The Darkest Day by Just_Me

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The Darkest Day

I have been a barber for almost sixty years, and something happened last week that I had never experienced. I have to get it off of my chest. The guilt is damned near killing me.

Tuesday morning, when I went to open the shop up, there was a young man standing outside, waiting for me. Three things really made him stand out. First, he was an exceptionally good looking man…probably closer to thirty than twenty, but still young in my eyes. He could’ve made it in Hollywood or as a model, he was that good looking. Every feature seemed to be perfect, and I could tell he spent hours a day in the gym.

His hair was as perfect as his face and body. It was black as coal, thick and very long. I thought, "My god, Farrah Fawcett would turn over in her grave if she could see this guy’s hair. It puts hers to shame." I grinned at myself when I thought, "I’d literally give my soul to be able to get my clippers in that mane." My hands were itching, and I gave a pretend swipe with some imaginary clippers.

Just then he pushed the hair back with his hands, and held his bangs on the top of his head, revealing a perfect forehead, and eyes that I would have killed to have. They were easily fifty shades of green, but he looked tormented. I thought, "Kids nowadays. He’s so young. He should be out having fun and raising hell, not looking like he’d rather be in a grave."

I dismissed those thoughts, and imagined how good he would look with a short haircut. "It’s a shame he’s hiding behind all that hair."

I looked to the sky, and said a prayer. "God, please let this man be here to get a decent haircut. I could die a happy man after getting to clean him up."

The other thing that made this young man stand out was the fact that he was smoking a big cigar. Now, every once in a while I’ll see a young person with a cigar, but it’s normally at a bar, and it’s normally not one of this size.

I opened the door. "Come on in."

He looked around. "GIve me a second to find a place to put my cigar."

"I don’t mind you smoking. I’ve been known to enjoy more than one cigar, and that looks like a good one." I grinned. "Besides, I like giving the anti-smoking Nazis something to fuss about. Just hide it if you see a cop come by."

A faint smile passed over his face, but never reached his eyes. "Thank you, sir. I’d be happy to strike a blow against the Nazis, and you were right. This is a good cigar, and the most expensive one I’ve ever bought, and this will probably be the last one I’ll ever enjoy."

I looked at him. "I’d be a rich man if I had a dollar for every time I’ve said that. Good luck quitting, if that’s what you want to do."

"Thank you, sir. I’m pretty sure this will be my last one, barring some sort of miracle. Are you sure you don’t mind? I’ll be happy to put it down."

"Get your ass in here, assuming you’re here for a haircut, not directions."

"I’m here for a haircut. I hear you’re the best barber in the state, and you’re not afraid of cutting hair."

I laughed. "I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but they told you the truth, on both accounts. I’m a damned good barber, and I love to give my customers their money’s worth on a haircut."

"You’re the man for me. Thank you, sir."

I thought, "This young man has obviously had some good training. I don’t see this kind of manners very much any more."

I stuck my hand out. "I’m Walter."

"Mr. Walter, I’m Curtis."

"Nice to meet you, Curtis. Have a seat, and I’ll get to work."

"Thank you, sir."

I got him in the chair, and caped up. I spent a few minutes combing his hair, and was amazed at what it would do. No matter how I combed it, it looked good. After entertaining myself for a bit, I said, "What did you have in mind for your haircut?"

"I’m headed home to see my father, and I want to go home looking like the man my father always wanted me to be."

"Ah, the age old dilemma between fathers and sons. Let me guess, he is, or was, a military man?"

"No, sir. He’s not, but he might as well have been. He’s an Arkansas hillbilly, and he was raised by a father who thought the only haircut a man should have was a short one. My father learned his lesson well, and I’ve never known him to go more than ten days between visits to his barber, and I went with him every time he went, at least until I moved away." He grinned at me. "I think my father is the only man I’ve ever known who lived through the Seventies without letting his hair grow out, or at least his sideburns. He’s always had the same haircut."

"Your father sounds like a barber’s dream. I’d be a helluva lot richer if more men thought like him."

He gave a noncommittal, "Yes, sir."

"It’s obvious you haven’t been in a barber’s chair in a long time. No self-respecting barber would let you out of his chair with hair this long. When was the last time you saw the inside of a barbershop?"

