REHABBING IN TIJUANA
Jesus Loves You A caravan of cars passes me by. I’m walking towards the barbershop. They’re honking. They’re screaming out the windows Jesus loves you! They carry signs expressing the same sentiment. Jesus! I think. Not today. I’m still sour about the conversation I had with Ricardo yesterday. He’s a Christian. I’m not against Christianism per se. I’m just against people’s hypocrisy. Against mine too. Yesterday I uncovered that about myself. I uncovered many things about Ricardo. It’s good to uncover things. Sometimes the result is unpleasant. But the revelation is necessary. It’s closer to truth. Maybe I need to find Jesus to understand certain things. I don’t mean to convert, just to appreciate certain people and ideas. That’s what I need, methinks.
So I’m walking to the barbershop to uncover my face. I’ve been wearing a beard for the past months. I don’t remember what my skin looks like underneath. But I’m in an “uncover everything… reveal it all” phase.
We’re all wearing masks on the streets. They’re covering our mouths and noses. Covering a film of saliva, bacteria and (maybe) viruses splattered on our lips. Not a pretty image. But a necessary cover. Sometimes things need to stay covered, I think. OK. Don’t uncover everything, just what’s worthwhile. Government secrets? Ok. Calm down, I think.
I arrive at the barbershop and ask for Lalo. Lalo couldn’t make it today. He says he’s sorry. Sit here, I’ll take care of you. I had never thought I’d be so happy by Lalo’s absence. My substitute barber is hot. He’s 5’7”. Thin but tight. His vascular arms hairless. His dark brown skin contrasts with the white of his eyes which in turn contrast with the black of his irises. Thin almonds stare back at me. He’s about 30 years old. His mouth and hands covered. One with a black mask (same as his t-shirt and jeans) and white latex gloves on the others (same color as his Nike trainers). He starts cutting my hair. His legs graze my hands as he moves from one side of the chair to another. His hands are soft on my head. He’s gentle. Firm but gentle. I stare at his butt in one of the turns. Unexpected. Round and high.
© liveencounters.net POETRY & WRITING May 2022 Celebrating 12th Anniversary