She Stole What?

As he sat back in his chair, his feet squeaked against the cheap linoleum floor. A hair dryer was droning in the back, and when it stopped things suddenly felt too quiet, like when you're reading a book and suddenly realize it's stopped raining. The customers were making small talk with the stylists, and every once in a while the bells tied to the door would ring with the entrance of another customer. The demographic of this establishment was pretty specific- middle-aged women, various ethnicities ranging from Hispanic to Russian to Middle Eastern, anything but white. His mother was sitting in a chair 30 feet from him, and she kept glancing at him and making funny faces to keep him occupied. He had driven her here, but not because she couldn't drive or because it was a bad part of town; he had wanted to get outside on this 90 degree day. He only ever had feel-good or feel-bad days, never anything in the middle, but luckily today was a feel-good day. He leaned back in his chair, and let his mind wander.

The bells on the door rang again, and he turned around to see who had entered. She was a tall white woman who looked like she could have been an upper-middle class soccer mom, but at one point made a bad decision (the wrong marriage, the wrong house, the wrong drug) and was now just living a life of regret. She had unkempt hair, bland clothes from the wrong decade, and too many wrinkles for her age. But, she looked like someone who had accepted her fate, and with that sort of confidence she sat down in a chair and asked for highlights. The salon went back to work, but things weren't working right. It was as if one of the cylinders that kept this machine running wasn't firing.

About 20 minutes later she rose from her seat, the tin foil still in her hair and protective bib still around her body, and walked towards the door. She mumbled something about needing her purse, and said that she would be right back. Not 5 steps outside the door, she burst full speed across the parking lot, jumped into her Honda Civic, and sped away.

The patrons inside sat still, all looking at the fading speck that was slowly driving away into the distance. Nobody dared to move or say anything; they all stared in silence. Slowly, one stylist began to cut again. Another turned on her hair dryer, and went back to work. They had witnessed something, but couldn't quite figure out what. Although a police officer might just say it was a robbery, it felt like so much more to them. They all silently wondered what would drive someone to steal a haircut and highlights.