He smirked. "It was the day before my eighteenth birthday, which was more than eleven years ago." He shook his head. "Pops made me get a haircut that day. He knew I was moving out the next day, and he wasn’t going to let me get away without one last hateful event for me to remember."

He looked at me. "In your business, you’ve probably heard ‘My house, my rules’ a few times."

"I grew up hearing that, and I have to admit, my kids heard it too. To answer your question, yes, I’ve heard it in the shop too."

"I went with Pops that day, because I believed the rule was sound. I didn’t even think about telling him I didn’t want a haircut. I was still living under his roof, and did what I was told."

"Did your father give you any grace?"

For the first time since walking in the door, he showed some animation. "Hell no! He had to inflict that last haircut on me, and it was a brutal one. No army private has ever had a shorter haircut than what he made me get that day."

"You’re a mighty big fellow. Why didn’t you fight him?"

"Oh, I did, but he had the barber slip a rope around me and tie me up, while four of his buddies held me down."

"Pardon me for saying this, but your father sounds like a real bastard."

He shook his head. "You have no idea."

"I can see why you haven’t seen a barber in a while, and I don’t blame you. Why the sudden change?"

"I haven’t seen Pops since the day I moved out. I’m going to go see if we can reconcile, and I know he won’t have anything to do with me if I have long hair." A tear slid down his cheek. "I know I’m wasting my time, but I have to see if he’ll accept me."

I patted him on the shoulder. "A lot can change in ten years, and a man gets some wisdom as he ages. I’m hopeful for you."

He shook his head. "I’m not very hopeful, but if I do this, I can die in peace, knowing I made the effort."

"Son, you’re mighty damned young to be talking about dying. There’s still lots of time for you and your father to make up."

He looked sad. "I don’t know. I have a gut feeling that I don’t have much time left, and I want to make amends before I go to whatever is on the other side."

I shook my head. "From my point of view, your father would be a damned fool not to accept you back into his life. You’re a polite young man, and you’ve already impressed me. I wish my boys were more like you."

"I doubt that, Mr. Walter. You don’t want sons like me." He shook his head and whispered, "You definitely don’t want disgraceful, disgusting sons like me."

"Let me be the judge of that, young man. I’d be happy to claim you as one of my own."

He wiped another tear. "Thank you, sir. You’ll never know how much your kind words mean to me. I think you meant it, and that touches my heart in a very special way."

"I did mean it." I walked around in front of him. "Look at me, Curtis."

He obligingly looked up.

"If things go south for you when you get home, you march your ass back here. I’ll be happy to claim you, and get you settled into my crazy family. There’s always room for one more, and I can guaran-damn-tee you that my wife would absolutely adore you." I kept talking. "Saturday nights are my night for taking stock of what’s going on in my life, and for stopping to give some thanks for the good that goes on in my life. I have a pond in the backyard, and I normally sit on the porch with an adult beverage and a cigar to watch the sun go down. You’re welcome to come share the quiet times with me. I’d love to have the company."

"That’s awfully nice of you, Mr. Walter. I think I’d enjoy it. If things go well, I might just do that."

"Listen to me, Curtis. I ain’t BS’ing. I’d love to have you, Saturday, or any other night. Just be here at five o’clock, and I’ll show you the way to my house the first time. After that, I’d have an open door policy with you. You show up, and we’ll visit, and my wife Virginia, always has some cakes and pies made. You won’t leave hungry either."

Another tear rolled down his cheek. "Thank you, sir. I will do that, if things work out where I can, and I look forward to it. I hope we’ll have many pleasant visits together in the future."

He looked at me. "I guess I’m going to owe you for a therapy session. Thanks for listening, but I know you have more important things to do that hear me whine. How about a haircut?"

"I expect I can do that, but what did you have in mind?"

"I really don’t care. Until I let my hair grow out, I always had a #2 buzz in the summer, and a short back and sides the rest of the year. I just want something short, so Pops will maybe be able to listen. I know he couldn’t hear me if I showed up looking like this."

"He should be proud to see you looking like a grown, kind, considerate man, no matter how long your hair is, but I know the type. You’re right, he won’t be able to hear you. There’s some men whose eyes seem to block their ears, at least when it comes to long hair on a man. I’ve never understood it." I picked up a lock of his hair. "Are you saying you want a ‘barber’s choice’ haircut?"

