Intersections

Today I was early.

The man who goes before me, quiet like me.

A woman maybe younger than I am goes before him.

I was early, my first time seeing her.

Today was her last day.

She didn’t ring the bell today, but did after chemo as I did.

Congratulations.

The man and I spoke for the first time after that.

Prostate cancer. No chemo. His #5 of 28.

#18 of 29, I replied.

He said no chemo but …couldn’t find the words or remember the name of the drug but said, chemical castration.

Yeah, I said. We become they’s in this process.

I remember feeling more like a boy when I was little.

And probably if it were today would have resonated with and chosen they.

And now with the hormone blockers, I thought about it again.

They means more than that to me, and.

I embrace being a woman, a she. And still you think about it.

Being bald felt so like me. I saw myself when I shaved it the first time.

GI Jane, they said.

Nice shaped head, they said.

You look awesome, I’m jealous, one said.

You could do it too, I said.

Jealous of the journey I was about to embark on.

She’d been shaved once by a child as part of an event for kids with cancer, so that they could shave the heads of their nurses, doctors and parents. She was a nurse. An educator.

We were in line at the coffee shop.

My intention that morning was something like this…

I like being bald. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. And yet it would be nice to have a reflection.

You look awesome, she said.

We sat and had coffee together.

She told me why she felt jealous-not-jealous as she took my picture.

She is lovely.