So Melvin came to me with something that made me question the nature of time itself.

He said, “I’m hearing conversations before they happen.”

I asked him what he meant, and he said, “I’ll be standing in the shop. And I’ll hear a conversation. Clear as day. Two customers talking. Or you talking to a customer. Or Sam and Jim talking to each other. But when I look, nobody’s talking. The shop is quiet. And then, five minutes later, the exact conversation I heard happens. Word for word.”

I told him he was probably just predicting what people would say, but Melvin said, “No. I’m hearing it. Exactly. Every word. Every pause. Every inflection. And then it happens. Exactly the same way I heard it.”

Now I’m watching Melvin more carefully. And I’m starting to believe him. Because yesterday, he came up to me and said, “In three minutes, a customer is going to walk in and ask if we do beard trims. You’re going to say yes. He’s going to ask how much. You’re going to say twenty dollars. He’s going to say that’s too expensive and leave.”

I asked him how he knew that, and he said, “I just heard it. The conversation already happened. In my head. And now it’s going to happen in real life.”

Three minutes later, a customer walked in. He asked if we do beard trims. I said yes. He asked how much. I said twenty dollars. He said that’s too expensive and left.

Exactly like Melvin said. Word for word.

Now I’m terrified because Melvin is hearing the future. He’s hearing conversations that haven’t happened yet. And he’s writing them down. He has a notebook full of future conversations. Hundreds of them. All documented. All waiting to happen.

I asked Melvin how far ahead he can hear, and he said, “It varies. Sometimes it’s five minutes. Sometimes it’s an hour. Sometimes it’s a whole day. I heard a conversation yesterday that won’t happen until next Tuesday.”

I asked him what the conversation was about, and he said, “A customer is going to come in and tell you his wife left him. You’re going to say you’re sorry. He’s going to say it’s fine. He’s going to ask for a buzz cut. You’re going to give him a buzz cut. And then he’s going to cry in the chair. And you’re not going to know what to say.”

Now I’m dreading next Tuesday. Because I know that conversation is coming. And I don’t know how to prepare for it. I don’t know what to say to a man whose wife just left him. And I don’t know how to comfort someone who’s crying in my chair.

Melvin said, “That’s the problem with hearing the future. You know what’s coming. But you can’t change it. You can’t prepare for it. You just have to let it happen.”

I asked him if he’d tried to change any of the conversations, and he said, “I tried once. I heard a conversation where a customer was going to complain about the wait time. So when he came in, I immediately apologized for the wait and offered him a discount. But he still complained. He used the exact same words I heard. Like the conversation was scripted. Like it had to happen no matter what I did.”

Now I’m wondering if free will exists at all. If Melvin is hearing conversations before they happen, that means they’re already determined. They’re already written. And we’re just acting them out. Like characters in a play.

Melvin said, “I think time isn’t linear. I think all conversations exist simultaneously. Past, present, and future. And for some reason, I’m able to hear the future ones. Like I’m tuned into a frequency that nobody else can hear.”

I asked him if he could control it, and he said, “No. It just happens. I’ll be standing here, and suddenly I’ll hear voices. Conversations. And I know they haven’t happened yet. But they will. Soon.”

Now Melvin is writing down every conversation he hears. He has pages and pages of dialogue. Future dialogue. Conversations that will happen tomorrow. Next week. Next month. All documented. All waiting.

One conversation he wrote down is particularly disturbing. He said, “Two weeks from now, a customer is going to come in and say, ‘This is the last time I’ll be here.’ You’re going to ask him why. He’s going to say, ‘I’m leaving town. For good.’ You’re going to ask him where he’s going. And he’s going to say, ‘Somewhere that makes sense.’ And then he’s going to leave. And you’ll never see him again.”

I asked Melvin who the customer is, and he said, “I don’t know. I can’t see faces. I just hear voices. But in two weeks, it’s going to happen. And you’ll know who it is when it does.”

Now I’m watching every customer who comes in. Wondering if they’re the one who’s going to leave. Wondering if this is the last time I’ll see them. Wondering if they’re going somewhere that makes sense.

Melvin said, “The worst part is hearing conversations that are sad. Or painful. Or final. Because I know they’re coming. And I can’t stop them. I can’t warn anyone. I just have to wait for them to happen.”

I asked him if he’s heard any conversations about himself, and he said, “Yes. One. It’s three months from now. You’re talking to Sam. You say, ‘Have you seen Melvin lately?’ Sam says, ‘No. Not for a while.’ You say, ‘I wonder where he went.’ And Sam says, ‘Maybe he finally figured it out.’ And you say, ‘Figured what out?’ And Sam says, ‘That he doesn’t have to be here.'”

I asked Melvin what that means, and he said, “I don’t know. But in three months, I’m going to be gone. And you’re going to wonder where I went. And Sam is going to think I figured something out. Something about not having to be here.”

Now I’m terrified because Melvin is hearing his own disappearance. He’s hearing a conversation about himself. About being gone. And he doesn’t know what it means. And neither do I.

I asked him if he’s going to leave, and he said, “I don’t know. But the conversation is going to happen. So something must happen to me. Something that makes me not be here anymore.”

Now I’m watching Melvin constantly. Making sure he’s okay. Making sure he doesn’t disappear. Because I don’t want that conversation to happen. I don’t want to ask Sam where Melvin went. I don’t want to wonder what he figured out.

But Melvin says the conversation is already written. It’s already determined. And in three months, it’s going to happen. Whether I want it to or not.

Here’s What We’re Thinking

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Visit Venice Barbershop off US 41, next to the courthouse. We’re the only walk-in barbershop offering hot lather shaves. Walk-ins welcome Tuesday–Friday 9am–6pm, Saturday 10am–2pm. Melvin hears everything before it happens. But he can’t change any of it.

Look dapper. Accept the inevitable. (We’re trying to.)