"Yes, sir. I figure you’ll know better than I do what’ll look good."

I laughed. "I was hoping you’d say that. First of all, I don’t want to give you something you’ve already had. It sounds like those styles are connected to bad memories in your head. Would that be a fair assessment?"

He looked stunned, and sat silently for a second. "I hadn’t realized it, but you’re right. I was actually praying you wouldn’t go with a short back and sides."

I shook my head. "Let me guess, when you had your hair that short, it stuck straight up in the back, no matter how much Vitalis you put on it."

"You’re right. I hated the way my hair stuck up."

"Let me tell you what I’m thinking. Your hair is so damned thick it’s practically begging for a flattop. It’ll stand up perfectly, and I think the masculinity of the cut will go well with your strong jaw and great forehead."

He grinned. "I like it. Let’s do it!"

"What about the beard? I think it would look great with the flattop, but will your father think so?"

"No, the beard has to go, but could we leave a mustache? I know Pops will know that I cut my hair for him, but I want him to know I’m man enough to do something for myself as well."

"That sounds like a plan. Just one more question."

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you want to keep your long hair? There’s a great organization that makes wigs for kids with cancer, called Locks of Love. I’d love to donate your hair. They could probably make three or four wigs out of what I’m going to cut off, and it would make a huge difference in those kids’ lives."

"I like it! I can say I did something useful in my life."

"I would imagine you’ve done a lot of useful things in your life."

He shook his head. "Not really. You see, I’m an actor, and all I do is entertain people."

"I think that’s useful. If you give a good performance, and get people’s minds off their problems, you’ve helped them for the two hours a show takes to run."

"I’ve never thought about it like that." He grinned at me. "I think there’s some wisdom under all that gray hair.’

I rubbed my almost bald head. "Yeah, all three of the hairs I have left are grey."

I picked up the comb and a pair of scissors. "You’re going to think I’m butchering your hair, but I promise I’m not. I’m going to cut small pony tails off, so that I can get the most hair from you. You’ll look horrible, until I start shaping the flattop."

"I’m OK with that. Heck, I feel horrible. I might as well look horrible too."

"I promise, you’ll only look horrible for a little while, then I think you’re going to be amazed at how handsome you’re going to look."

"From your mouth to God’s ears."

"All right. Let’s get this show on the road." I clipped a section of hair close to his scalp. "That wasn’t too painful, I hope."

"Not a bit. Let’s get this done. I’m kinda excited now, but I have to admit that I have doubts that I’ll look as good as you seem to think I will."

I smirked at him. "Never doubt a barber who’s cutting your hair. He might think you have no faith in him."

"I have full faith in your abilities. Like I said, you come highly recommended."

After getting all the long hair cut and laid out on the counter, I had to laugh. "You look as funny as I thought you would. Do you want to see the before, or do you want to wait until I get your flattop done?"

"Keep me in the dark. I want the full effect of the before and after."

"That’s a wise move." I positioned his head, baring his neck. "Now, hold still." I took the clippers from his nape to the crown, cutting the hair as low as it would go.

After clipping his neck, I stepped to the side, and I saw that Curtis really had the waterworks going. Tears were streaming down his face. I distinctly remember thinking, "I’ve never seen anyone cry so silently."

Tears were streaming down his face, but he didn’t move or make a sound. He just let the tears flow.

I tried to be as quiet as he was, so I wouldn’t disturb whatever thoughts he was having, but I handed him some tissues. I jumped when he blew his nose. It sounded like someone had just blurted out a D-sharp on a trumpet.

I broke the silence. "Damn, I’m glad I wasn’t cutting your hair when you let out that goose honk. I probably would’ve butchered your hair."

Another half-smile crossed his face. "I don’t want that, sir."

"I’m guessing those tears are about more than losing hair. I’ve had lots of young men cry over seeing their hair on the floor, but it’s different from what you’re doing." I shrugged. "I probably don’t have answers, but I’m more than willing to listen…and to be honest, I’ll probably give you my two cents worth after you tell me what’s going on."

"I’m OK. I really am. Sitting here just brought up a lot of memories."

"Stand up."

"Huh? You’re already through with my haircut?"

