Bertram

“It feels weird being here without Cath,” said Andrea as she sat down in front of the mirror. Bert flashed a bright smile at her, but said nothing. Always so composed, in his designer blue jeans, loafers, and perfect white shirt, cuffs rolled, scissors and comb at the ready.

He looked intently at her in the mirror. “I was thinking maybe we could go shorter here. Assymetrical.” Andrea turned her head to one side as Burt drew the line against her scalp to show her.

“Do your thing, Bert. Strictly club cut, though.”

“Of course.”

It was like a meditation. Bert’s clean shaven head, his neat hands. Always, his mouth closed, his relaxed, even breathing. The sculpture was conducted in silence, while the latest hits played at low volume in the background. This was his art; he was in his zone.

©2019 Allison Wright
[142 words. Writing: 7 minutes; editing 3 minutes]