When the haircut, shave, sun treatment, and the rest were over, I sat in the chair limply, feeling light, and slick, and clean,
and Matt whisked the neckcloth off and offered me a second mirror to see the reflection of the back of my head.
Seeing myself in the front mirror looking into the back mirror, as he held it for me,
it tilted for an instant into the one angle that produced the illusion of depth;
endless corridors of myself... looking at myself... looking at myself... looking at myself... looking...
Which one? Who was I? I thought of not telling him.
What good was it for him to know? Just go away and not reveal who I was. Then I remembered that I wanted him to know.
He had to admit that I was alive, that I was someone. I wanted him to boast about me to the customers tomorrow as he gave haircuts and shaves.
That would make it all real. If he knew I was his son, then I would be a person.
"Now that you've got the hair off my face, maybe you'll know me," I said as I stood up, waiting for a sign of recognition.
He frowned. "What is this? A gag?" I assured him it was not a gag, and if he looked and thought hard enough he would know me.
He shrugged and turned to put his combs and scissors away. "I got no time for guessing games.
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