"No, but stand up."

He stood, and I wrapped him in a big hug. I held him as he let out all of his emotions. I didn’t let go of him until I sensed he was getting himself together. I stepped back. "I guess you can tell I’m a hugger. One of my mottos is, ‘Nothing is so bad that a hug can’t make it a little better’."

He looked a little embarrassed. "You’re right. I do feel a little better. Thank you." He shook his head. "I guess Pops was right. I am just a little crybaby."

"There’s nothing wrong with crying, son. Mother Nature gave us tears for a reason. Don’t ever be ashamed of them." I looked him over. "You’re a mess. Sit your ass down, and let me make you look better."

I looked down at my tunic, and it was covered in hair. I thought, "Damn it, I’m going to have to change my shirt." Another look at Curtis, and seeing that he looked a little more peaceful made me think, "It’ll be worth it. I’ve never seen a more tormented young man. I wish I could help him."

I asked, "What were you thinking, son?"

"A whole bunch of things, sir. I was thinking that I never learned anything useful from my father." He paused, and looked at the cigar in his hand. "Well, that’s not true. I did learn the pleasure of an occasional cigar from him." He kept talking. "I was also thinking about Mom. She has been brutalized and traumatized by Pops, and he finally beat the life out of her. She walks around like a cowed, mangy dog. Her eyes never look up, and her shoulders are always stooped, even when Pops isn’t around."

His eyes flashed some anger. "Mom is Dad’s fourth wife. One ran away, and the other two died young. Mom was sixteen when she married Pops, and he was forty. He’s been abusing her for thirty-eight years." More tears flowed. "Mom is a sweetheart, and she doesn’t deserve what he’s put her through."

"No woman deserves that. I hate to speak ill of your father, but I think hanging is too good for the bastard. He needs to be tormented, just like he tortured all those poor women."

"You’re right, and I’d gladly be the one to put the noose around his neck." He looked at me. "Anyway, I’m done crying. You can finish my haircut."

The clippers made short shrift out of the sides of his hair, and I tapered the beard into the peeled sides. I stopped to admire my handiwork before starting on the top. "Walter Simmons, that’s perfection, and you’re a damned good barber. You definitely are doing what you’re supposed to be doing."

I put some butch wax in his hair, and brushed it up. His hair stood perfectly upright on its own, with very little effort on my part. I took the clippers over it, and with the first stroke, I knew I had been right. I thought, "Walter, you’re a genius. This guy is going to be handsome as hell when you get done. Don’t forget to get a picture. You want to remember this day."

I growled, "Damn it!"

"What? What did I do wrong?"

"You didn’t do anything wrong, son. I just wish I had remembered to take a picture before cutting your hair off."

He laughed. "Is that all? I’m an actor, and I have all the vanity that comes with the position. I have hundreds of pictures of me on my phone. I can send you one."

"I’d greatly appreciate that, Curtis…and thanks. You’re a good man, Charlie Brown."

I positioned his head again. "Use those acting skills, and focus. Don’t move a bit. I rarely get to cut hair this thick and beautiful, and I want to do a job worthy of it."

I took the clippers from the front to the back again, and yet again. Every trip over his head let me know I was doing the right thing. Each clump of hair that fell on the cape confirmed it. If there was ever a man born to have a flattop, it was Curtis.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork…again. I thought, "Folks might think you’re vain if they could see how proud you are of this haircut."

I guess my face told him what I was thinking. He said, "You look like the cat that ate the canary. I take it you’re pleased with your handiwork?"

"My god, I’m more than pleased. This is the most beautiful haircut I’ve ever done." I patted my almost bald head. "I wish God loved me as much as he loves you. I would kill to have a thick head of hair like yours."

His eyes got dark. "Do NOT say God loves me. He’s proven beyond a reasonable doubt that he doesn’t love me."

I was shocked. "What would make you say that?"

He shook his head. "I don’t want to get into it, but let's say he created me as an abomination, and then put me in a house filled with pure evil. How is either of those things showing me love?"

I said the only thing I could think of. "In my heart, I have no doubt that God loves you. I have no answers for your questions, but I do think they’re fair. I wish I was wiser, son. I’d love to help you with your dilemma."

