Wigging Out; Chapter 5; Coco's Journey

The Journey of Coco By Larry Puls @Larrypulsauthor

Chapter Five

Ovarian cancer, Hair loss

Coco spotted her out of the car window, wishing in some ways that it was dark outside. Her best friend Jennifer drove up from the traffic-laced street to offer some needed advice. And she needed some advice--and maybe courage as well. She knew it would take her friend to find that courage.

A kaleidoscope of thoughts were flooding her mind. This trip to the store was just kind of surreal in some ways. A wig. Really? And yet this trip was important--and she knew it. The cancer was not her fault. Some things in life couldn't be overcome. It was simply time to purchase a wig--and she knew she needed to get over it.

What kind of wig would she get? She wondered about that. I could be a blonde. But then she laughed and realized that was not who she was. She was a brunette. Always was. Always would be. And that is what her husband married. 

Looking around the parking lot, no other familiar faces were around. With sunglasses and her wide brim hat, she climbed from the driver’s side and headed towards Jennifer’s car.

Her hair had always been her pride. From the time she was little, she had always had very full head of hair. Naturally curly. A darker shade of brown with just a hint of amber, and very little gray mixed in--up to this point. When she pondered it, she realized she loved her hair--a lot--maybe too much. Her hair was her persona, her identity, and she feared what the loss of it would do to her, to her confidence, to her marriage. Will it affect him? She knew the answer to that. It would never affect him. He was the steady rock--and she knew he loved her--and always would.

“How are you Jennifer?”

“I'm great. And you?”

She hesitated. "Truthfully?"

"Yes. Truthfully," turning her head at an angle.

"It's a struggle being here today. But thank you my dear friend for coming," before she hugged her.

As the two of them talked, her fears calmed over what was about to happen. The store became less foreboding the longer they remained inside. It somehow felt right. And she knew she needed to get this done. Because in just three short weeks, her hair would be tumbling onto the ground—whether she wanted it to or not. It would fill the drain in the shower, coat her clothes, and adorn her sofa. It would theoretically be everywhere. But the reality check in her told her it would be alright. Vanity never brought her anything in life but arrogance. Vanity of vanities—that verse suddenly popped into her head. Humble pie could be yet another opportunity to grow.

I will try not to shed a tear. But Lord, you have to help me. I cannot do this on my own.

The store lady brought out multiple wigs of similar color and various cuts. For just a brief second, she looked over at the blonde ones and smirked. Brunette it was. Same length as hers. No one would be the wiser. It would take a week to be ready and then she would come back. Over that ensuing week the medicine that would mow down and cut the roots would have flowed in. Her head shook.

Driving home alone , she pulled up into her garage and her husband was not home from work. Coming in from outside, she strolled into the bathroom and ran her hands through her brown locks. Part of her wanted to be brave, and part of her could not hold back the emotion. Weakness welled up inside. A tear beaded up on her eyelash and hung heavy. Fighting it with all the willpower she had, there was no preventing it from plunging down into the sink. 

Unexpectedly, she heard the garage door go up. Her husband was home. She wiped her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and walked outside to meet him. But what she really wanted at that second, was an opportunity to be alone, to reflect, and to cry.  

Wigging Out, Larry Puls, (Click to Tweet)