Louisa

I had worked my last moment at the library *and* at the clubhouse, packed the last box, tucked the suitcases into the trunk of the car, cleaned the last cobweb from the apartment, thrown the last bit of trash in the dumpster and turned in my keys. All that remained to be done was to return a few library books, fill the tank with gas, and head for Lake George. Except for one little item I just hadn't figured out how to squeeze into the schedule. I needed to get my hair cut. I wanted to start my new job looking as neat and trim as possible, and even though my hair was OK, I suspected it might take awhile to find a good hairdresser in the new place, so I wanted to get one final haircut.

I had struggled to find a hair stylist in Connecticut, and never really found the right one. I had gone to upscale, downscale, mainstream and out of whack places. Some were unbelievably expensive, some reasonable, some huge, some small, but I had never found someone who did anything exceptional with the little bit I had to offer them to work with. I came close, and one of the places was nearby, so I headed there. Only two people ahead of me, so the wait would be fairly short, and I decided to go ahead and take care of this last thing before leaving the state. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and cringed. I still wasn't used to seeing myself so gray and with such short hair. Most of my life I had enjoyed long brown hair - not bouncy and springy like you see on the TV models, but nice nevertheless. Now I look so old.

As I sat and waited, I noticed two women sitting across the aisle from me, also waiting I assumed. The one woman was reading a magazine, flipping quickly through the pages and cocking her head to one side and the other with each new picture or ad. She pursed her lips, sometimes furrowing her brow, or clicking her tongue, but not saying anything. She had thick light brown curls pushed back with a purple plastic headband in the style of a young girl. Those beautiful curls cascaded down her shoulders and halfway to the middle of her back. Every once in a while she would shake her head, and her curls would bounce and dance and shine. I sighed with envy.

I remembered having long hair (I have a college picture to prove it) and though it was always very fine, I wore it loose for as long as I could. My kids loved to hang on to lengths of it when they were babies carried in arms. Sometimes I wore it in an updo for special occasions like weddings or braided it for fun. Once I had it cornrowed and my head ached for days. Now, post chemo, I have thin (read bald) places and brittleness, and no color left at all. How wonderful it would be to have such thick luxurious hair again! I hoped she was not there to have it cut short. What a waste that would be. The woman with her had much shorter hair. Perhaps it was she who was there for a haircut and not the woman with the gorgeous curls.

"Louisa," the stylist called, and the woman with the curls stood up. My heart fell. She walked past me to the chair in front of the stylist. "Climb up here honey," the stylist said taking her arm. I suddenly realized that despite her aging body and wrinkled face, Lousia was in truth just a kid. "Get comfortable," the stylist gently encouraged, holding the chair still for her and waiting patiently while Louisa clambered into the chair and squirmed around.

"I compabull, I compabull, I compabull," Louisa said repeatedly though she didn't look one bit comfortable. The woman with her came over and removed Louisa's headband, pushing the thick curls from her eyes. "We are going on a vacation next week, and have to have some of this thickness thinned out again. Her hair is so hard to comb and gets full of tangles and knots."

The stylist ran her hand through Lousia's curls and nodded. "It has really grown in since last week. I'll thin it out real good so you won't have to worry while you are away." It seemed as if the whole shop had quieted, watching the drama unfold. Everyone held their breath while the thinning shears scissored and swished. Lousia obediently bent her head down, put her hands over her face and sat very still. The stylist worked quickly, filling the floor beneath the chair with soft brown curls. No one moved. It was as if we were all mesmerized, held in an unbreakable spell. The phone had ceased its incessant ringing, the shop door remained closed, no one going in or out. No one got shampooed or used a hair dryer. We all stared at the aging child in the second green chair who was being shorn.

"OK honey, you're done," the stylist said minutes later. The mound of brown curls on the floor was incredibly high, though Louisa looked pretty much the same as she had looked before the haircut. Her gorgeous brown curls still curved over her shoulders and caressed her back. Louisa bounded out of the chair and danced excitedly, yelling, "Lollipop, lollipop, lollipop!"

Before Louisa got her lollipop and headed out the door, the stylist called my name. I was in the chair before I realized, my hair being tugged and clipped, fluttering to the floor in spurts. I glanced down. There were no piles of curls under my chair. In fact, unless you looked carefully, you couldn't see any hair on the floor at all. Tears stung my eyes and I blinked, angry with myself for caring about hair. Lousia wanted less and I needed more. How was that fair? I wiped the recalcitrant tears from the corners of my eyes, mourning the loss of my youth, my health.

"How silly," I thought. "You are getting a new lease on life, the chance to start fresh. Get over yourself, girlie. You have much to be thankful for. You have no need to feel sorry for yourself." It was true. Hair or no hair, I am still me. And I am still lucky. I would not trade with Louisa, who could not care for herself, who looked at pictures in magazines and could not read the words, who heard what people told her and did not understand, who could not go where she wanted.

No, I was the fortunate one in the shop that day. Let Louisa have her lollipop. I had so much more. I took a deep breath, shook out the cape, and walked into my new adventure with head held high.