Within — Without

“Told you so!” Nia said to Thalia, who held a handful of Typist’s hair. “Your wishful thinking and manifesting was all for naught. Now people are going to stare at Typist for reasons other than loud, uplifting music.”

“Nia!” Cal scolded. “Be kind. This is hard for all of us. Being sick is one thing, looking sick is another.”

Thalia trumpeted her nose into a tissue. “All of the head coverings… no matter how well intended… are hideous! Remember the woman we saw at Walmart on Tuesday? Her little grey hat screamed cancer patient.”

“Maybe we’ll just go bald? Bright lipstick with dangling earrings!” Cal suggested.

“We can consider wigs?” Nia’s posture softened. “How can we make being bald feel like play? Hot pink hair one day and a tie-dye bandana the next. Typist can be a chameleon? We’ll help!”

Cal took Thalia’s hands into her own. Hazel eyes dove into blue. “We’re ready. Typist’s inside is able to handle what’s happening outside. We’ve got this.”

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A word from Typist:

For over a week I’ve been tugging at my hair. Yesterday I convinced myself that I was going to be an exception to the chemotherapy hair loss rule. This morning reality intervened. Calliope is right… we’re ready… and grateful for the opportunity to acknowledge and share our feelings. Thank you for being here.

We want to be beautiful-crazy, with or without hair.