The Water Tower

Richie Lynn sat still and motionless as the scissors brushed past his face like a blur, making slicing noises as the barber continuously closed and re-opened the blades, repeatedly, even though he was clearly past Richie’s hairline. Snip, snip, snip, the silver scissors spoke hungrily, wanting to continually eat away at his hair.

Earlier that morning, Wendy Lynn had sensed that Richie was sad and thought that an early morning haircut would be a great way to start their first weekend in Lewton because, as she put it, “a fresh look means a fresh start.” Wendy Lynn worried about her son because she couldn’t pinpoint why Richie seemed so quiet that morning and put it down to possibly missing his friends. She thought a nice trip out to the shops might change his mood, and who knows, Richie might meet some kids his own age.

Wendy had dropped Richie at the barber while she was going to pop into “Glamour Us,” a few stores down, to try and get her nail repaired after breaking it trying to clean those floorboards. As much as Wendy didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but continuously play with the broken nail. She would use the fleshy part of her thumb to stroke across the tip of the nail, feeling the jagged unevenness, and she knew that if she didn’t get it repaired straight away, she would rip all her nails off because then at least they would all be uniform. But no, ‘nails are the greeting of a wave,’ she had told herself, and she knew she would have to painfully put up with Hayley Laureen’s gossip as she got her nail fixed.

Wendy had paid for Richie’s haircut to the barber, a tall, thin Greek man, knowing he would be finished first because Hayley Laureen would gossip for a good ten minutes between one minute of work. She told Richie to meet her either in the beauty salon or in the lolly shop, knowing that Richie’s sweet tooth wouldn’t be able to resist looking into the store anyway.

The barber continued to cut small strands of Richie’s thick, dark hair from the front of his face, and immediately Richie knew it was way too short for his liking.

“Its good length, yes?” The tall, thin barber spoke with a thick Greek accent that sounded like his nose was congested. Richie hated his hair but also knew he couldn’t do much now that it had already been prematurely taken from his scalp.

“It’s fine,” Richie replied, trying to hide his discomfort in the large maroon-coloured barber chair. He looked around the room at the aged laminated photos of different hairstyles on the peeled yellow paint of the interior of the building. “Kensington Cutz,” the name of the barber store, was etched into the glass with red and blue lettering.

“You like Lewton?” the barber spoke with dull enthusiasm, like he was entering into a conversation he didn’t really care for.

“It’s ok,” Richie replied, trying to avoid the small talk.

“You here just with ya mumma?” The barber stopped cutting and looked at Richie’s reflection in the big, curved mirror, awaiting his reply.

“Yeah,” Richie replied as he tried to look for a wedding ring on the barber’s finger. From Richie’s twelve years of experience, when a grown man asked about his mother, he normally had other intentions with her. He had seen it his whole life—grown men acting like children trying to get into his mother’s bed.

“Your mother is very beautiful.” The barber stood, keeping his gaze on Richie, which was eerily too long and awkward. Richie spotted no ring on the barber’s left hand.

“She is,” Richie agreed because he knew his mother was beautiful, although he felt that he saw his mother in a different way than what the barber meant. The barber’s gaze went back to Richie’s hair, and the scissors came to life again, snipping the already short hair from the top of his head.

“Why she not have good man in her life?” The barber genuinely enquired, although Richie knew where the conversation would go if he didn’t put a stop to it. He knew from experience that if he entertained the notion, then some men would try to find a way in through him.

“My dad… he recently passed away.” Richie stretched the truth to put a stop to the conversation, as no one was comfortable trying to pick up a recent widow.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The barber replied and quickly changed the topic. “You wanted longer at the back, yes? Like haircut two.” The barber pointed his scissors at the laminated picture of the child on the wall who sported a blonde mullet.

“Um, no thanks,” Richie replied, trying to find a picture on the wall with a cut he would be happy with. Unfortunately, from the six pictures on the wall, he only had two kids’ styles to choose from, and one of those pictures was number two. “More like number four, please.” Richie pointed his arm out from behind his apron at the adult picture of a man with dark, short hair who had it parted to one side. A style Richie had always wanted to try out because it was similar to his favourite actor, Bill Levram.

“This is adult haircut. You don’t want children’s style?” The barber questioned Richie as if he were being a difficult customer.

“No, just like that one, please,” Richie stated confidently. The barber shrugged his shoulders high and started cutting the hair at the back of his head, shorter than he was planning.

“It’s a fine,” the barber spoke in a huff as if the haircut was now a painful experience for him. Snip, snip, snip—the scissors now being the ones that broke the awkward silence.

