He was so insignificant that no one cared about knowing his real name, but for his love for the devils in red attire, he was nicknamed United.
United was not in anyway different from those boys you'd see hanging around a barbershop or local video arcade early in the morning till late at night, such that, if you're someone like me, who had what many would refer to as a proper upbringing due to some factors—from waking up to morning prayers to engaging in compulsory house chores to being made to brush your teeth before settling in for breakfast to having a definite task for the day in the case of holidays to being mandated to observe siesta to being forced to read, you wouldn't help but lay aside your own worries, if only for a moment, to ponder if people like United had parents or guidance. Upon having so many questions without answers, you'd shrug it off to continue worrying about your own "proper" life.
I met United some years back while I was an apprentice at a barbershop. He'd come around every day to hang around with the boys, who'd banter about sports, entertainment, politics, etc. All I could gather from his numerous natterings was that he was a Manchester United fan. You can now picture him having a war of words with his Blues compatriot.
One of those days, amidst our usual natterings, a black 2013 Lexus GS Hybrid drove in, the glass rolled-down, and one of the men in the vehicle stretched out his arm from the rolled-down glass and began to flip his five fingers—a gesture we all understood to mean that one of us was being summoned.
We all tapped our chests with our palms to know whose attention was needed. The passengers in the automobile kept swerving their heads but continued pointing their fingers and gesturing for one of us to meet up with them. Eventually, it became obvious that they were beckoning United. Slowly, United swaggered to the roadside, where the car was parked.
We watched them wear distressing looks while moving their mouths. We couldn't make out what they were saying. After a few minutes, United returned, looking disoriented and puzzled.
We were eager to know what ensued between them, so we wasted no time asking, while listening carefully to be sure that not even a jot of sound was missed. The usual animated ambience became a graveyard.
"They asked me to come home with them, saying that Dad wanted to see me before he passed out." United spoke with a trembling voice, before pausing to be sure that sounds escaped his inflated but slightly cracked lips. His guileless eyes travelled from one person to another, inquiringly.
United saw through our demeanour. We were hungry, and needed to hear more. He tried to continue talking, but all he could add was, "I couldn't follow them." "I've never met them before."
Just then, we realized that United was only a familiar stranger to us. We knew him, but knew nothing about him.
PS: This is based on a true life story, but I've never been an in apprentice in a barbershop.
Edit: The image used here is a selfie of me in a barbershop. It was taken with my cellphone.
