Blood Relations by Chris Lynch Page A

you a buck.”
    “Oh, there, ya see,” I fumbled. “That wouldn’t work for me. I don’t do salons, I go to a barber.”
    She laughed, took me firmly by the hand. “I can barber.”
    I let her lead me like a balloon on a string. First, to the kitchen sink. “Hope you don’t mind, but your hair is, well, filthy.”
    “I know,” I said. “I had to leave kinda quickly this morning.”
    She sat me in a tall chair in front of the sink, gently tipped me back until my head was in the basin, my neck leaning on the edge. She sprayed me down with warm water, using one of those old gunlike rinsing hoses. As she worked the papaya shampoo into my head, my eyes fell closed and I relaxed.
    “So what was the rush to get out of the house?” she asked.
    “Sometimes, I just really, really can’t stand to be home,” I said.
    “Hmmm. Carlo feels the same way. A lot . So does my son, as you can tell. Myself, I wish I could run out like that.”
    “Why don’t you then?”
    “Because Carlo might come home. He doesn’t like me to be out. One time he was gone for three weeks and when he came home I was out. It wasn’t a good thing. So, it’s better that I stay.”
    “What do you mean? What could he—?”
    She just shook her head and placed a fingertip lightly on my lips. “So what goes on at your house, makes you want to leave?”
    Something about the warm water, the gentle scratching massage of her long nailed fingers, lulled me into honesty. “Well, every year on this weekend my criminal brother and his friends get psychotically drunk and do like rapes and beatings and vandalism and stuff at the colleges.”
    Felina stopped working momentarily. “Oh. I see.”
    “And see their headquarters is at my house and I didn’t want any part of it this year, so...”
    “Let me guess. If you’re not a perpetrator, you’re a victim.”
    “That’s about the size of it, ya.”
    She finished washing, turned up the hot water, and rinsed me off. She worked the hose with one hand, the temperature almost high enough to hurt me, but not quite, so it felt great instead. With the other hand she gently pushed and stroked, kneading the water and soap and filth out of my hair.
    I sat up straight, all combed and ready. “So how do you want it?” she asked.
    I thought, and thought immediately about Ruben’s look again. But he had curly hair and I didn’t. He also had a thin braid running a few inches down the back of his neck.
    “Cut the sides way short,” I said, “and leave the back just the way it is.”
    “How’s that?” she asked after clipping away for a few minutes.
    “Shorter,” I said, tilting my head and staring into the hand mirror.
    “How about that?”
    “Shorter.”
    Felina brought out the electric razor and cleaned me all around my pointy little devil ears. She shaved my sideburns up to the hairline. On top she left it medium floppy long. “Beautiful,” I said. “Can you do a braid?”
    Her fingers worked quickly, surely, giving little tugs on the back of my neck. I couldn’t suppress a smile as I felt it coming together. When it was done, Felina pulled it around to let it lie over my shoulder in front. Even I didn’t realize how long my hair had gotten, and it looked a lot longer with the sides so short. My clean new braid glistened like a skinny young red snake.
    “You are awesome,” I said, hopping out of the chair. I still held the mirror and swung my head side to side to let the braid slap my face. “Can I pay you or something?”
    “Of course you can’t,” she said, shaking her head as I bounced around like a fool.
    “Goddamn straight,” I said to my reflection. “Oops, sorry Felina.”
    “Eeek, I’m shocked,” she said, laughing at me again. “But where are you going to now?”
    “I’m goin’ home ,” I said, gritting my teeth.
    “Is that a good idea?” she asked.
    I shrugged, but I still felt myself grinning. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but I’m gonna find out. Is it