Mel’s Hair and Donuts
I had a dream. I don’t usually.
The family and I were walking along a series of store fronts that almost resembled the decaying facade of a carnival, with old custom signage and those massive glass light bulbs. Over our heads, an arch, with the sign hanging on our right, directly in front of the customer parking lot. Our son and three blond crew cut boys were bouncing large school ground balls between each other, off of the arch over head, and frequently losing control of them so that they would bounce off of the hood of one car, the top of another.
I confiscated at least one of the balls when it bounced off a bunch of the oversized bulbs and then dented in a roof. I made angry eyes at the boys but none of them really cared. They were too busy enjoying that game that children have of showing off how many buttons they can push, how they control the situation. Most children seem to do this when they bring guests home, so that they can display the amusing things that their parents do when angered.
My wife went into the shop at the end of the line of shops. She was going to get her hair cut and even though there was always a ridiculously long line, it was worth it. They cut hair quickly, correctly, and cheaply. A line of idling cars patiently puffed streams of exhaust beside the strip mall, going down the hill for a drive through of some sort.
The boys were playing tag on the asphalt, in between the parked cars. I went inside to wait for a bit. The line was even longer than I had thought. It snaked back and forth through the entrance room, a single file of people with obviously no concerns for personal space. I found enough space at the edge of the room to get into the next room. Here there were high backed deeply stained wooden benches at old Formica tables. I chose a seat and
[time passes]
heard my wife calling out from the next room, where the queue seemed to terminate. She wanted to know if I had heard that noise. I realized that I had heard the slowly growing noise, a noise that made me think of godzilla and metal being torn, ripped into pieces. As I listened to the noise, I marked the two giant donuts on the plate in front of me with a black magic marker. I didn’t want the wait staff to dispose of them while I was outside. My mouth watered just looking at those delicious donuts. My wife said I should find out what was going on, and I called back my agreement.
Back outside, I saw a skinny young boy, perhaps twelve, riding the archway like it was a library sliding ladder. He had a sledgehammer that was nearly as big as he was and he was slamming it into the second floor of the scaffolding-like arch as it slowly glided down the store fronts. He struck the floor and that metal tearing sound grated my ears. He struck the floor again. And again. The entire arch was vibrating and puffs of brick dust came out of the mortor. The second floor started to buck and the boy leaped forward onto the top of the arch. The floor dropped away and took the first floor of the skaffolding with it. He jumped again, and the arch began to tilt out, away from the store fronts, groaning. He jumped from another vantage point and landed lightly on the ground. The arch crashed down into the parking lot, smashing cars, breaking windshields. He dusted the heavy dust from his knees.
I shouted, “Aey!” and with a quick glance over his shoulder, he darted away in that wild knees akimbo way that children do.
I walked over to inspect the damage and looking up, saw that the metal flowers of the fire suppression system were arcing in electric blooms. The blue sparkle walked up and down the dangling wires that were ripped out by the arch’s fall.
I pulled a flip phone from one of my cargo pant pockets and flipped it open, trying to figure out how to dial my wife. I was going to have her get the hair cutter/donut place’s manager to call the facilities manager to call the firemen, police, electricians. I pushed buttons and then phone screen interrupted me saying it was my brother. I answered while sucking the flame into the tip of a clove cigarette.
He said that he needed my help. But I couldn’t hear him because the music in my right ear was too loud and the volume on the left, from the phone, was too quiet. I fumbled with holding the phone to my head, trying to get my hand into my pocket to turn off the MP3 player without dropping the cigeratte that was in my hand. As I tried to thumb the volume up on the phone it occurred to me to put it on speakerphone, but I didn’t know how.
I finally got the music turned off, the phone loud, and I stubbed the smoke out in the oddly shaped trash can lid. Covering one ear, I asked what was the problem and can it wait I have to call in a possible fire hazard.
Then I rolled over and woke up. Stressed.