“6:05?” he read. “Damn...” He had slept for a few hours, and now it was dinnertime. Not that he’d be eating anything.
Though he was still a little dizzy sitting up, he realized that the nausea had passed for now and decided to take advantage of it by getting up for a bit. Slowly and carefully, he eased himself out of his big bed and rose upon shaky legs. Standing still a moment, he waited until he was steady and balanced, then progressed across his bedroom floor with slow, measured steps.
Clinging to the banister for support, he made his way down the stairs. As he neared the kitchen, he was shocked to hear muffled voices. Stopping to listen, he recognized them as Brian’s and Howie’s and went ahead into the large room.
His two friends were sitting at his small kitchen table, talking quietly. Brian was fiddling with the tab on a can of Coke, and Howie had a half-eaten banana in one hand, which he was unconsciously waving around as he talked. They did not even notice Nick standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat, and then they looked up in surprise.
“Nicky!” exclaimed Howie. “You’re up! How are you feeling?”
How had he known that question was coming? Fighting to keep from rolling his eyes, Nick only smiled tightly and replied, “Oh... okay.”
“Really? That’s good,” Brian said with a smile. “Wanna come sit down?” He eyed the empty chair across the table from him.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I didn’t really feel comfortable leaving you here alone,” Brian said apologetically as Nick shuffled across the tiled floor to the table, “so I invited Howie over to keep me company. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, ‘s cool,” replied Nick, pulling out the chair and easing himself down into it.
Howie took a bite out of his banana and then said, swallowing, “So, Nick, um, how long are you on this chemo thing for?”
“A week,” said Nick, the familiar scent of banana wafting down the table and entering his nostrils. Normally, he wasn’t too bothered by bananas, but right then, all he could think of was that powdery stuff that school janitors sprinkle on the floor when somebody barfs. It smelled like bananas. At least the stuff the janitors at his school had used did. It had been a decade since he had been in real school, and yet, he could still remember that odor, always associated with the unpleasant aroma of fresh vomit. And thinking of it now made him want to do just that – vomit.
Holding his stomach, he slid his chair back and stood up more quickly than he had moved all afternoon, ignoring the immediate dizziness and staggering across the room to the kitchen sink, which was surprisingly and luckily empty, for it seemed Brian and Howie had put themselves to work and done his dishes for him. He leaned over the sink now and emptied the contents of his stomach, the pale yellowish-brown liquid that came up staining the white porcelain. When he was finished, he turned on the faucet, first dipping his head under to rinse his mouth, then letting the water run into the basin, washing the last traces of his vomit down the drain.
He felt Brian’s hand on his back and the quiet question, “You okay, buddy?”
Nick nodded. “Howie,” he said through clenched teeth, “Could you please get rid of that?”
“Get rid of what, Nicky?” Howie asked innocently.
“The banana,” Nick muttered. “The fucking banana. It’s making me sick.”
“Oh... oh, God, Nick, I’m sorry!” Howie apologized, quickly dumping the unfinished piece of fruit into the garbage. “I’m really sorry,” he said again, coming up to stand beside Brian at the sink. “Are you gonna be all right now?”
“I guess.” Nick started to run a hand through his hair, a gesture he always did when he was frustrated. But he was greeted with nothing but a few soft wisps covering a hard scalp. “Fuck,” he whispered, letting the hand drop.
“What? Your hair?” Brian asked knowingly.
Nick only nodded, not trusting his voice to speak, suddenly caught up in emotion.
“I’m sorry, man,” Brian whispered. “If there’s anything we can do...”
“There is,” Nick said suddenly, an idea popping into his brain. “I want you to shave it.”
“Shave it?”
“My head, shave my fucking head. Get rid of what’s left on it cause I can’t stand it looking like this anymore. I just wanna get it over with and be totally, fucking bald.”
Brian blinked. “You serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious! I’ve got shaving cream and a razor upstairs in my bathroom; would one of you go get it please?”
