I drive through downtown Orange about once a month on the way to and from a medical appointment in Charlottesville. On my last two trips in October and November the weather was unseasonably warm. I noticed a gentleman sitting in a lawn chair outside his Barber Shop, waving to passers-by. I waved back. Each time I tried to work up the courage to stop and talk, maybe take a photograph. Both times, my confidence wavered and I drove on.
For my December visit, there was snow on the ground. I seriously doubted the barber would sit outside in this weather. Still, I drove by, looking for his friendly smile and wave. And there he was! Standing inside, peering out through the large picture window of his shop, waving at me. I pulled over and parked my car in a nearby shopping center lot. Bundled up, I walked down the street, carrying my camera. When I reached his shop, I stood across the street and waved to him. I pointed to my camera and pantomimed some expression of “May I take your picture?”. He nodded, yes, and I snapped a few frames.
Then the barber exited his shop. He watched the traffic patiently and when the course was clear, he motioned for me to cross the busy Madison Road. We went inside his shop where he welcomed me with kindness, and introduced himself as Sonny. He showed me an article from the local newspaper about him, a beacon of small-town warmth, and his business, the longest running self-employed business, over 40 years, in the county.
Maybe I’m reading too much into this picture. Maybe I’m projecting my own feelings of quarantine fatigue. But this picture reads as loneliness to me. How many of us are waving and waiting for someone to visit?
“The shame of loneliness feels like the shame of hunger, of want, of admitting you cannot feed yourself. This is not an epidemic, but a famine”. —Claire Bushey, Loneliness and Me