He sheds his blue jeans after a month of solitude. A migration of on campus classes to online college. His hair needs trimming but salons are shut closed. He runs fingers through his ruffled hair and scratches his stubbly chin.
A notification appears on the screen. ‘Video chat!’ His cell almost slips from his hand. ‘Not now. Tomorrow,’ he texts back. His eyed fixes on the screen, searching the number of his hairdresser in his contacts. Ringing tone a bit too melodramatic for his taste. No response. He leaves a message. An hour later, his stylist messages back. “Oh, no sir. No appointments. Not possible in this lock-down.” He cajoles him into giving extra amount. The stylist secretly opens his shop and he manages to get his hair done. The high volume haircut accentuates his face nicely.
Next day, he waits for her call. He wears blue polo shirt to match the frame of his glasses. But no video call, no message. He stands in front of the mirror, grinning at his foolishness. He tosses his cell on the bed. A beep beeps. He stumbles in the sofa as he darts towards the phone. What a video chat in quarantine!
