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 The Beauty Salon  (6 ratings)by Roger Born Page 2 of 2 The middle girl was now done, and the technician left, turning her chair around
to face the dryers. She could now see her face a little, but her head was down
and her eyes averted. Her hands lay vacant in her lap.
Movement to her left now caught her attention. One of the well dressed Spaniards walked in and took the girl by the hands, lifting her to her feet. He put one arm around her, turning her to the door. He led her out of view. A flash of blue eyes impressed her as they left. She was disoriented for a moment. How could she see that girl's eyes if they were both walking away from her? The drone of the dryer muffled their speech, but she thought she heard the other two women in the chairs call out to the one who was leaving. "See you here tomorrow. You'll be alright." If there was a reply, she didn't hear it. Neither did she care. Two things came whirrling into her mind at the same time. Did these girls come here every day? Nobody did that. The other thing that was bothering her to the point of speaking out, was that man was taking that girl away by force. Something was not right here. What was going on? He could not have been her boyfriend or husband. They did not look right together. These troubling thoughts suddenly vanished, as she realized someone was staring at her. Right in front of her was a pair of blue eyes, fixed on her own. They were on the foam head on the shelf in front of the red chair the girl had vacated. Sudden mindless panic took her. She could not move, though she wanted to run away from this place. A part of her mind was telling her that those eyes were just painted on that head, or perhaps they were some sort of eyes from a manniquin someone had placed on it as a joke. She shut her eyes and tried to think. Gone was all thought of the other girl's predicament. No more was the thought about her date tonight. She made herself calm, deliberately turning another page of her magazine. Her eyes were averted to her lap. She would not look in front of her again. though she was very frightened, she would not make a scene by running out the door. What would people think, seeing her in curlers and an apron? She could not bear the shame of it, though her life depended on leaving. She just couldn't. Decorum reigned over the moment. Hearing, more than seeing, she heard two sets of footsteps and saw two pairs of shoes as someone came in and silently took the other girls away. Another pair of shoes appeared, this time white, as the woman came to take her back to the red chair. She must have passed out then, or she had become hypnotized. She felt disembodied. It was like she was looking at herself in that red chair. She watched as the technician expertly coffed the hair on her head. She stared unblinking at this. She saw that there was no emotion at all on her face, nor could she see her own eyes, as her head was down and her pretty new fake eyelashes were closed. Somehow she knew there were no eyes beneith those lashes. The technician threw a towel over the white foam head in front of her chair. She could not see. She could not feel herself at all. Vacant. Yet she knew a young stranger was coming to take her. Take her somewhere. She knew tomorrow she would see this same room again, with the mirrors and the bad lighting. She knew those four chairs under the driers would be occupied by four vacant girls, with magazines lying unread on their laps. Somehow it no longer mattered. All her life she had been unseeing. She lived unaware of the people or the world around her. She was a barbie doll who had never formed any real affection for her family or friends. Her whole life was one empty experience after another. She had fancied herself a model, though she had not done anything to make that happen. Vacant. Her eyes did not cry. Others would be using her, and doing things to her. Just like the models she read about. Vacant. She knew not. She would not think anymore of it. Somehow, of the four that would sit in those chairs, she was the best one. Vacant. She gained some small measure of contentment, knowing that her hair was very nice, and that it nicely matched the style of her dress and shoes. Roger Born Web Editor, Columnist, My Mac Magazine http://www.mymac.com rogerborn@mymac.com "My Mac Magazine: Serving the Macintosh community since 1995!"
Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2001 Roger Born, sffworld.com. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author. The author has submitted the work in accordance with and in agreement with the following Submission Guidelines. |
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