Henry

I live in a small town where, like many towns, the nail salon industry is run by Asians, specifically Vietnamese.
I have been seeing Henry every 2 weeks for the last 2 years to have my nails done. He was foisted on me by a new owner, Kim, who gracefully steered me toward Henry with promises of no yellowing or visible lines. For the uninformed, this means that my fingernails would look less like Future Floor Finish and more natural. And she was right!
For 52 visits, Henry and I have barely spoken. An occasional “How are you?” and always a “thank you” when I leave. But no substantive conversation. I’d ask him a question and he’d smile and shrug. I figured he just wasn’t interested in talking to me. So I’d doze as he worked on my fingers and made my hands look beautiful.
Anyone who knows me well understands that I am a chatter. It’s in my DNA. I get to know all my service providers. I know Natalie's (my Russian house cleaner) entire history, her dreams and hopes. My hair stylist, Pam, and I could talk for hours if there wasn’t a line-up of impatient customers waiting to fill her chair. Jane, my colorist, knows all my secrets, and I know hers. I even struck up a conversation with the guy at Kinko’s this morning. Why not? I felt like I knew him – he did work a miracle on a print job, after all.
But Henry was a mystery. I didn’t know anything about him – age, marital status, interests, nothing. He didn’t talk to anyone – not his co-workers, not his other customers. A very quiet – young or old? – man.
But today was different.
Going into the salon, CNN was on the big screen and the election rhetoric was at full volume. I settled into the pedicure chair and Kim started to work on my toes. “I do your pedicure today,” she said. “Henry will do your nails when I’m done.”
She worked diligently on removing the red polish on my toenails, but focused on the TV to catch every word about the election. “Who you vote for, Kristi?” she asked. I told her, and she responded, “Vietnamese like McCain. I like McCain, my husband like McCain. Even Henry like McCain.”
We talked a little more about the candidates and what we thought, and soon my toes were done. Henry motioned me to the front of the salon and dusted off his station as I took my chair in front of him. “So, Henry,” I said, “I hear you like McCain.” He nodded and smiled. “What is it you like about him?” I asked.
Henry paused before he answered. “McCain a very good man. He help many Vietnamese in our country and here.”
That short exchange was more than anything we had had before, and I thought we were done when Henry fell silent after giving me his answer. But then he said, “It’s been very busy today.” So, in trying to keep the conversation going, I responded, “It has? Well that’s good! You’ve been busy?”
Henry nodded. “Yes. I got here at 1:00 after my class, and I busy ever since.”
“Class?” I asked. “What are you studying?”
“English!” he said. And then the floodgates opened. I learned during my hour-long appointment:

Henry’s going to take 2 semesters of English and then wants to continue his studies to become an accountant. He’ll go to Normandale Community College until he can transfer to the U of M.

He received a business management degree in Vietnam before coming to the U.S. 7 years ago. He isn’t able to use his degree here, and decided to get more education and go into accounting. “I’m good with numbers.” He thought that maybe half of his Vietnamese credits would transfer.

Henry grew up in South Vietnam, and his father fought in the South Vietnamese army. After the war ended, his father spent years in prison. Six of Henry’s uncles died in the war.

He is worried about America leaving Iraq too early. “That didn’t work very well for Vietnam. One day the U.S. there, and the next, gone. And since then, life very bad.”

Kim is Henry’s cousin, and asked him to move up here from Fort Myers, FL 2 years ago when his marriage began to crumble and she needed help in her new nail salon.

Today, his divorce is final. Today!

Henry thought that I was 42, 45 at the most. “You look very young!” He is 37 years old, and knows that everyone thinks he is much younger.

Henry isn’t a citizen, but will be someday. He likes that, in America, you get to make a choice about the government you have. He wants to vote.

Before I left, I asked Henry why he came to America. “For the freedom,” he answered. “I wanted to be free.”

I live in a small town.