For a Saturday morning, the street seemed quiet, although Richie felt that in this town everything felt a lot quieter than what he was used to. Even this barber store only had a single chair for a sole customer to sit in. Richie sat quietly and looked out the window past the lettering on the glass and took in the street beyond. A few elderly people walked past the store along the broad sidewalk and disappeared from view. Richie Lynn glanced up at the clock hanging high on the wall. The large hand indicated it had just past ten. Richie wondered where all the kids his age would hang out in Lewton after he realised that the town seemed youth-absent this morning. He built up the courage and asked the barber.

“Where is everyone my age?” he mumbled quietly as the barber leant in to catch Richie’s whisper.

“The kids, you mean?” the barber asked, cocking his neck to the side, and then proceeded to answer his own question. “The kids don’t come to this side of the town too much. They hang out at, ah, what’s it called…” He thought hard, and if he were a cartoon character, a little light bulb would have flickered on above his head the moment the name popped into his memory. “…Starcade Station, I think it’s called.”

“Starcade Station,” Richie repeated back to the barber before his scissors went straight back into cutting.

“Yes, I think that’s what it’s called. Little computer place on Thornton Road.” The barber’s face lit up happily, as he was never one for remembering much in the way of street directions and was pleasantly pleased with his recall.

“Like arcade machines?” Richie delved deeper.

“Yes, I said this already,” the barber, slightly frustrated, replied as if Richie wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. “I said a little computer place.” Richie’s grin crept onto his face. He would have never thought a small town like Lewton would have an arcade parlour. Richie Lynn loved playing arcade games and was surprisingly good at them for his age. His physical prowess might be one thing, but his reaction time was another, and his initials would normally land in the top ten on most of the games he would play growing up. He would smile admiringly at his score and read his initials out loud: RDL, standing for Richie Dylan Lynn.

“You kids these days need to go outside and play. These whizz-bang computer machines will rot your brains,” the barber snapped, pulling Richie back to reality. “You’ll become a…what’s it called.” The barber paused momentarily. “…how you say… apethantos.” He paused again, scissors still, ceasing to cut. “A zombie, I think it’s called here,” the barber said, once again pleased to remember the translation from his own Greek language.

The gold bell above the door chimed as a large, heavy-set woman opened the barber’s door and entered with a boy around Richie’s own age. Richie had seen the boy at school, although he hadn’t interacted with him yet. At school, the boy would normally sit by himself quietly and not interact much with others. Richie could tell the boy was picked on, as when he sat down in the lunchroom, the stares from the other students were prominent, and Richie could hear the gossip circulate. Richie remembered overhearing Big Ryan Castlebrook laughing as he looked over at the boy in the corner.

“He’ll cop another beating soon,” Ryan spat as he laughed with his friends. “Maybe I’ll snap those stupid glasses off his stupid head. Four-eyed freak.” Ryan Castlebrook said, spitting little bits of his food out as he snapped the wooden fork he had in half, visualising they were the boy’s thick black-rimmed glasses.

The barber stopped what he was doing straight away, clearly recognising the two new customers. “Ah, Mrs Hilton. Come, come.” He motioned them to stand against the wall as there were no waiting chairs in the small store. “How are you, young Billy?” the barber asked the boy with the mullet.

“Good, thank you, Mr Koulizous,” Billy Hilton answered, clearly a regular of number twos at Kensington Cutz.

“I won’t be long, just finishing up here with ah…” The barber had no lightbulb moment this time around.

“Richie,” Richie stated.

“Yes, ah Richie,” the barber said, as if he remembered his name and hadn’t been prompted. The scissors came back to life more vigorously than ever, and the barber rushed, not wanting to lose a customer if they waited too long. Richie’s dark hair fell to the floor, and although it was a lot shorter than he had originally planned, Richie was surprisingly happy with the cut and style. The barber pulled the apron off Richie Lynn and motioned for him to have a look at himself in the mirror.

“You like this, Richie?”

“I do,” Richie replied, squinting at himself in the mirror because if he squinted hard enough, he did look like a young Bill Levram, just like he had hoped.

“Good, good, good. Up you come.” The barber hurried Richie to stand up, and Richie did, his white shoes landing on his loose hair on the floor tiles. The barber quickly grabbed a broom that leant on the side of the counter and swept the piles of hair into one big heap near the back corner of the store. As Richie stood admiring his hair in the mirror, he also felt Billy Hilton’s eyes admiring the cut too.

