BARBER BROKE UP WiTH ME
male friendship breakups are formless but they hurt just as much
ORLANDO, FLORIDA
Manuel, Manuel, Manuel. My first therapist.
He looked like he came straight out of a XXL photoshoot. He gave 106 & Park host. Clean fade, looking like one of the examples on the haircut example posters. Diamond studs. Gold Jesus piece tucked in. White teeth. Little stubble. Baggy light jeans, big white t, crisp Air Forces. Dope boy fresh. Driving a slammed white Nissan with a big coquí decal on the back window.
He was a barber, sure. But to me was more. Much more.
I still remember the smell of the Barbicide, and the talc powder. The Johnnie Walker and the cigar smoke. The pool table in the middle that no one used. The TV on mute, flipping between music videos and Spanish sermons. The steady buzz of the clippers. The capes with Puerto Rican flags on ‘em. The increasing volume of an argument over whether LeBron or Kobe was better.
I started getting my haircut with Manuel when I was 11 years old. Fresh on the middle school scene. Where everyone was recently arrived at puberty. Everyone except me, it felt like.
I didn’t really feel like talking to anybody about the insecurity it gave me. When everyone else was talking about their beards coming in, their growth spurts, their sex drive. It felt like they were halfway done with the race and I wasn’t even at the starting line.
But Manuel dispatched it in between a changing of the guard. Flicking it down so he could fade the bottom.
“So how’s sixth grade?”
“Uh. It’s cool. I feel like. Yea. It’s cool.”
He chuckled as he put the machine to my neck.
“Cool? I hated sixth grade. I felt like everybody was tall as shit and always trying to fight. I was skinny as hell and weak. Shit, I still am skinny as hell.”
I suppressed a smile.
Eighth grade. Manuel was fiddling with the radio. Waka Waka was dominating the airwaves, clearly a little too much for his taste. He found some old Beanie Man, and did a little two step before reaching for a clean comb.
I had been offered weed for the first time. I said no, but a part of me wanted to say yes. I was curious. When I broached the topic with my mother, she blew up on me. I simply said some kids at school were smoking weed. She asked me their names, so she could call the cops and tell the principal.
“Manuel. You smoke weed?”
He let out a long haaaaa.
“Do I smoke weed?” He put on a fake deep voice as he sprayed my hair wet.
“Why?”
“I’m just wondering.”
“You got friends that smoke?”
“Yea. A couple.”
He sucked in some air, paused and looked at the back of my head.
“Look. I love to smoke a lil now and then. But I think I started smoking too early. I was like your age. And it was fun, but I didn’t really focus on what I had to do. I coulda been doing my work, or practicing baseball more. But it kinda distracted me.”
I nodded gently as he picked my hair up in the comb.
“I’m not gonna tell you won’t enjoy it. I just don’t think I would start smoking it so early is all. And if you do, just don’t let it take over your life you know. Cause then you’re gonna start hanging with people that smoke it and shit. You got plenty of time in life to enjoy that.”
Ninth grade. New school. New friends. My first girlfriend. I was delaying our first kiss, too in my head about it.
“Damn weren’t you just in here two weeks ago?” Manuel just got off the phone with his own girl, his baby momma of three years.
“Yea. Gotta look fresh man.”
“Cause you a fresh-man.” He dapped me up as I sat in the chair, pleased at his own punchline.
“Or or,” he pointed at me with one hand as he grabbed the cape.
He tucked it into my collar.
“Or you got a shawty you trying to impress.” My face reddened.
“Ahhhhhh,” he stuck his tongue out and brushed the dirt off his shoulder, in sync with the song playing.
I told him about her. How our friends had gotten us together in that high school way. Making us cross paths, literally pushing us into one another. Late night texts confirming we both liked each other.
“Okayyyy. And how’s that going?”
“Good. Good. I mean I’m still nervous around her you know. But it’s nice.”
“Nervous? Why you nervous?” She likes you man. For you.”
“Yea, I just you know. I feel like. We just talk and I want to like...”
“Ohhh. Okay. Okay you’re nervous cause you feel like you gotta make a move.”
He turned my head to the side gently.
“You guys kiss yet?”
“Nah,” I gulped.
“Well there it is brother. You’re nervous cause it’s not really that. It’s like, it’s more excitement you know. You just dying to kiss her, and she’s dying to kiss you, so that like, tension makes you both on edge you know.”
I had asked my dad about how I could kiss my girl, and he told me to practice on a fruit first. My best friend had told me to pull her in by the belt loops. My girl best friend said to make it real romantic, do it in the forest behind our school.
“Just kiss her bro. Doesn’t matter where or when, just do it when you’re dying to do it. After that, you’ll see papa. You’re gonna be feeling like a new man.”
He was right. I kissed her on a whim, in the library one morning before school. I thought I was gonna die when I did it. I did die. We both did. Spent the whole day thinking about the kiss, so much so that we skipped our last period to kiss some more in the supply closet in H hall.
Tenth grade. My dad and I were in Walgreens, picking up my mom’s medication. My dad called Manuel so he could set up an appointment for the weekend. My dad looked confused with his phone to his ear. His face softened. He congratulated Manuel and told him good luck. He asked if he recommended someone else. We were in line and I felt the words echoing.
He’s not cutting hair any more. He said he went back to college. Good for him. I know he’s got another baby on the way. Man, good for him.
My dad’s words kept ringing in my ear.
Not even a goodbye. Just like that. I was dying to tell him about the kiss.
Sure, he cut my hair. But it didn’t make the break up hurt any less.
