Kew Gardens VII

A couple of days after my diner experience I got up, looked in the mirror, and decided I needed a haircut. During the disastrous 2020 COVID-19 surge in New York City — when it was the worldwide epicenter of the pandemic — everything had shut down. Including the barbershop run by my friend and barber, V., a sweet, middle-aged, portly Italian fellow from the old country. I missed our banter, with frequently revolved around politics. And his delicious European-style espresso.

I walked into his “Apollo Hair Stylist” barbershop. “V., how are you?”

He broke into a broad smile and we fist-bumped. “Nice to see you!” Then he inquired, “You want some coffee? A little espresso?” He gestured with his hand close to his mouth, as if he was drinking from a little cup.

“Of course! I look forward to that as much as the haircuts!”

Then in a conspiratorial voice he whispered, “You want some ‘medicine’ in it?”

“Of course — in a pandemic, who wouldn’t want some ‘medicine?’” I winked.

“Ok, no problem.” He went to a little room in the back while I sat down in the barber’s chair.

Another customer, the manager of a local eatery, asked out loud, “Hey V., I figure, because of the anise flavor, that you put Italian sambuca in it, right?”

“It’s a family secret, my friend,” V. responded, grinning. “If I tell you I’d have to…” He made a cutting sign across his neck.

But yeah, it made sense.

He came back with a tiny paper cup of coffee, brown foam on top of the hot, thick, almost black espresso. I sipped it, tasting the sweetness of the “medicine.” He started the ritual draping of my body with the barber’s cape, wrapping the white paper strip to seal my neck from tiny loose hairs.

I cleared my throat. “You know V.,” I said sheepishly, “during the worst of the pandemic, I bought this cool handheld Remington hair cutter.”

Saying that, I suddenly felt bad, like I had betrayed him.

If so, V. didn’t seem pissed. “I understand, my friend. More than a million of those were sold during the pandemic,” he said somberly.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” I paused, then continued. “I came back to you, but it would have been easy not to. I’d use it standing in the tub before I showered. Not even three minutes, and boom, a perfect cut. Technology made it so…heck, I didn’t even have to look in the mirror.”

“Of course. I understand.” No judgment there.

“You know, same with the movies — we used to go almost every other week to Kew Gardens Cinema. Now we’ve been there maybe once.”

The restaurant manager chimed in. “Yep. Now there’s a zillion streaming services streaming a zillion things. And huge 70-inch monitors. And high-quality broadband to bring you streaming. And hi-fi audio. Now people would rather stay home and watch movies. So you’re right — the technology was already there, the services, all of it. It just needed the pandemic to put the shift into high gear.”

V. finished, proudly looked at his masterwork, and started to brush the excess hair off my cape. “But that hair cutter — does it make you espresso? With medicine? Can you have a conversation like this? Eh?” I saw his warm smile reflected through the mirror.

I laughed and admitted, “Of course not — they’d have to combine the coffee maker with the hair cutter and add Alexa to it!”

We all laughed. But then stopped suddenly.

Because, you know, we could actually see that happening.

My work “is neither fiction nor nonfiction, but a flickering between them” (Ben Lerner).