Chicken Soup for the Soul Page 6

  “I want you to shave my head,” she said in a quavering voice. She swallowed a few times and continued, “You see, I have cancer. My doctor believes I can be cured with chemo and radiation. When I started treatment, nothing happened, but then my hair started to fall out.”

  By now I was holding my breath. I looked over at Steve, whose moist eyes mirrored my own. You could have heard the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

  “I’ve decided I will get well. But I hate being sick. Every morning when I wake up and see handfuls of hair on my pillow, it reminds me I’m sick. I thought if I got my head shaved, I could feel eccentric and bold rather than sick.”

  The man who’d just sat down in Al’s chair got up and stepped to the side with a gesture as graceful as a bullfighter sweeping his cape. Al lowered his chair and motioned for the woman to sit. He wrapped some tissue around her neck and draped her with a cape.

  The other barbers finished with their clients. Instead of leaving after they paid, the clients found a seat or leaned against the wall. Al began clipping.

  My scalp tingled as I imagined the little hair follicles hanging onto my head for dear life. I swiped at the tears I could no longer hold back.

  The woman’s partner stood close to the chair. His face revealed what looked like a mixture of love and fear of what lay ahead. I wondered if he had tried to talk her out of her decision, perhaps suggesting they make an appointment after hours so her shearing could be done in privacy. Why choose a barbershop instead of a beauty salon? Perhaps it was because a beauty shop is a place where women go with the expectation of a lovely hairdo.

  This woman had no such expectation.

  There was no sign of a wig, scarf, or hat. I shuddered in the face of my own discomfort and fear of ridicule. At the same time, I admired and celebrated her courage and determination.

  Al, who’d kept her turned away from the mirror, whisked off the cape when he finished. She stood up and turned to face her image in the mirror.

  She gave a small gasp and gently patted the tops and sides of her bald head. When she turned to face the other patrons, I thought I saw a tear glistening in her eye. Everyone stood and clapped.

  “Now, it’s my turn,” her husband said, as he climbed into the chair and whisked off his baseball cap to reveal thick, curly hair. Soon, his salt-and-pepper hair mixed with hers on the floor.

  “Anyone else want to join…?” Al looked at the woman expectantly.

  “Marjorie and Vic,” she said.

  “Anyone else want to join Marjorie and Vic?” he asked.

  A gentleman with a narrow fringe of hair walked toward Al’s chair.

  “Don’t have much to lose,” he said. “Boy, my wife will be sorry she sent me for a trim!”

  Another round of applause followed as Marjorie and Vic exited the barbershop arm in arm.

  — Judythe Guarnera —

  Comparing Lists

  I always say don’t be scared. It’s not that bad — there’s always something worse — and there is definitely life after multiple sclerosis.

  ~Teri Garr

  I was supervising a team of customer service representatives when one asked to speak to me privately. With tears in her eyes, she quietly confided, “The doctor thinks I may have MS.”

  Her despair at the possible diagnosis was one I recognized in myself eight years earlier. Now, mobility issues prevented me from hiding the disability multiple sclerosis had caused, and I understood her fear that she would wind up using a cane, too, or worse.

  My first impulse was to reassure her that the disease is different in everyone. She couldn’t assume she would have the same symptoms as I did, and I reminded her that although my diagnosis was just eight years earlier, we realized I had actually had MS for ten years before that. Even knowing I’d had the disease for quite a while, I sensed that still wasn’t enough to quell her fear of what the future might hold.

  That night, I told my husband my dilemma in not knowing what I might do to help her. And then the answer popped into my head. “I’ll make a list!” I finally announced. I had had accomplishments since my diagnosis, and I wanted her to know that a full life was still possible, even if disability did occur.

  I sat down at the table and began writing, but instead of simply itemizing positives (things I could still do), I decided to make comparisons to help gain perspective. What were my activities and accomplishments pre-diagnosis versus post-diagnosis? Since many of those listed in the pre-diagnosis column actually occurred when I had the disease but didn’t know, it was a great comparison to my activities when I did know.

  When I finished, I pushed back the chair and stared at the paper. Of course, there were the obvious things I could no longer do like run a marathon (as if I ever wanted to!), but there in front of me was proof that the disease had not affected the most important things in my life. What I expected to be devastating when first diagnosed wasn’t at all.

  I still traveled extensively with my family. I still participated in activities like making gingerbread creations with my husband for the annual Big Brothers Big Sisters of America fundraising event. I shopped ‘til I dropped with the use of a mobility scooter when needed. I attended my sons’ school and sporting events, and even had significant advancements in my career. And I volunteered… a lot.

  MS had not taken my future, and now I had something truly encouraging to help the young woman. When I shared the comparison list with her, she was as surprised as I was. It’s one thing to think you’ve done okay, and another to learn that you’ve done a whole lot better than okay. So, whenever I need perspective to change my attitude, making a list doesn’t have to pop into my head; it’s already a given.

