So, what brings you to the shop? Got a date? Need someone to impress?”
“Graduation photo,”
“Now, how about that. Congratulations, young man. The Lord really loves his children. ” The barber said, admiring his client.
“Thank you.”
Then, out of the blue, Mr. Tholimer nonchalantly said, “God loves us, indee—oh, you know, God loves us so much he gave people a hundred years to live. Not a thousand, not a billion, just a hundred. You know why? Because God is a merciful god, that’s why.”
A pause.
“Aren’t you sad that you only get to live up to a hundred?” Bruno asked, beginning to have interest in the conversation.
The barber smirked and gently answered, “Well, I wouldn’t mind, for sure. But those who starve in the streets every night, how ‘bout them? Those who got cancer, those who have to endure… I don’t think they want to live a life like that for another year—much less another hundred.”
“But if they have more time in this world, the poor could find opportunities to succeed. Those who suffer from diseases can one day be saved because we have time to think of a cure.” Bruno respectfully challenged, simplifying his words.
“Well, son, you got me there. My mind is between two places here. I would either answer to your question or you go bald.” The barber jested. “But, all I can say is: life is too painful for the others. And God helped them relieve their suffering. So He takes good care of them up above, as early as a minute-old baby.”
Bruno frowned at the sentiment. “They should’ve just planned their life.” he mumbled to himself.
The barber heard, then chortled, “That I wouldn’t recommend, son.” But he didn’t continue.
Bruno was about to reveal the astounding benefits of living a planned life as opposed to its aimless counterpart, but the only word that came out of his mouth was, “Why?”
The barber kept quiet for a time. The sound of the buzzing clippers surrounded the room, and then he stopped to get the razor. He was searching for it in the drawer when he spoke.
“Did you plan to come here?” he calmly asked.
Bruno looked up at the mirror, wide eyed.
“No,”
“Then, why are you here?”
“Because I had no choice, honestly,”
“Alright, is it because your plan failed?”
“Well… you can say that I had a plan B,”
“Did your plan B instruct you to run around the mall to get here?”
Bruno surrendered the exchange. How did he know that? Wasn’t he asleep when I got in?
Seeing his client’s expression, the barber gently said, “I apologize if I offended you, son. But then I must answer your ‘Why’ as best as I can.” Mr. Tholimer said, combing Bruno’s hair well-nigh to completion.
“I appreciate your concern, really I do. But do tell me why I don’t need to plan my life.” Bruno pleaded, having a new found respect to the wise old barber.
“Listen here, son. There was once a man who selected his perfect woman out of a billion choices. He prepared the perfect date, built her the perfect house, and picked her the perfect flower—heck, even planned the perfect wedding ahead of time, ” Mr. Tholimer continued, brushing his arms off of hair. “But here comes along another woman. She ain’t perfect: her hair wasn’t his type, she laughed crazily at the darn, smallest things, and she never liked wearing make-up.” The barber seemed to smile as he said. “Indeed, she ain’t perfect. Most certainly not planned. But the man left her perfect wife for the woman he truly loves—more than anything.” The old man wistfully said, eyeing the registrar in front of the shop.
“I don’t quite get what you mean,”
“Well, sometimes, there’s a bigger world outside our own. And we can’t see it until we’re well beyond it.” The barber removed the clips from the salon cape. “It’s good to think ahead, young man, but hold your plans loosely. Because, trust me, when destiny calls, you would want to grab hold of her hand.”
“How would I know if it’s destiny, then?”
“That’s for you to find out.”
Without noticing, Bruno was looking prim and proper with his new haircut—still, a slick back.
“So, just like you planned,” The barber winked.
Bruno smiled a different smile that day. Compared to the one he had been practicing for his graduation photo, he liked his new smile better.
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