Brian and Howie exchanged glances. “I’ll go,” Howie volunteered and disappeared, heading back up the stairs. He returned a few minutes later with a regular old razor and a can of shaving cream.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked uncertainly, as Nick sat back down at the table, a dishtowel draped over his shoulders.
“Positive,” Nick said firmly. “You ain’t gonna hurt anything; I’d eventually be totally bald anyway. You’re just speeding up the process a little.”
Howie bit his lip, then offered the supplies to Brian. “You wanna do it?” he asked.
“Whatever.”
Brian started to reach for the razor and shaving cream, but Nick interrupted with, “No, D, I want you to do it.”
Howie and Brian both looked at him, Howie beginning to laugh. “Me? Why?”
“Yeah, why?” Brian repeated, trying to look offended. “I can do it.”
“Howie, you spend an entire freaking hour on your hair alone every morning. I know you’ll be able to do this,” Nick replied matter-of-factly. Brian burst out laughing, while Howie just looked as if he were trying to tell whether that was a compliment or not.
“Okay,” he sighed finally. “I’ll do it.” He paused. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Nick repeated. “Just get on with it before I have another puke attack.”
“Fine.” With another sigh, Howie popped the lid off the can of shaving cream and squirted a liberal amount into the palm of his hand. Rubbing his hands together, he gingerly smoothed the thick foam over Nick’s head. Nick shivered; it was cold and tingled his scalp.
“Be careful now, don’t nick me,” he advised, as Howie wiped his hands off on a towel and picked up the razor.
“He won’t nick you... Nick,” said Brian and then began to laugh. “Get it? He won’t nick you? Nick?”
“Funny, Rok,” Nick said dryly, but he couldn’t help but smile. Brian was so retarded sometimes.
“All right,” sighed Howie, holding up the razor. “This is it.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Howie,” Nick said with a roll of his eyes. “Just do it already.”
Smirking, Howie just shook his head and took a deep breath, then lowered the razor to Nick’s head. He dragged it slowly and gently down the middle, parting the layer of shaving cream and revealing a stripe of pale, hairless skin. Nick studied Brian while Howie worked, watching him wince every time Howie rinsed off the razor in a bowl of warm water, leaving leftover mounds of shaving cream and tufts of blonde hair floating behind.
When the job was done, Nick stood up without a word and headed straight for the small guest bathroom on the downstairs floor. He flipped on the light and braced himself for what he would see when he looked in the mirror. Swallowing hard, he sidestepped in front of the vanity and gazed into the mirror at his reflection. When he first caught sight of his glistening, bald head, he felt a tremor run through his whole body. But the more he looked, the more he got used to it. It certainly looked better than it had before anyway. But still, it was unnerving to see all of his hair gone, his head completely bare.
“You all right, Nick?” a voice interrupted Nick’s scrutiny, and he looked over to see Brian standing in the doorway, Howie peeking in from over his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” he replied, nodding at his reflection in an assured way. “Almost looks like I did this on purpose, you know... like I wanted it like this...” He ran a hand slowly over his head, reveling at its smoothness and how odd it felt to his fingertips, which were so used to raking through his thick, blonde locks.
Brian smiled. “Sounds like something AJ would do.”
Nick snorted. “Yeah. Boy, won’t he be jealous when he sees this bad-ass ‘do. Quite the trendsetter now, aren’t I?” he remarked sarcastically. He flashed a big cheesy grin and double thumbs up at his reflection and heard Howie and Brian’s relieved laughter. But, staring at his mirror image, he saw that the smile did not carry to his eyes, which showed every feeling of self-consciousness, insecurity, and humiliation that he possessed. The smiled wavered, and he began to feel sick to his stomach. Whether it was just the chemo or the visual representation of what the chemo was doing to him, he did not know. All he knew was that he needed to throw up, and now.
“Just a minute, guys,” he moaned, suddenly diving for the door and slamming it closed, practically right in their faces. He heard their dumbfounded voices call out his name in concern, but all he could think about was getting to the toilet. Sinking to his knees in front of it, he threw up the lid and buried his face in it, while his ravaged body raised holy hell once again.
***
