An Homage to Mustache Man

Throughout our highschool years, my friend and I found great comfort in visiting our customary hangout spot about two miles up the road from her lavish community. Sometimes we would hop in my charming red Volkswagen bug to lessen the distance between us and our destination. But most of the time, we opted to walk the half an hour because we had so much to say, and so many sceneries to comment on. Our conversations were very diverse in nature; these strolls along the bustling roads and exquisitely orange sunsets must have set ablaze the parts of our brains responsible for imagination and abstract thought. Any care previously haunting our happiness faded with the fiery ball in the sky, allowing the coolness of the moon to seep in and work her therapeutic magic.

After having a laugh, or fifty, we would find ourselves in amazement as the destination suddenly appeared right before us; our eyes met with a renewed sense of excitement for these familiar stores and architecture. Somehow the memories from the trip a week ago were replaced with novelty, and the possibilities the place had to offer were endless yet again. We grew accustomed to following a regimented adventure within the confines of the outdoor mall; sitting at the same tables, ordering the usual from the nearby ice cream parlor, admiring the live musical performances. Except this one evening. Something about the environment was quite… inconsistent. Giggling teenagers with heaps of shopping bags sat pridefully at our table, not aware of the unspoken loyalty it had with us. We took this snag in stride, and agreed a melting scoop of strawberry ice cream would replenish our spirits. And what do you know? The ice cream shop had coincidentally closed early for unknown reasons.

My friend, Katrina, was a self-proclaimed bookworm who stuck her nose in just about any fascinating article or story she came across. Admittedly, I never cared much for literature back then, and it remains a hobby I harbor rather ambivalent feelings towards. However, if it had not been for Katrina’s undying curiosity for written works, and the addictive cozy nature dispensed from all bookstores, our most pivotal and wild inside joke would have never materialized.

We entered the premises and the whole place was flooded with a mouthwatering coffee fragrance and the soothing sounds of machines buzzing and clanking typical in this setting. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I was also not much of a coffee connoisseur, but the coalescence of the nutty, herbal and floral aromas always ended up sending me into a frenzy during which I vowed to drink this artisanal beverage more frequently. But the events that were soon to transpire within those four wordy walls would incite in my friend and I a frenzy far more encompassing than a caffeine high.

The holidays were approaching and Halloween was right around the corner, which naturally led us to search for shelves containing cool books covering occultism and rites pertaining to the ancient practice. Not that our unexposed minds could fathom the true meanings within these texts… but we felt inspired nonetheless. And upon our mindless strolls up and down the narrow pathways brimming with scary materials, our naive eyes encountered a grinning man. He smiled from ear to ear, resembling the Cheshire Cat with a sinister twist. His outfit was neither flashy nor plain in taste, and he blended in with the crowd without turning a single head except for ours. We stood stationary and trance-like, each of us savoring the moment and drinking in the potent eye contact and surrounding silence.

The interaction between myself, my friend and the nameless man occupied hardly any friendly or amicable dynamic, and yet I could not produce anything except an electrified smile. Had he wanted to say something? Was there some kind of truth this stranger had foreseen about us? Or was this perpetual grin masquerading as a front to conceal his twisted intentions? Maybe the prospect of Halloween and its glory was getting to me. He muttered a single word; “bye”. My friend and I observed his movements, and they were rather mechanical. His body moved in a way fitting for a machine or a puppet. Off he went into the dimly lit outdoor mall, leaving behind not a trace of evidence to suggest the peculiar exchange even happened. No scent, no receipt or purchase of any kind, no closure.

Our marvel lit up as brightly as a high wattage light bulb, providing warmth and impassioned conversation well into the night. All other forms of entertainment the mall had faithfully bestowed us paled in comparison to the darkness looming in that vacant part of the bookstore. We theorized, speculated and deduced just about any and all nuances of our 1 minute exchange with the man, and in spite of the gratifying fantasies we conjured, our minds and emotions were left empty handed. But eventually, reality came crashing down as it inevitably does during any high, and we slowly drifted from the subject. I wonder to this day if we had chosen to erase the memory of what happened that evening to prevent further mania, or if the test of time had failed and we no longer recalled the emotional roller coaster he evoked, or his twisted grin.

Some months and many tasty ice cream cones later, my loyal companion and I found ourselves smack down in the middle of the outdoor mall once again, sharing amusing anecdotes and people watching from our normal table. Our attire was unique this evening, me sporting a rockstar inspired leather jacket while she donned a lovely denim on denim pair. The unsympathetic winter weather forced us to bundle up so our routine remained undisturbed, but it also served as a reminder of how time had passed so quickly, and had almost left behind the unusual detour back in October. On this particular evening, the music was roaring and blaring up and down the concrete walkways, touching everyone who walked past except for us. We sat blankly as the distant calling of the strumming guitars and melodic vocals failed to resurrect us to join in on the festivities.

The decision to throw in the towel and begin our long journey home was a silent one. With our heads held low, we trudged along the taken benches, moving our slumped shoulders each time another passerby needed to get through, and we looked up as if someone had called our names. Strutting along the opposite sidewalk heading towards us was the grinning man, and he too had a change in wardrobe. Unlike our first encounter, he sported a bushy mustache which appeared to be a hoax, and his eyes danced towards ours. He immediately turned around and began to walk in the same direction, five steps ahead, tens steps, twenty steps… his pace seemed to quicken with each stride, and we happily obliged by quickening ours. At this point, the previously muted tune emanating from the stage was in full force, mimicking the energetic heart beat I felt as we followed this guy to demand answers.

Climaxes were being met here and there; within the music; when the man would occasionally turn around and give us the same predatory yet intoxicating smile as if he was coaxing us into a trap. Fortunately for him, my friend and I required no such convincing or charisma. The metronome which dictated our movement had gone up a few notches as our excitement overcame us, the distance becoming dangerously close to him. He would generously turn around to ensure our advances were welcomed with his signature grin, and he even slowed down and slipped into a store very aware of his detection. We followed suit. Eventually the three of us molded into one being, my movements dictating Katrina’s, while Katrina’s dictated his, which called for my next move. We had all become intertwined in this silent game of discovery with zero winners or losers. Near the end of our escapade, the nameless man had intentionally or unintentionally crossed paths with us under the bright fluorescent lights of the store, and my friend and I could not help but giggle at the absurdity of his mustache. He could have easily purchased an identical stash from a costume store and lazily glued it above his lip. Our laughter ultimately led to our demise, as we lost track of him and our high and low search of the store was met with futility.

The identity of our masculine mall muse remains a mystery, but the quirky individual left a lasting impression in more than one way. First, Katrina and I had many hysterical, crying-profusely-from-chuckling sort of debates on the aesthetics of mustaches, and how such facial hair can make anybody appear more extraordinary and profound. Second, we pondered the meaning of fate and synchronicity, creating infinite stories that could have unfolded had we decided to skip our trip to the mall that evening, or what it could have meant to meet a perfect stranger twice in two months. Most importantly, his mercurial presence helped catalyze our realization to break from routines and step out of our comfort zones because even in familiar places and situations, there is always an untapped adventure waiting to happen around the corner.