What He Wrote

Chapter 8

This is going to sound rather shallow and stupid, but the hardest part of Cleo's cancer seemed to be when she had her head shaved. She could no longer live up to the nickname she had carved at school. She could no longer fall asleep to my fingers weaving through her hair. She could no longer braid and unbraid her hair when she was bored. For Cleo, becoming bald had been the absolute breaking point.

I had offered to shave my head too, but she told me that she still wanted to be able to play with my hair before falling asleep. I considered getting it shaved anyway, but then I realized how it would affect her. If I got my head shaved, it would not be supportive. It would be a reminder.

Cleo's first couple of days without hair had been excruciating. She had been superbly strong the first few weeks of treatment (despite her morbid thoughts about death), but with every morning she'd awaken to a cold scalp, her facade would lower. Her mother (whom I have never been a huge fan of) could hardly look at Cleo. She often suggested that Cleo wore a wig, but Cleo refused time after time. Her once exotic, down-to-earth mom had become an average suburban mother who was obsessed with perfection.

The week after was when all hell broke loose.

Cleo's aunt from her dad's side had been visiting to take care of Cleo since her mom had not been doing all that gracious of a job. That aunt walked in on Josephine cheating with a man she had met at a cocktail party. Of course she told Bill, who said that when all the cancer business was figured out, he would file for a divorce. Bill was still in Cairo at the time, and barely saw his daughter. Josephine was too busy having an affair to really care for Cleo, so that's when my mother and I stepped up to the plate.

This all ruined Cleo. Not only was she fighting a deadly disease, she was worrying about her family falling apart.

But then things started to look up. She could eat with out throwing it up afterwards. A slight rosiness came back into her cheeks. She was able to get out of bed by herself.

Cleo could go home.

Her aunt stayed with Cleo at her house while Cleo's mom stayed with her boyfriend. As expected, they were not on good terms.

That was why I felt a nervous rush of emotions when Cleo sent me a text saying, "Hey, I need to ask you something. Can you come over?"

Cleo and I rarely texted. Our relationship was more along the lines of let's randomly show up at each other's houses and do something out of no where. But, I responded with an "on my way" anyways because when the girl you love has cancer and is finally feeling better, you go to her no matter what you're in the middle of.

I walked to Cleo's house, not wanting to deal with my temperamental truck. I let myself inside, going upstairs to her passionately chaotic room. She was sitting up in her bed, the bright light that had been extinguished lately now glowing in her eyes.

"Guess what!"

I sat on the floor next to her bed.

"What?"

"You know my cousin, Addie? The one my mom's sister had really young?"

"Yeah..." I vaguely remembered meeting this Addie at a graduation party.

"Well, she's getting married in a week and I was supposed to ask you this a month ago but with all the cancer stuff going on I didn't know if I'd be able to go, so...will you be my date?"

"It's an inevitable yes from me."

Cleo laughed. It was a true, beautiful laugh that reached her eyes and her neck and everything in between. It was nothing like the lifeless hiccups I had grown used to in the hospital.

"You're such weirdo! But my family loves you already. They're always asking about you at family functions. It's always 'How's the boyfriend doing?' And 'Is that Teddy treating you right?'" Cleo said in a grandma-like voice and then a deep man voice.

"I hope you didn't make me out to be what I'm not."

"All good things, all good things."

"Whatever you say. When is this wedding exactly?"

"Right. It's this weekend and unless you want to be stuck in a car with my aunt and my mom, we should probably drive separate. It's in Whitewood."

Whitewood was a good three hour long drive, and I felt a flash of worry about driving those three hours without Cleo's parents when she was not entirely cured. But I knew that bringing up that point would only upset her, so I just smiled and nodded and listened to Cleo ramble about the wedding as if it was her own.