I got back to business. "Before I shave your beard, I want you to see yourself. I think the beard looks great with the flattop." I turned the chair around.

The beard faded into the freshly shorn sides. The shorn sides ended in a tall, boxy flattop that really balanced his head. To say I was proud to be the person who created the look would be a huge understatement.

He smiled. "I think it does look good, but I still want to lose the beard." He smirked, "I’ve always wondered what I’d look like with a mustache, and never had the balls to do it. Let’s try it…and if I don’t like it, it won’t matter anyway. No one will probably ever see it."

"You have a helluva a mustache, and I think it’s going to command attention. Folks are gonna notice, and I’ll be willing to bet you that you get tons of compliments on it. This mustache of yours is made to be the center of attention, and the beard kinda detracts from it." I laughed. "That mustache of yours is more proof that God loves you more than me. I would literally kill to have a big, thick mustache shaped like yours."

After shaving him, I took the cape off, and turned the chair back to the mirror. He didn’t even seem to notice his perfect haircut. He kept staring at his mustache, and then he reached up to touch it. A huge grin spread across his face. "I did it! I finally did it."

He looked at me. "What do you think?"

I looked at him critically. "Now that I’ve taken the beard off, I think the top is just a little too long. Would you mind if I took it down a little bit?"

He took his eyes off his mustache, and for the first time looked at his hair. He studied it intently. "I think you’re right. The proportions are a little off. It seems like the long top against the peeled sides is too much contrast. Would you mind taking it down a bit?"

I stared at him. "You truly are an artist. Only someone with a very discerning eye would’ve noticed that."

"I don’t know about being an artist, but I think I’d like it more if you took the top down a little bit."

I harumphed. "Well, I know you’re an artist. There’s no doubt in my mind."

I put the cape back on, and very carefully took his hair a little lower. I probably spent ten minutes just making sure that every hair was the perfect length, and that the flattop was perfectly straight.

With anyone whose hair wasn’t as thick would’ve had a big landing strip, but not Curtis. It was just a straight, level deck of intense black.

I couldn’t help but cackle with joy when I was done. "I nailed it. This is perfect for you."

I turned him back to the mirror. The reflection in the mirror filled me with joy. I had created a boxy flattop, with peeled sides, and it looked perfect on him. The big, almost walrus, mustache created a balance and focus to the amazing plushness on the top of his head. I have never been prouder of a haircut I’ve done.

"I think you’re ready to walk a runway. You look like a fashion model. I swear, I’ve never seen a more handsome man, and the haircut and mustache just accent all your features perfectly."

He gave a low whistle. "WOW! That's a haircut. I think it might take me a while to get used to it, but I really, really like it. Thanks for recommending it."

We talked a few more minutes, and then he said, "Well, I guess I oughta head out. Thanks a million. I can die a happy man, knowing I look like this." He shook my hand. "You truly are the best barber in the state, maybe the country."

"Come back and see me, and I mean it. You’ll always have a place in my home and my heart. Welcome to my family."

For the first time I breached a suspicion I had. "Bring anyone you want with you, male or female. They will be loved, as long as they love you."

He opened his arms to me. "May I have another hug?"

"Gladly!" We hugged for a while, then he stepped back. "I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Walter, but honestly, I imagine I’ll be dead this time tomorrow."

Alarms went off in my head, and I put some of his comments in context. "What do you mean when you say you’ll be dead tomorrow?"

"If things go as I anticipate tonight, I’m going to kill myself. That’s part of why I wanted the haircut. I want my father to be able to stand the way I look when I’m in a casket."

"Curtis, please don’t. It will break my heart if you do. Let me call one of my clients. He’s a psychologist. He might be able to help you."

He shook his head. "I have to do this my way, and I think this is the only way left for me." He ran out of the shop.

I followed him, and saw him get into a new black Dodge Ram. He was too far away for me to be able to see the license plate.

I ran back into the shop, and called 911. Believe it or not, there was a policeman in my shop within just a few minutes.

The policeman said there wasn’t much he could do to help me out. Without a plate number, he had no way of tracking Curtis. He did get on his radio, and tell them to be looking for a black Dodge, and to pull it over if the truck did anything suspicious.

He looked at me. "I’m sorry. That’s about all I can do. We can’t pull him over if he doesn’t do something wrong. There’s just not enough probable cause."

