"Dad," Sam called out once his father came home.
"What's up Sam the Man?" Max smiled and noticed that his son had made breakfast for him. "You made me breakfast?"
"I have to go to school soon and I'm not letting you go to bed hungry. We take care of each other, Dad," Sam reminded his father.
"Your blue is fading, bro. Need some money to touch it up?" Max asked before ruffling Sam's hair.
"No, sir. I've saved up enough for a trip to Nancy's," Sam smiled. Nancy Kilworth was a local hair stylist whose husband worked with Max. After hearing Max talk about Sam's regular touch-ups of blue, Nancy's husband suggested that the teen stop by his wife's establishment to get it done professionally.
"What's on your plate for today?" Max asked his son.
"School, then hit Nancy's place, and then heading to Cafe Libre to study for a bit. They give students a free drink if they're there to study," Sam explained.
"That's the place where they have like a science lab for little kids, right? Saw it on the news. Don't they lose money for giving you guys free drinks?" Max asked with a shake of his head.
"Nah. I mean most of us buy snacks and stuff with the drinks. I think Joe makes more money than some of the other cafes in the area because he's pro-education. He has essay contests every week and gives a weeks supply of freshly baked goods for the winner," Sam smiled.
"Need money for anything? Field trips? Uniforms? Shoes?" Max asked while shoveling some food into his mouth.
"Dad, you give me an allowance. I make it work. I don't need extra money. You should save that for emergencies," Sam nodded before grabbing his backpack. He was grateful that his father made enough to more than make ends meet, but he couldn't forget the poverty they had faced when he was a child. He hated asking for extra money because he didn't want his father to think that they didn't have enough.
"Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you as a son?" Max asked with a smile.
"Every single day, Dad and I love every minute of it. I'm heading to school. Love you," Sam smiled before strapping his helmet on and heading outside.
"Love you too! Be careful! No wheelies!" Max yelled out as the door closed behind Sam.
"Got it!" Same called out before the door closed. He had never attempted a wheelie in his life, but his dad always made the same joke whenever he knew that Sam would ride his bike.
School passed by in a frenzy of physics experiments and Shakespeare quotes. Sam sat in his last class with his phone in his hand. He read the confirmation text he'd received from Nancy that told him that she was expecting him at three. Sam glanced up at his teacher, raising his hand, once she called out his name for end of class roll call. Once the bell rang, dismissing him along with his peers, he headed towards the bike racks.
"Sam!" Daehan called out as Sam rushed out he front doors of his school. He paused and quickly turned to look at Daehan in surprise. The Asian teen smiled and caught up with Sam with before catching his breath.
"You go to school here?" Sam asked, his expression stuck in "surprised" mode.
"Just transferred. I didn't think I'd meet anyone I know, " Daehan explained.
"That's cool, man. What classes have you taken?" Sam asked with with a smile.
"World history, calculus, English, and physics," Daehan read off from a slip of paper he dug out from his pocket.
"You have Mr. Wembley for physics?" Sam asked while unlocking his bike.
"Yeah, third period," Daehan nodded.
"Awesome. You'll be in my class. It was awesome seeing you and I hate to cut it short, but I got to be somewhere at 3. See you in class tomorrow?" Sam suggested and patted Daehan's backpack.
"No problem. just wanted to say hi. We're having a football game on Sunday at the mosque. You should stop by," Daehan suggested.
"Sounds cool. Details tomorrow, cool?" Sam asked before straddling the bike and putting on his helmet.
"Yeah, sounds good. Later," Daehan nodded before heading towards the buses.
After talking to Daehan, Sam headed towards Nancy's. There was little-to-no traffic along the way which allowed Sam to arrive with a good ten minutes to spare. He locked his bike against the small bike rack for the strip mall and jogged over to the small, yet homely salon. Sam was about to open the door to the establishment when a tall and muscular man with intricate face tattoos stopped him.
"You gotta read first, bro," the man growled before tapping on a piece of paper that had been taped to the door.
Sam wasn't sure what was the most astounding element of the tall and broad man in front of him. Was it his Australian-ish accent? His muscular stature? His face tattoos? His gravely voice? He had a menacing demeanor that Sam found terrifying. He could probably snap my neck without blinking.
"You alright, bro?" The man asked, his tone softening a bit.
"Y-yeah, um, yes. I had an appointment with Nancy at three," Sam blurted out quickly.
"Yeah, but you're early, bro. Sign says that they got a private event inside. Ya gotta wait," the man reiterated while tapping on the piece of parchment.
Sam quickly glanced at the paper, finally reading the small typed words on the page. Closed for private party. Re-opening at three. Oh. I almost barged into a party. I can't even imagine the awkward silence that would have ensued.
"Oh. Thanks for stopping me," Sam nodded quickly.
"You look like you're about to piss your pants. Slow your roll, bro. I wasn't going to hurt you, but I sure as hell wasn't letting you walk in there either," the man laughed before patting Sam on the back.
"I-I," Sam stuttered and paused to collect his thoughts. He did think that the man could easily squish him, but now the idea of that happening seemed ludicrous. He mustered up his courage and admitted that he was a bit terrified of the man's appearance. "Your tone had me scrambling, sir. I'm a scrawny teen and you're Hulk Hogan."
"I'm Maori, son," the man said simply as if that was all the explanation in the world.
"Like, the Haka guys? That doesn't put my mind at ease, sir," Sam admitted. He had seen the traditional war cry of the native New Zealanders on Youtube. That made the Maori even more formidable in his mind.