“Maybe I could try something new today, Mum,” Billy Hilton asked his mother, who stood surprised that the boy was allowed to get something from the adult section rather than the styles she had chosen for her own son over the last year. Mrs Hilton leant down and whispered loudly to her son.

“You can choose your style when you can pay for it yourself.” She leant back up, happy with her teaching.

“Come sit in the chair, Billy,” the barber motioned for him to sit where Richie was moments earlier. Billy brushed past Richie and awkwardly tried entering into a conversation as he sat down.

“Hi,” Billy said quietly.

“Hey,” Richie responded, welcoming a conversation with someone his own age. “I’ve seen you at school,” Richie began, but Billy Hilton, clearly being socially awkward, accidentally closed the conversation off.

“Yeah, you have,” he stated as a matter of fact. His mother continued the conversation with the barber, ignoring the boy’s interaction.

“Number two, please,” she said loudly, inserting her dominance. Clearly, she was the rule-maker at the Hilton residence, and from her demeanour, was quite proud of this fact.

“Of course,” the barber smiled and started to turn the chair back towards the mirror, away from Richie.

“Well, I hope to see you soon,” Richie Lynn spoke to Billy Hilton as he walked slowly towards the door. Billy’s face lit up as if he had never heard anything like that before.

“You do?” Billy replied, confused. “That would be pretty swell,” Billy said excitedly, unable to hide his amazement at a possible friend.

“Yeah, of course,” Richie Lynn stated, noticing that as the chair turned, Billy took off his Wayfarer black frames in preparation for the haircut, sporting white tape strapped around the nose bridge that clearly held them together. It seemed Big Ryan Castlebrook had already followed through on his plan. “Well, maybe we can hang out later today?” Richie asked, about to leave the store.

“And where will this hang-out occur?” interrupted Mrs Hilton snarkily.

““Oh, I don’t mind,” Richie replied politely. “Just be good to get to know someone my own age.”

“Maybe we could study at the library together?” Billy Hilton stated overenthusiastically.

“The library…” Mrs Hilton exclaimed as she tried to find something wrong with their plans so she could put a stop to it. After a few seconds passed, and with no reasonable reason why the library was a bad idea, she continued, “Well, fine, but you need to be home before five.” She stated happily that she still found a boundary she could push.

“Library sounds cool with me,” Richie answered. “Meet you there about one?” he questioned towards Billy.

“One is perfecto,” Billy Hilton answered as the barber started to cut around the tips of Billy’s red hair.

Richie opened the barber’s door and stepped out into the warm Saturday morning air. He took in a deep breath and started to walk towards the lolly shop that sat just a few stores down from the barber. He hoped that they had his favourite red liquorice twirls or, if not, at least they may have some Disco Drops. He imagined stuffing his face with a handful of gummies and was excited about seeing the store in person, as his mother had already bought a few things for him after she had gotten her nails done earlier in the week.

As Richie Lynn was walking past the next window, fantasising about the candy, he paused, drawn to the glass window display of an array of old-fashioned objects. There was a silver harmonica that looked almost twenty years old, rust working its way up the side, giving it a feeling that it had been played thousands of times throughout the years. The harmonica lay next to some sort of gas lantern, clearly damaged over time as the green body had a large crack up the middle near the glass cylinder. The more Richie looked, the more he was fixated on the old objects on display.

Richie’s eyes widened at the sight of a dusty vintage camera, its sleek black body adorned with shiny chrome accents and a leather grip that had aged beautifully over time. The camera's large lens was surrounded by intricate dials and settings that appeared to be something out of a vintage sci-fi movie. Richie looked up at the sign that hung above the window, wanting to know the name of this captivating store. “Bibs, Bobs & Allsorts” was scrawled in black tin lettering on a simple white rectangular backing. Richie had never been into a store like this before, and it seemed he could find anything in there, maybe even a gift idea for his mother, knowing her birthday was fast approaching.

Without hesitation, he opened the store door and entered. The store itself wasn’t huge but was still a lot bigger than the barber store he was just in. A little old lady, almost as aged as the items that surrounded her, stood behind the counter and greeted Richie.

“Welcome to BB’s,” she smiled a genuine, warming smile at Richie, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hi, I’m just coming in for a look, if that’s okay.” Richie tried to make a point that he couldn’t afford to buy anything, as he only had enough spare coins for a few bags of lollies.

“That’s quite alright.” The lovely lady replied, her hair as frizzy as fairy floss as she was unboxing some smaller items at the counter. Richie’s eyes gazed quickly around the store, not knowing where to look.