"But he said he was going to kill himself!"

"I’m sorry, but that’s not enough." He added, "I hate to say it, but black Ram trucks are a dime a dozen in east Texas. I wouldn’t hold out any hope that we’ll find him."

I couldn’t get Curtis off my mind, and I managed to mess up more haircuts in that one day than I had in all of my sixty years of barbering.

All I could do was pray that God would soften the heart of Curtis’ father, and let his father show some mercy. I silently prayed all day, and most of the night. I got very little sleep, and woke up feeling exhausted.

The next day was full of surprises for me. I picked up the paper, and read the headline. It made me sick to my stomach. I sat there literally shaking for a long time, and nothing I read made sense.

Former Local Resident Kills Himself in a Dramatic Fashion

Charles Aikens, a Nacogdoches resident, was awakened by a thumping sound against the front of his house. He went outside, and found the body of his son, Curtis, aged twenty-nine, hanging from the gable over his front porch.

Charles reported that his son had returned home the night before, after an extended absence, and tried to reconcile with his father. Charles said, "I wanted nothing to do with that faggot, and told him to get the hell off my property."

Apparently Curtis returned shortly after his father went to bed, drilled holes in the gable, and put two large hooks into the wall. A ladder was found in the yard, and police believe Curtis climbed the ladder, and hung the noose over the hook. Once the noose was secured, Curtis took his clothes off, inserted a rather large dildo, climbed the ladder, and kicked it
into the yard.

A sign that read, "I may be a fag, Pops, but I’m still a better man that you are" hung around his neck. A long letter detailing a history of physical and mental abuse was also found at the site, along with a letter for a friend.

Curtis had been working in New York City for the last ten years, pursuing a career in musical theater, where he was very successful, starring in many Broadway hits.

My first thought was, "I never thought about Curtis being from Nacogdoches, and I should’ve. Nacogdoches is not on the way to Arkansas from New York. Coming here would have taken him hours out of the way. Walter, you’re a dumbass, and so are the cops. They should’ve made that connection."

I guess I will always wonder if I had known that if I could have saved him. When I called the police, I assumed he was heading to Arkansas, because he said that’s where his father was from. It never dawned on me that his father might’ve moved.

A lot clicked for me, after I had time to process things. I knew Charles Aiken, Curtis’ father. I had been cutting his hair for about five years (after another local barber got weary of Charles’ crap and fired him as a customer). and he is one of the most worthless humans it has ever been my misfortune to know. Everything about him is vile. He hates everyone and everything, and didn’t mind sharing his views. He preaches against Jews, blacks, gays, Latinos, women, politicians, lawyers, doctors, Catholics, Mormons…I can’t remember him ever saying a nice thing about anyone.

I would’ve (and should’ve) refused to cut his hair, because of all of his negativity, but greed won out. He was a faithful customer, and I counted on his income, even if he wasn’t much in the tipping department. I thought, "Well, Charles, you’re gonna have to find another barber. I’ll never cut your hair again, and you’ll be mighty damned lucky if I don’t split your skull with a baseball bat."

Not long after reading the article, a stooped, bent woman walked in. She looked like she was eighty, but I knew she was much younger, just like I knew who she was before she said a word.

It was Curtis’ mother, and Charles’ wife.

"Mrs. Aikins?"

She stared at the ground. "Yes, sir. How did you know?"

"It was just a guess. I just read about your son. I’m so sorry."

Tears freely flowed down her face, and dripped onto her faded, worn dress. "Thank you, Mr. Walter."

She peeked at me, and then dropped her head again. "I wanted to thank you for being so nice to my boy. I snuck out of the house last night after he and Mr. Aikins got into the fight. Curtis and I had a real nice conversation. He really liked you, and I wanted you to know that."

My tears started flowing. "Thank you, Mrs. Aikins. I really liked Curtis, and I told him I would adopt him into my house. I meant it. You raised a mighty fine young man. You should be proud of him. He was truly a good man, with a heart of gold."

I hugged her, and she didn’t seem to know how to react. She finally returned my hug, and we stood there crying for a long time.

She stepped away. "I guess I’d better go. I don’t want Mr. Aikin getting upset about me being gone too long. He let me come into town to buy a new dress for the funeral."