The man roared with laughter and patted his chest in what seemed to be like the beginning of the Haka war cry. Before the man could properly begin the chant, the door to the salon opened and a group of women walked out while chatting amongst themselves. Many of the women were wearing hijabs and one hijabi woman in particular paused as she looked at the Maori man.
"Jace? What are you doing?" The woman asked with her arms across her chest,
"Lily, hey honey. Just showing this young man what a real Haka is like. Did you have a good time?" Jace asked once he straightened up and smiled fondly at the woman.
"Yes, I had a very pleasant morning. Nancy just rang up the charges," Lily sighed before turning towards Sam. "I'm sorry for my husband's behavior. He gets way too excited about his ancestry."
"I'll go take care of the charges. Asalam alaikum, Sister Iman," Jace called out in greeting as a familiar woman stepped out of the salon.
At that moment, Sam wasn't sure what had dumbfounded him more, the fact that the warrior man had a hijabi wife or that the warrior man was Muslim himself. He seemed to know very little about the Muslim community. It seemed that whenever Sam felt like he finally understood the Muslim community's demographic, he was in for a surprise. One thing that he had finally learned was that literally anyone could be Muslim.
"Walaikum assalam, Brother Jace," Iman smiled and paused once she spotted Sam. "Sam, right?"
"Hi, Professor Abdullah," Sam nodded and gave a small wave to the young educator.
"You know this bro, Sister Iman?" Jace asked in intrigue.
"Yes, Brother Jace. He's a young man who is interested in Islam, correct?" Iman asked with a pleasant smile.
"What? Damn. I should have been nicer to you," Jace sighed and winced once Lily lightly smacked him on his shoulder.
"You should generally be nicer, Jace, not just with Muslim people. Stop intimidating the next generation of kids," Lily sighed. The young woman gently grabbed the warrior's ear and led him towards their car in the parking lot, leaving Sam standing in front of Nancy's salon with Iman.
"Iman, you forgot your- hey Sam!" Nancy smiled once she spotted her young customer. Nancy was a curvy middle-aged Irish woman who had moved to the United States with her husband nearly twenty years ago. She was known to be extremely hospitable and never let you leave the salon in a bad mood. She now held a slim watch in her hand which she had stretched out towards Iman.
"Hi, Mrs. Kilworth. I'm here for my appointment," Sam explained.
"Well come inside, son," Nancy smiled while removing the notice taped on the door. "We're open again."
"Thank you, Nancy. I hope to see you again, Sam," Iman smiled before heading towards her car.
Sam nodded and headed inside the salon. He noticed that Nancy's staff was busy cleaning up the floor and the manicure stations while one particular lady began preparing Sam's blue dye. Nancy motioned for Sam to take a seat and draped a cape over Sam's shoulders.
"You know Professor Abdullah, Mrs. Kilworth?" Sam asked in intrigue once Nancy began brushing Sam's hair back.
"Oh yeah. She's a good person. A bunch of the Muslim ladies stop buy once a month and rent out the salon for the morning. They have a full on salon day. A lot of them wear scarves so they only get their hair trimmed, dyed, and cut by ladies in a women only environment," Nancy explained.
"Oh. I never thought about how the ladies get their hair cut," Sam murmured out loud.
"You and me both. When they first came up with the idea, I was completely confused. I was like, so there's hair under there, huh? Felt like a right fool, let me tell you. Those ladies are absolutely gorgeous, but you don't focus on that when they wear their scarves. You just look at them. Maybe that's their point? Plus I bet they never have bad hair days," Nancy chuckled. "You want your hair lined up, Sam?"
"I've only saved up for the dye job, Mrs. Kilworth," Sam shook his head. He could wait a couple weeks for a haircut. He hadn't really factored in getting a haircut. Next time he'd save more money to do just that.
"You only need a trim. On the house, son," Nancy decided before reaching for her clippers. Sam pursed his lips as Nancy carefully lined up the stray hairs at his neck. Sam followed Nancy's careful movements in the mirror in front of him. There was something absolutely methodical and magical about the way Nancy attended to his hair.
"Erica, hand me the dye," Nancy called out to one of her assistants. With the bowl of dye in hand, Nancy began applying it to Sam's blue streak. "Sam, mind if I ask you something?"
"Sure," Sam nodded, knowing full well what Nancy was about to ask.
"Why do you always get your hair blue? Why not mix it up? I've got red, teal, pink, purple, orange, yellow, and silver," Nancy suggested.
"Because it was the last thing my mom did for me," Sam whispered. He paused, gnawing on his bottom lip before taking a deep breath. As Nancy apologized, Sam shook his head and looked at the kind woman. "She died of cancer and she had a pink streak in her wig. I was little and I told her that I wanted something cool like that too. She turned my hair blue. I don't want to lose that bit of her and now that I'm growing older, I feel like I'm remembering her less. I don't want to forget her."
It was true. As he grew older, the memories he had of his mother weren't as clear as they once were. He closed his eyes and gulped back a wave of emotion while he tried to bring up a mental image of his mother. Her kind smile first flashed into his vision followed by her delicate fingers. She always touched his cheek fondly whenever talking to him. He finally imagined her face, but frowned. His last image of his mother was of the time she was very sick. Why couldn't he remember her being well? He knew he was a child when she passed away, but as her son, he needed to remember. He opened his eyes and sniffed back the small tears that had formed in his eyes. He couldn't remember and that broke his heart.