  — Vicki L. Julian —

  Give It a Try

  From Dread to Dream

  A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.

  ~Richard Bach

  I trekked across campus with the June sun beating down on me. I sighed, feeling sorry for myself. Unfortunately, thanks to scheduling conflicts, I found myself devoting part of my summer vacation to “The Literature of Health and Healing.” I was convinced I was in for a miserable couple of months.

  At twenty-three, I had no idea that a summer class I dreaded would change my life and help me achieve dreams I didn’t even know I had.

  The class focused on literature centered around death, illness, and the idea that mortality is inescapable. We read stories, poems, and books that focused on heart-wrenching tragedy. We read Tuesdays with Morrie and talked about how horrific diseases could be lurking right around the corner. We watched the movie Awakenings and realized how simple pleasures that we overlook are the things life is built on. We read poem after poem from people who were dying, lonely, depressed, and abused. We read heavy works that made me feel guilty for complaining about attending a class for a few hours when so many others were carrying much heavier burdens.

  A few weeks into the course, I realized that the class I had dreaded was changing my perspective. It was inspiring me to go after my dreams, set my priorities, and stop waiting for tomorrow to chase my goals. It helped me realize that the things I thought were so important weren’t really what life was about. As I drove to campus one day, I reviewed my bucket list and realized that I wanted to see my name on the cover of a published book.

  I’d always been a writer, scribbling stories and poems in journals as a child. I’d even started writing a chapter book in sixth grade. But the realities of adult life that slammed into me after high school coupled with a demanding course load of college classes had squelched my passion for writing. I had decided to focus my time and effort on things that would lead to success in the workplace. Publishing a book didn’t seem to be a realistic, practical goal.

  My class about death and illness made me realize that dreams are meant to be chased by the living. Thus, I went home, sat down, and started thinking about what story I would tell if I could. I stopped thinking about the safe, predictable path I could follow to success. Instead, I thought about what really inspired me and what I truly wanted to accomplish.

  Recently, I’d followed several news stories about wrongful convictions. I realized I wanted to write about that topic and explore it more fully. A story unfolded in my mind. Motivated by the class that I had tried so hard to escape, I went out onto my parents’ deck with a green notebook and started writing the first page of what would become my first novel.

  Four years after I started scrawling in my green notebook, my manuscript was accepted by a small publisher. I remember shaking and crying when I received the e-mail, waking my husband up from a deep sleep to tell him the unbelievable news.

  Even bigger dreams came true after that. I wrote more books, got picked up by one of the big five publishers, and even hit the USA Today bestsellers list.

  Today, as an English teacher and a thriller author, it still amazes me how it almost never began at all. I can’t even fathom how different things would be if I had spun on my heel and headed off to a summer of lounging instead of that summer literature class. Sometimes, the things we dread the most become the things that change us the best.

  — Lindsay Detwiler —

  The Now

  Your life does not get better by chance; it gets better by change.

  ~Jim Rohn

  The idea of dating almost made me sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to start over. I didn’t want another failed first date. I didn’t want another disappointment. I couldn’t take another disappointment.

  So I just told myself, My life is fine. I don’t need to date.

  It had been close to three years since my divorce. I’d been on a handful of dates over those three years, but I would always find the perfect reason to run.

  One night, I decided I’d give it a real try. No excuses. No running. A real, solid try. I hopped online and began to swipe as if I were simply shopping for shoes.

  No… no… yep… nope! Then, there he was: a cute blond with big, blue eyes. His smile lit up the page. That’s my guy… Swipe.

  We talked briefly. He asked me if I’d like to meet. I had promised myself “a real, solid try,” so I said, “Yes.”

  As I drove to meet Mitch I planned my escape. I wondered if it was too late to cancel. I wondered if I could fake car trouble. I wondered if I could just have one drink and then leave, or would I have to stay for two?

  I did the slowest walk of my life into the bar, fighting with myself the whole way.

  Finally, I stood in front of him. I put on my best smile and tried to act like a normal person.

  “Hi!” he said.

  “Hi!” I said.

  Immediately, I wanted to leave — not because I didn’t like him, but because I did.

  “So, how do you know Marco?” he said.

  I had followed Marco’s band for years. Come to find out, he had, too.

  “I see you know Alison,” he said.

  “How do you know Alison?” I said.

  Instant chemistry.

  It didn’t feel like a first date. Actually, it didn’t feel like a date at all. It felt like two friends talking about music, bands, and mutual friends.

  We realized we had known the same people and gone to the same places for five years and never met each other.

  The more we talked, the more I laughed, and the more he looked directly into my eyes. That old, familiar feeling came rushing back. Run!

  I didn’t say a word. Not one word. But I thought to myself, Get out of here! Now!

  Almost before I could finish my thought, Mitch pulled his chair close to mine, softly brushed the hair out of my face, looked directly into my eyes and said, “I’m not asking you for forever. I’m just asking you for tonight.”

  “Wait, what?” I said.

