The snow fell in silent sheets along the empty city street. Basil’s footsteps crunched beneath his weight, leaving teardrop impressions on the lofty sidewalk. His shovel cut through the mounds of untouched snow with a loud scrape, and as he clumsily heaved the load over his shoulder, he thought of warmer places and of a time when snow was merely a far away dream, a white storm in the distant mountains that never dared to venture too close to the city. In Greece, he thought, with a touch of resentment, the weather would never shift so suddenly or treat its patrons so harshly.

Thirty-five years ago, when Basil emigrated from Lamia to Massachusetts, the snow had not seemed so cruel. The crisp New England air forced people to hurry along their way, making the city appear fast and busy, as though the world was spinning faster here than it did at home, where time seemed to tick by at a slower gait. In Lowell, Massachusetts, the world went on without you, the people did not stop their schedule for a young man who only spoke Greek, who did not know the way to City Hall, or could not understand the fine print at the bottom of the English job applications.

In Lamia, Basil had worked in the town’s barbershop, and when he arrived in Massachusetts, the first thing the young man had done was apply at every salon he could find. Things were different here in America, though, for although he had much experience from back home, he did not speak any English, and communication with the barbershop owners was difficult.

“How will you know what kind of hair cut the customer wants?” one man said to him, after studying Basil’s application. Basil, understanding most of the question, had walked away, feeling defeated, for he understood the tone of the man’s voice perfectly.

Finally, Basil and his friend George, who had come over from Lamia a few years earlier, found a place where the owner was glad to have them for help. George knew some good English, and so the young men worked diligently to help this kind man with everything he needed. Although Basil was used to cutting hair and longed to show the man his skill, he knew that it would take months of busy work before his English improved enough to handle his own customers.

He tried conversing at first with the regular clients, only the ones that threw him friendly glances of recognition when they came for their routine trim. When he passed by them with the load of freshly folded towels he had just brought back from the dry cleaners, he would say hello and shyly try new phrases that he had practiced with George and his other Greek friends.

Six months had passed, and Basil found that he had learned enough knowledge to communicate with the customers comfortably. He did not know every phrase off the top of his head but he understood what the patrons were telling him, and so he was able to respond correctly. When the kind man who owned the shop saw that his customers enjoyed Basil’s friendly and eager banter, he decided to give Basil a shot.

“Basil, I’ve got a lot to do, why don’t you cut Mr. Stuart’s hair today?” he asked him, flashing the shiny metal scissors in front of his eyes.

Basil glanced from the scissors to Mr. Stuart’s reflection in the mirror. Mr. Stuart shrugged and said with a chuckle, “Go ahead Basil! There’s not much hair left up there to work with, but let’s see what you’ve got!” Feeling the scissors slice through the man’s thinning hair was like returning home again, like holding an old friend’s hand. While he knew that he did not fit in perfectly in this town or in the shop, he was at home while the blades grazed over the man’s head deftly.

In order to one day have his own salon, Basil would have to work under someone else for at least twenty months. When he began earning more money with the haircuts that were added to his daily chores around the shop, he also began gaining a small clientele. All of his Greek friends came to him for haircuts, and when the owner saw his good work, he always gave Basil extra customers when he himself was too busy. With the rate at which he was earning more cash and more clients, Basil could envision himself opening his own salon sooner than he had imagined. He could not wait to write home to his parents and to Ana, his fiancé, and let them know how well things were going.

When he wrote to Ana, he told her that within twenty months, not even two full years, he should be able to open his own store. With the amount of money that he would be bringing in once he was able to start his own business, Ana could come to America, and they could finally be married. Basil’s visitor’s visa only lasted 30 months, and at that point, if he did not have a steady, stable income, he would not be able to gain permanent residence. If he were able to open up the shop before then, he knew that he would not have to worry about returning to home, labeled to his friends and family as a failure in the great country of America.

Often, after working long hard hours at the salon, Basil would go out into the night, wrapped in the heavy winter’s coat which had been his first purchase in America, and walk along the dazzling city streets. With the white snow glistening so brightly, and Christmas lights decorating the homes, the evening was as light as the day. He would try to walk upon the snow without breaking the crisp top layer, and when he tired of that, he listened to the soft flakes tinkling to the ground around him. Those days, he often rose early in the morning, earlier than he had to, and when the February winds blew, and the snow built up around the streets, Basil went to the barbershop and shoveled the walkway before the owner arrived. He enjoyed doing it. He had only imagined, his entire life, what the weight of snow on a shovel would feel like.

By 1969, he and Ana were married. Within twenty months, Basil had opened his own place and named it Haircare Salon. Ana worked at the front desk, and Basil taught her how to do everything that he had learned. Her English was coming along much quicker than his had, for by the time she had come to America, they were surrounded with bilingual friends. She washed customers' hair while he cut, she took money at the front desk while he permed, and quickly the two of them began creating an unstoppable industry.

Eventually Ana became pregnant, and Nadia was born. Soon after came Baby George. Before they were old enough to come to school, the children spent their days at the salon with their mom and dad. When the children were old enough, Basil and Ana sent them to school. Because there was such a large population of Greek people immigrating not only to Massachusetts, but Lowell, by the late seventies, the city had a Greek Orthodox Church and also a Greek school that the kids would attend. Here, the children would be able to learn proper Greek and English, as well as the other subjects that were taught at public schools.

As the kids grew older, the business as well began to mature. Basil remodeled the place, and gave it ten stations for ten separate hairdressers. There were four sinks in the back for hair washing, four dryers to the right of the front desk for hair dying and perm setting, and upstairs, they created something revolutionary. There was a room completely separate for manicures and pedicures, and eventually the rest of the upstairs would become completely occupied with tanning beds. Once the nineties finally arrived, fake tanning and acrylic nails were all the rage, and Basil’s salon was more popular than ever.

In 2003, while Basil finished shoveling his own driveway, he wondered if the plow guy would make it to the salon by eight o’clock tomorrow morning, so that when he arrived there was space for him to park. He hated when he had to drive through the snowdrifts, only to be eventually plowed in once the truck did arrive. Annoyed with the idea, he tossed the shovel aside, stomped his snow covered boots, and began heading back inside. But for a moment, he turned and faced the city street. The streetlights created that familiar orange glow on the gleaming florescent snow. The flakes tinkled like shattered glass all around in the silence, and he watched his breath form a white cloud in front of his face. He remembered how at one time snow was only that bleak cloud hovering above the mountain in the distance, and how cold 50 degrees used to seem. He smiled as he looked down at his worn in winter gloves, and he thought, without ever noticing the change, winter annoyed him like all the other New Englanders. Whether he liked the idea or not, Lowell was where he truly belonged.