“The items are just so….”

“Vintage?” The lady’s high-pitched voice answered with certainty. “Just like myself.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to say that,” Richie began. “Intriguing was what I was thinking.” The lady put down the items she was unboxing and smiled at Richie, her red lipstick creasing at the corners of her mouth.

“We don’t have many curious boys around these parts,” the petite lady stated. “It seems we cater for those who normally have some sort of connection to the past.” She walked out from behind the counter, revealing her true height as she came down from the step up. “I’m June,” her voice soft and nurturing.

“I’m Richard,” Richie stated as he outstretched his hand to shake June's. Richie didn’t normally use his birth name because, to Richie, it just seemed so old-fashioned, but here in Bits, Bobs & Allsorts, it seemed fitting. Instead of shaking his hand, the lady took Richie’s hand in hers and placed her opposite hand on top, cupping his hands in a comforting grasp. Richie could feel her soft, cold skin cooling his hot hand.

“I think my mother might like something from here also, as her birthday is coming up,” Richie stated, still with wondrous eyes roaming the store.

“Well, we better have a look for her then, Richard.” June’s voice croaked with a helpful tone as she took her top hand away and then held Richie’s other hand as she walked into the store. “Now, what would your mother like?” June questioned.

“Well, I’m not too sure,” Richie answered politely, not pulling his hand away from June's.

“Is she into silverware?” June questioned as she took Richie to a section of the store where very old knives and forks lay next to a pile of cream-coloured plates, scratched with age, on a white tablecloth.

“I don’t think so,” Richie said, knowing his mother wouldn’t eat off something that couldn’t be cleaned to an immaculate level. June continued through the store.

“How about a collection of ‘Darling Darlings’?” June stopped, showing Richie some old porcelain dolls with a little sign that read “Bring home a timeless treasure today.” Richie thought some of the dolls were creepy, as the one to the far left was missing her right eye.

“They're a little creepy,” Richie said softly, trying not to offend June.

“Creepy, to you, young man,” June smiled. “These were my own collection when I was your age.” June let go of Richie’s hand and picked up a doll from the middle of the pile. “This one is little Priscilla, and she still talks to me.” Richie stood confused, not understanding what June meant. June cleared her throat and began speaking in another voice, mimicking a child. “It’s so good to see you, June.” June froze, almost startled that the doll was speaking to her. “Did you hear that, Richard?” June’s eyes widened as she turned the doll's head to face her own. “How come you don’t play with us anymore?” Richie suddenly became uncomfortable and took a step back from June as she tried to ventriloquise the doll's voice. “Because you’re a pile of junk.” June laughed at the doll as she put it back into the pile. “I’m just messing with you, love.” She began. “They are a bit scary, aren’t they?” The doll's body slumped back down with the rest. “We got them in a week ago from another vintage fair.” Richie smiled, understanding that June was just playing with him. What an eccentric old lady, Richie Lynn thought to himself. Without missing a beat, June took Richie’s hand and continued around the store.

“There was an old camera in the window,” Richie enquired.

“Ah, there is,” June nodded, leading Richie to another section of the store but not quite to the front. “Unfortunately, that camera doesn’t work anymore, but…” She stood still and looked around the store, almost like she had forgotten the store's layout. “…Over here.” She suddenly remembered and darted in a diagonal direction to a brown wooden box that lay atop an old bench seat. “Although the camera isn’t working, I believe we have some old photographs that it had taken.” She blew the dust off the box and moved the lid that lay on top to one side, revealing some black-and-white photos sprawled inside. “I think these were taken with that very camera here in Lewton,” June said, raising her grey eyebrows high with enthusiasm as she pointed to the front of the store where the camera lay.

“Cool,” Richie spoke as he felt he had uncovered some artefact from the past.

“Cool indeed,” June said, smiling. “I’ll let you have a look in there, but your mother would love a nice old photo of the town, maybe.” June continued. “Maybe a good frame.” June couldn’t help trying to pair the old photos with another item in the store to double her sale.

“I’ll have a look,” Richie said as he could see that the old photos were actually something he could afford, well, if he sacrificed some of his lolly money. June walked back to the counter, leaving Richie to look by himself for the first time since entering the store. He flipped through the photos, some torn and ripped with age. A lot of the photographs were scenery photos without many people in them, which was good because it would be a strange gift having an unknown man smiling back at you.