  “I can feel your nerves. I can feel you. I’m not asking you for forever. Just for tonight. Can we do that?” he said.

  I just stared at him. How did he know what I was thinking?

  “Yeah, we can do that,” I said.

  I wanted to cry, but I smiled instead.

  The rest of the night was a blur. We laughed. We talked. We danced. It felt as if I had known him my whole life.

  It was my favorite first date.

  That first date turned into six months. I often thought back to that first night. I was so fearful of getting into a new relationship. I did everything I could to avoid dating. I did everything I could to avoid getting hurt again. I distracted myself with work, friends, and family. Anything to not date. Anything to not get hurt.

  I think of all the fun events, football games, holiday parties, and nights of dancing. I think of quiet nights at home falling asleep on the couch while watching a movie. The way he looked at me. The way I loved him.

  None of that would have happened if I had run that first night.

  Eventually, the relationship did end. My heart was broken. I could easily have avoided this pain. I could have walked away that first night. I could have gone on pretending life was fine. But something in his words, his eyes and his heart made me say, Don’t run. Not tonight. Don’t run.

  As my tears fall, I think back to what a girlfriend asked me about my relationship with Mitch. “Knowing what you know now — knowing how it would all end — do you regret dating him?”

  If you worry about forever, you’ll miss the now.

  I looked at her and smiled. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I said, “No, I don’t regret one minute.”

  Maybe we aren’t meant to be forever. Maybe we were just meant to help each other grow or learn. Or maybe we were just meant to have an amazing, fun-filled six months together. I don’t really know. But I know he was meant to be in my life. And I will never regret that.

  If you worry about forever, you’ll miss the now.

  — Diana Lynn —

  A Winning Smile

  Because of your smile, you make life more beautiful.

  ~Thich Nhat Hanh

  “Are you going to the audition?” someone asked my friend, Connie, as we came out of ballet class.

  “What audition?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Connie. “It’s for The Ed Sullivan Show. You wouldn’t be interested.”

  “Why not? I’d love to go!” I declared.

  A couple of the girls smirked. Connie smiled at me kindly and said, “I don’t think you are ready yet, Eva.”

  I felt slighted, but I thought maybe she was right. Connie and the others had been studying dance most of their lives and had already been in some shows. I was only a young novice hoping to get a job in show biz one day. Some day.

  The Ed Sullivan Show was a big deal. It was an hour-long Sunday night variety show on CBS. It featured top-notch stars such as The Beatles and Elvis. This time, one of the performers was going to be Jimmy Durante. They were looking for six dancers to support him. Jimmy was close to the end of his career but still quite famous. Frank Sinatra, Jr. was also one of the performers in this episode.

  After class, a few of us went for coffee. My classmates chatted about the audition that I was “not ready for.” I listened to their animated discussions on the choreography and what to wear, and soon I realized I was not in their league as a dancer. I went home disillusioned.

  But later that night, it bothered me. Who said I shouldn’t go to the audition? I had a right to try. How would I ever know if I was good enough if I didn’t try? What did I have to lose?

  I had a hard time falling asleep. When I finally did, I had a dream. A voice was speaking through a loudspeaker; it sounded like Ed Sullivan talking about what a big show it was going to be, with his distinctive pronunciation: “A REALLY BIG SHOE! It’s going to be a REALLY BIG SHOE.” It was only a dream but when I woke up, my decision was made. I was going to the audition. I packed my dancing shoes, and put on my leotard and bright red lipstick. Red was my lucky color. As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, only one thing was missing. I put on a smile.

  I took the subway into the city and walked to the rehearsal studio on Eighth Avenue. I climbed up the five flights and entered a huge studio filled with aspiring dancers. They all looked so confident. For a second, I questioned my decision to be there. What was I thinking?

  Ordinarily, a show as prominent as The Ed Sullivan Show would not have open casting calls. Usually, one would need an agent to even find out about the audition. For whatever reason, this time any dancer could try out.

  The choreographer and her associates were at a desk in another part of the room. I signed in and took my place nervously among the other dancers.

  Connie and about five of my other friends were there. “What are you doing here?” one asked.

  I said simply, “Well, I have nothing to lose by trying.”

  The look I got said, “Okay. Whatever.”

  The audition began with the dancers doing some basic steps that the choreographer’s assistant demonstrated. Nothing difficult. The room was huge, but not large enough for all the dancers to try out at once, so we were broken up into groups.

  I looked at my group of twelve lined up in front of the mirror. What made me think I had a chance? I looked again and got a good feeling. All the hopeful dancers had confident but serious expressions. I had a smile.

  Most girls were preoccupied with getting the choreography right. I knew my dancing was not great, but I couldn’t stop smiling because I found it comical that I was auditioning for a major TV show.

  At first, the number of applicants was reduced to about half. Then the choreographer eliminated even more dancers. Then came the serious slashing. Some were asked to stand aside on the right and some on the left. It wasn’t clear which side was reserved for the dancers who were being considered, but I was still with my friends so I thought it was a good sign.