Matchmaker

Water Street is a wash of cigarette smoke and foreign tounges. People gather around to watch the steam clock tick. I still have yet to understand why exactly that is appealing, but they always do it.

Mitra was so excited when she saw me. "Carla says so much about you!" she exclaimed, and then she saw my hair. "So curly! It's beautiful! I cut and layer for you!" Then she set about cutting my hair.

I had heard stories about my mother's hairdresser. One day my she came home with a severely short haircut, because Mitra's mother was sick and she was upset. Once you're in her capable hands, you're at her mercy, and though your hair always ends up looking nice in the end, it's not always exactly what you wanted.

She clucked and fussed over me for an hour, and at the end, I had substantially less hair. Not only that, but my hair was straight too. I've never had straight hair before. I also have not had my hair this short since I was 7. It's going to take a while to get used to.

Somehow during that hour, I got set up on a date with her son. "He is student too," she said, "25. He study medicine. Good family guy." I didn't think much of it at the time, but apparently later on she phoned my mother to firm up the details. "What is all this about you dating my hairdresser's son?" she asked, laughing. I laughed too, but the truth is that I don't know. I don't understand a thing.