"Before you leave, let me say something. I’m transferring my offer of adoption from Curtis to you. If you need a place to go, you will always have a room at my house. We have three spare bedrooms, and I could turn one of them into a parlor for you, so you’d have a place of peace and quiet."

"Thank you, Mr. Walter. I may just take you up on that. As you can imagine, I’m reeling, but I think it might be time for me to get away."

"If you decide to come to my house, I will do everything in my power to protect you, including killing your husband if he ever shows up."

"I appreciate that, but you might have to get in line behind me. I have some almighty big grudges built up against that man, and I’d love to pay him back for all the hell he’s put me through."

She turned to walk out, and then turned back. "One more thing, if you ever wonder how Curtis found you, it was me who pointed him in your direction. Every once in a while I’d sneak away, and he’d call me at my sister’s house. He told me that he was planning on coming home, and wanted to know which barber to use. I knew Charles used you, and told him to come see you."

That made sense to me. "Thank you for letting me know. That young man really touched my heart in the hour we had to get to know each other. Know this, I will never forget him."

Her last words will always echo in my head. "You did a mighty fine job on Curtis’ hair. He was real proud of his haircut, and he’ll look real good in his casket. Thank you for giving me that."

I couldn’t think of a thing to say to her as she walked out.

Right before I closed shop that night, a policeman showed up with a letter from Curtis. I tried to read it, and couldn’t because of the tears that were streaming down my face. I asked the cop to read it for me.

Dear Mr. Walter,

Words cannot express how grateful I am that you were the last person I saw alive, other than my father and mother. He didn’t give me a chance to speak to my mother, but she snuck out, and I had five precious moments with her.

I am leaving the world with memories of your incredible kindness in my mind. Thank you for caring for a stranger. Your warmth and tenderness truly touched my heart and life.

I cannot help but wonder what my life would have been like if I had been raised by a tender, warm, loving man like you, rather than the beast that God saw fit to put me with.

I lied when I told you that the cigar I had in your shop was my last one. I smoked one more cigar, and imagined what it would be like to be sitting on a back porch with you, having a drink and cigar, while soaking up the wisdom and love that you so freely bestow. It was a very pleasant daydream.

I’m sorry I can’t take you up on your offer of becoming an adopted member of your family. I feel that I am too broken to be of any use to anyone or society. For me, this is the best outcome, and my only prayer that death is final. I don’t want to go to Heaven, and live with a god who was cruel enough to make me gay, and then say I deserved to die for being
what he made me. The obvious flipside of that is, I don’t want to go to Hell and burn forever. I have no desire to be reincarnated, and go through another life. I just pray for the stillness of not being any more. I hope the grave is quiet, and complete nothingness. I want nothing else than utter stillness through eternity.

Thank you again for your thoughtfulness,

Curtis Aikins

I don’t know what to do with the letter. A big part of me wants to burn it, but another part wants to keep it, just to let Curtis know he was important.

One thing is for sure, I doubt I will ever read it. Just hearing the cop read it was painful, and I don’t want to experience that pain again.

I’ve always said I was going to work until I was eighty-five, but this experience has made me rethink that. I really think I’m going to hang my clippers up now. I don’t ever want to be in the position to experience something like this again. I’m giving myself until the end of the week to try to make sense of this, and if I can’t, I’m quitting the barbering business.
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I woke up around 3:00 AM with the idea for this story. I grabbed my phone, and put a note on it, so I wouldn’t forget the basic premise. The next morning, I began writing, and within four hours I had what you read down.

Sorry to send this to you in such a raw state. This story is far outside of my comfort zone, but the idea presented itself so forcefully that I had to try to make it work. After writing it, I became too emotional, and the tears wouldn’t let me see the screen. I guess I’m like Curtis in the story. I’m a cry baby. Anyway, the tears prevented me from proofreading, editing and working each sentence as carefully as I would have liked to. Hopefully the power of the story overrides the deficiencies in the writing.

I actually thought about putting a disclaimer at the beginning of the story, letting readers know it’s not a "feel good" story, but decided against it for two reasons. First, I thought the title would be a good indication, and secondly, I was afraid no one would read it if they knew it was a dark story.

Forgive me if I offended you.

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