Bald And Badass With A Bucket List

Chapter 6

     Aria had fallen asleep on her bed, her head resting on my lap. I ran my thumb over her bare shoulder. Her cardigan had slipped down her arm and was all crumpled from her elbow to her wrist. I itched to fix it but I didn't want to wake her. Her bald head gleamed in the fading sun light that leaked through the window, the calm waves lapping against the side of a ship after a storm. The tang of rain still in the air, threatening to pour again later, but now it's just calm as she breathes, quietly and even. A slow, rhythmic pattern, my own breathing syncing with hers. I fight the urge to curl up into a call right next to her and sleep away all our problems together but the plan I have accumulated in my head throbs, making it impossible to think of anything else. I gently kiss her smooth head and switch my lap with a large pillow. She stirs and I hold my breath, frozen in mid-escape but to my advantage she doesn't wake up. I slowly back away out of the room and close the door quietly with a click.

     "Please still be open, please still be open. Please, please, please, please please," I chanted in my car as I turned the corner. The neon lights outside of Abracadabra were still glowing, casting eerie red and blue light across the side walk. Someone pulls out of a parking space a couple stores down and I'm able to squeeze in before some else can get there. I lock my car and sprint out onto the side walk, fumbling with my keys as I try to lock my car and put them in my pocket at the same time. I end up dropping them on the side walk and don't notice the "Pull" sign on the door. I ended up walking into the door so hard the glass rattled and I heard the musical ringing of the chimes. I feel my ears and neck redden as I pull the door and enter the shop. The middle aged lady, who's attention I had gained by running into her door, asks me, "you okay there, love?"

"Yes, thank you," I say and make my way over to the wig section. There's dozens to choose from and I suddenly felt overwhelmed. She had asked me to shave her head. Would she still want a wig? I can't protect her from everything, I know that. I'm not going to protect her from her cancer or from the people who are going to stare at her head, not knowing the entire story, but I can damn sure try.

     "Can I help you, love?" The middle aged lady, who's name tag reads Paula, asks kindly. I suddenly become self aware of how weird I look, walking into a costume shop on a school night in September to look at wigs.

     "Um," I pause. I've always been that, 'oh no thank you. I'm just looking,' kind of person but I know nothing about wig shopping. "Actually, that'd be great." She smiles and steps toward the shelves where the styrofoam mannequins stare blankly at us.
 
     "Are you shopping for yourself, dear?" She asks politely. I shake my head. "Alright. Female? Male?" 

     "Female," I respond.

     "What colour and cut are you looking for?" I pause. 

     "I'm thinking I'm going to get a couple. I'm not sure what ones she'll like," she nods understandingly.  Are they going to be tucking up large amounts of hair under the wig?" I pause, wondering if I should answer truthfully. Her smile twitches, giving away that her patience was quickly fading. 

     "None. She's sick," Her eyes soften. They look sincere and full of pity.  

     "Oh dear, I'm truly sorry to hear about that. Please excuse me for two seconds," she disappears behind a rack and into a back room, calling for someone. Minutes later she returned with a content look on her face. "Where were we?"

     I leave the store with six bags containing seventeen different wigs. I had started with just natural colours and cuts that I thought that Aria would like, but as Paula and I searched through the dozens of wigs that the store had to offer, I kept picturing Aria's green eyes hidden under the bangs of a lavender "A-Line with Fringe" and strands of a bright red beachy bob falling into her face. I even grabbed a mermaid looking one with pastel pinks and purples with blue tips. Paula and I had carried all the wigs for her to ring up and she began bagging them for me. I pulled out my wallet but she tsk-ed at me.

    "No dear," she smiled. "It's on me." She tucked the peach coloured wig into a new bag. 

     "Really?" She nods. "No. This is like, over a hundred dollars in wigs. I'll pay for it," I pull out my debit card. 

     "This is my gift to your friend, love." Her voice is firm. I pull $50 out of my wallet. 

       "This is all I got in cash, but take it. Seriously. You've helped me out a lot tonight and I really appreciate it." Paula shakes her head at me and she vaguely reminds me of Aria's mother when I try to help clean up after dinner. 

     "You spend that on your girl. I talked to Ron the owner and he says it's all good." I slip the fifty back in my wallet. 

     "I really do appreciate it." She nods and waves as I push on the glass door and carry the six bags to my car.

     She's still asleep when I get back. I carefully place the six bags from the wig store plus 2 more bags full of hats. I had drove past The Hat House on my way back to Aria's and it was still over. It was one of those "fuck it" moments as I essentially drove off the road and into a free parking space. I accidentally drop a bag and it crashed to the ground rustling loudly. I close my eyes tightly, praying that it wasn't enough to wake her. To my relief it wasn't and I quickly scribbled a note on a notepad that Aria kept on her desk. I prayed that she'd be able to make out, "I want a fashion show tomorrow after school," of my chicken scratch. I straighten up and made my way to the door. Aria snored and I couldn't help but smile. I had so many memories of bugging her about snoring. I can't help but look at her and I long to just curl up beside her, but she's lying crooked on her bed and it wouldn't be possible for me to fit anyway, without having to straighten her and wake her up. One arm acts as a pillow, bent like a chicken wing under her head. The other is sprawled out across her sheets while one of her legs is entirely straight and the other is bent at a ninety degree angle. Her face is calm. She's dreaming of things that only she can imagine. I hope they're alluring dreams that could entrance anyone, leaving them silent and their eyes wide. She deserves those kind of dreams.