Full Circle

Transformation

Spring finally starts its annual tease a few months later. Occasionally, the temperature actually manages to climb into the 50's. There might be one quick snowstorm left, but it is hard not to feel optimistic regardless. We appreciate every single day of spring and summer out here because those seasons are so brief.

The birds cheerfully chirp their serenades as I make my way past Mollie's and around the high school. I finish up on Sierra Street, known for trendy shops and cafés that cater to visitors who come for the skiing, hiking, and biking. I peek inside Carol's Custom Cuts, a hair and nail studio, and see that a few chairs even are open - unusual for Saturday.

When I brazenly fling the door open, a string of sleigh bells that is loosely tied to the door handle clanks loudly. The tattered ribbon that has tenuously held everything together for years gives way. Bells scatter in random directions, causing an even greater commotion. Everyone looks over at me, but thankfully, I know them all. We laugh heartily. They don't look at me with pity or curiosity anymore; we are all moving along, away from Bill.

I'm no longer an outsider. I've made it through to the other end. I belong here now, I think contentedly. I'm strong. I'm determined.

After we've gathered up the mess, Carol comes over and asks whether I'd like a haircut or maybe a manicure. "I have an open slot right now if you're interested," she says, without putting any pressure on me. But I already know what I'm here to do, what I'm finally ready to do. I remove my ponytail fastener and set my hair free. Though it is my best feature, it no longer defines me.

"Chop it all off," I say. "Donate it to the cancer charity mentioned in the newspaper article about Savannah."

Savannah is a little girl who's bravely fighting a rare form of cancer. When I was young, I lost my mother to this horrible disease and remember how powerless I felt. Though I can't do much now, I will do something.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Carol asks hesitantly. "Positive?" She has probably had a few customers who experienced serious post-haircut regrets before.

"Yes," I respond, looking directly at her. "Don't worry, Carol. I'm ready."

And with that, there it goes. I stare at the large pile of hair that that has accumulated on the floor. Once it is transformed into a wig, I hope it brings comfort. I pray for my absolute best wishes to be magically woven through the strands and delivered straight to the heart of the right person, though I will never learn the outcome.

When Carol spins me around to face the mirror, I'm surprised. The cut is a chic and stylish chin-length bob. Several patrons stop by to admire her work. They note how my new look highlights my blue eyes – a gift inherited from my mother. Until now, they always played second fiddle to that luxurious mane of thick, dark hair.

Today I leave the old, risk-free me (and all of its associated baggage) on the shop's floor. I am so lucky: strong, healthy, free. Finally, I fully appreciate it...another turning point for me.

Before Carol rings me up, I ask for her help in selecting a new lipstick. She pulls out a safe shade – taupe tinged with the barest hint of pink. But instead, I go straight for drama: deep red, the color my mother wore. The only caveat is that it must be an original, completely different from Becky's hue. I want my very own signature shade - ruby, perhaps. 

Becky will be flattered that I'm following her lead in some small way; she'll be happy that color is finally making a long-overdue appearance in my life after steady resistance. It is something with which she's long encouraged me to experiment - in my clothing, makeup, and even my bland food. To date, my whole life, it seems, has been lived as if colored with a shade of neutral beige.

My lips lead the way outside into the bright sunshine. My hair sways in the gentle breeze. I laugh out loud, thinking about how I must look to the locals: my New York City haircut and can't-miss lips juxtaposed with an outfit comprised of mud-caked trail running shoes, my oldest pair of multi-colored capris, and a paint-stained Alabama T-shirt from my college days.

With the image still fresh in my mind, he suddenly appears across the street, studies me quizzically yet again while fumbling for his car keys. I haven't forgotten his face. Today he is without the red beanie (the one, I suddenly realize, that is almost the same shade as the expensive new lipstick I've just purchased), exposing a full head of unruly, shaggy blonde hair. I find it endearing, his apparent carefree, laid-back nature.

He is trying to figure me out, trying to wrap his arms around this new (and to him, perhaps not improved) version of me versus the old, struggling me that he last saw in the midst of winter's grayness. Maybe he thinks I'm experimenting with my personal style. Maybe he thinks that I'm some kind of a rebel. It takes guts to pull off lips like this, after all. It is transformative. I plunge headfirst into the brand-new territory.

"Hello," I yell out, emboldened by today's dramatic changes. I allow a quick wave and flash a big smile while continuing on down Sierra Street toward my apartment.

"Hey," he replies. He returns my greeting, though a bit warily. I notice his smile isn't as broad as mine and wonder what he's really thinking. With that, he turns back to the care and soon drives off without another word.

I still don't know who he is, and Becky has no idea, either. Whatever his backstory, I hope to someday solve the mystery that has captivated me all winter. He intrigues me; I feel strangely compelled to learn what on earth has lured him here.

And while I don't consider myself happy yet, I'm content...meant to be here for now, thankful to be here for now. And I'll be patient and take whatever time I need to decide where life will take me next. If, that is, I'm fortunate enough to have the luxury of making that decision. Until then, I resolve to let myself breathe and experience life freely.

Along the way, I plan to learn some more of those "life lessons" about which Becky is so passionate.