As Richie turned the photos, it seemed he started to recognise some of the old buildings. Was that the old Lewton Town Hall? He wondered to himself as he held the picture up and investigated it. Yes, it was, Richie thought as he noticed the small planted tree circled by a path leading to the hall's entrance. That tree stood towering over the building now, he thought to himself. He wondered if he could find some of his street or possibly the house they had moved into and started to dig deeper into the box.

A stinging pain sliced into Richie’s index finger, causing him to breathe sharply at the unexpected sting. He retracted his hand from the box as if something had bitten him and found he had gotten a paper cut. A small trickle of blood puddled on the tip of his finger and dropped into the box. Richie quickly moved his hand away so no more droplets of blood would fall into the box. Without having anything to wrap around the end of his finger, Richie quickly put it into his mouth and sucked the blood up, hoping it would stop bleeding quickly. The photos must have some jagged edges, he thought to himself as he pulled his finger from his mouth and examined it again, this time with no blood. A long slit divided his fingerprint in half, and it ached softly on his right hand as the blood once again started to protrude. Richie put it back into his mouth and kept it there for a few more seconds, sucking the blood away, in his mind cleaning the wound.

A few moments passed, and Richie made sure the cut had stopped bleeding before he thought he better clean the photo that the blood had landed on. He reached inside the box and pulled the photograph up where his blood mark sat. Richie wiped it on his leg pants, and the blood easily came off the glossy photo front. Richie examined the picture to make sure there were no traces left on it, flipping it over and examining the picture. The picture was of a structure he was yet to see in town. A large rung ladder crept up the middle of this tower from the ground to the top, where big letters stood “LEWTON.” The tower stood just slightly off-centre in the photo, and the triangular roof made Richie think of something from an old castle. The grey, cloudless sky as the backdrop to this photo really made it stand out in the field, and he instantly loved the picture for reasons he didn’t fully understand. He flipped the photo over, examining all of it. Handwritten on the back of the photograph in cursive were three words next to a date.

‘Lewton Water Tower - 1951’

Richie loved the history of it and thought his mum would too. And for that and no other reason, Richie knew that this was the picture he would buy for his mother. As he wandered back up to June at the counter with the photograph, she greeted him again.

“Oh, you found something, have you?” she asked, curious.

“Sure have,” Richie replied happily, hoping his mother would love the picture as much as he did. He handed the picture to June to purchase it, thinking it was a good sacrifice for some Funk Fizzlers. But to his surprise, June responded,

“No, no, if it’s for your mother, then no charge for you, kind man,” she started. “I even found you a nice frame.” June pulled out a vintage black frame and took the picture from Richie. “Oh, the old water tower.” June glanced at the picture. “Lotta history there.”

“I like that it has the town's name on top,” Richie said as he pointed his left hand to the top of the tower, cautious of the cut on his right hand.

“Yes, it used to be there, but like a lot of things in time, it became faded,” June continued. “Old Joe Bowers tried to repaint the name back on top. Well…” She sat and thought for a moment. “…a good ten years ago, I believe.”

“So the town's name is still at the top?” Richie enquired. June's face became stern.

“No,” she said softly. “Old Joe didn’t get to the top, unfortunately.” June realised that she was talking to a child and quickly changed her tune. “I think your mother will love it,” she said as she clapped her hands once and inserted it quickly into the frame she had picked out. “Ah ha, perfect fit,” she said, showing it back to Richie.

“Thank you so much,” Richie said. “I think your store is pretty neat.” He smiled at June as he slowly backed to the door. Richie was so excited that he managed to score a gift for his mother completely free, knowing he would just need to hide it for the next few weeks and possibly make her a card to go with it. Richie became oblivious to his surroundings and didn’t hear June whispering to herself as he exited the Bibs, Bobs & Allsorts store.

“Poor old Joe Bowers,” June said to herself. “What an accident.”

Richie left the store and continued down Kensington Road, hurrying, knowing he had taken up a lot of time in the store. He heard someone yelling from behind him.

“See you at the library.” As Richie turned around, he saw Billy outside of the barber store waving. Not wanting to yell back, Richie gave Billy the thumbs up, the universal sign for sounds good. He then turned back to find he was in front of the lolly shop. “The Sugar Shack,” etched on the window in gold lettering, and Richie could see his mother already in the store talking to the shopkeeper with a bag of what possibly could be red liquorice purchased in her hand. Richie was excited and couldn’t wait to go inside to see their selections. He quickly tucked the photo frame on the inside of his jeans and pulled his T-shirt over to cover it, hiding it from view. With excitement in his eyes and saliva building in his mouth with the anticipation of candy, Richie Lynn entered the store.