Only Twenty-Five

by Jennifer McCoy Blaske

  I realized I had the most strange, awful feeling. It was a combination of desperately wanting to run and tell someone my horrendous news, yet at the same time feeling like I had a terrible, shameful secret that must not get out under any circumstances. Everything felt sort of surreal. I had no sense of time. I’m not sure how long the three of us sat on the couch.

  At some point I gave Scooter a few final pats and got up. I dug my phone out of my purse and sat back down on the couch to Google “androgenetic alopecia female.” I had no idea what I expected to find . . . or what I was even really looking for. I clicked on the link from Harvard Health:

  . . . hair loss from androgenetic alopecia occurs because of a genetically determined shortening of anagen, a hair's growing phase, and a lengthening of the time between the shedding of a hair and the start of a new anagen phase. (See “Life cycle of a hair.”) That means it takes longer for hair to start growing back after it is shed in the course of the normal growth cycle. The hair follicle itself also changes, shrinking and producing a shorter, thinner hair shaft — a process called “follicular miniaturization.” As a result, thicker, pigmented, longer-lived "terminal" hairs are replaced by shorter, thinner, non-pigmented hairs called “vellus.”

  I skimmed down the page, studying the drawings of hair shafts and follicles before spotting the word Treatment:

  In one study, 13% of female minoxidil users had moderate hair growth, and 50%, minimal growth (compared with 6% and 33%, respectively, in the placebo group). In the second study, 60% of women in the minoxidil group reported new hair growth, compared with 40% in the placebo group. As a result of these studies and others, over-the-counter 2% minoxidil is FDA-approved for treating androgenetic alopecia in women.

  Clearly, minoxidil is not a miracle drug. While it can produce some new growth of fine hair in some — not all — women, it can't restore the full density of the lost hair. It's not a quick fix, either. You won't see results until you use the drug for two months. The effect often peaks at around four months, but it could take longer, so plan on a trial of six to 12 months. If minoxidil works for you, you'll need to keep using it to maintain those results. If you stop, you'll start to lose hair again.

  Okay, that sounded pretty much exactly like what Dr. Harris told me. It was just as well I didn’t try Rogaine only to be right back where I started.

  I made the big mistake of clicking the Images tab. I was horrified but couldn’t look away. It was like staring at a traffic accident. Some women’s heads showed more scalp than anything—the wispy remnants of their hair hanging in sparse, lifeless patches. A couple women had parts which must’ve been over an inch wide. And a few had dramatically receding hairlines. The women looked so abnormal and so . . . so wrong. It was almost painful to look at. Is that how I’ll look in a few years? Next year? Next month? No. No way was I going to let that happen. I was not going to stand in front of a classroom of middle-schoolers, or go anywhere in public, looking like that. For now, I could still sort of hide it. I shoved the phone in my purse. I had to get those images out of my mind. I had no idea how, exactly, but I was somehow going to beat this and look and feel like a normal person again.

  I scraped the soggy remains of my cereal into the trash and put the empty bowl in the sink.

  “Come on guys,” I mumbled to the cats. “Time for bed.”

  I had no idea what time it was, and I didn’t care. The only thing I could think of doing was crawling under the covers and staying there for a very long time.

  SEVEN

  Meg

  In the thirty-six hours since I’d been informed of my fate the best solution I came up with was a head covering. It probably wouldn’t be a permanent solution, but it would buy me some time until I figured out something else. And who knows, I might be like those women who look hip wearing hats all the time, like Yoko Ono.

  On Saturday morning I went to Madison Square Mall. An accessory store called Savvy Boutique caught my eye. I went inside and made a beeline for the hats. I studied the various hats on display before picking up a floppy straw one with a light-blue hatband. I stepped over to the mirror and plopped it on my head. Oh no, definitely not. It was cute, but kind of big, and I didn’t want to draw that much attention to myself. I decided it was good for the beach, probably, but not for everyday life. I put the hat back on the rack and kept looking.

  The baseball caps looked okay. Maybe I can wear one of those. It struck me that I might actually look kind of cute in one. If I stuck my ponytail out the back I’d get that Athletic Girl look. Never mind that the most athletic thing I ever did was go for walks. I put on a blue cap and looked in the mirror—first with it facing the right way, then I turned it around. Some girls can pull this off and look cute doing it. I clearly wasn’t one of them. I looked like I’d slept through my alarm and rushed out of the house without showering or washing my hair. Still, it wouldn’t be bad to have a cap like this just in case. I returned it to the rack, making a mental note to come back to it.

  I wanted something a little more stylish. There were a couple of those flat, kind of square-looking hats. What were they called . . . pillbox hats or something? I put on a pink one and checked myself out. Oh goodness. I looked like all I needed was white gloves and a suit and I’d be ready for tea with the queen of England. Too weird. I walked around to the back of the display. I tried on a beanie which was kind of cute, but it looked too much like I was either going skiing or getting ready to break into bad white girl rap.

  Maybe this hat thing wasn’t such a great idea after all. I guess I can get a couple baseball caps if I can’t find anything better. But that wasn’t really the look I was going for, especially if I was going to wear one almost every day for a while. Wearing a baseball cap when I wasn’t doing anything athletic would look too much like I was trying to hide something. Which I was . . . but I certainly didn’t want to look like I was.

  I was running out of options and starting to panic. Discouraged, I put on a brown fedora and looked in the mirror, carefully turning my head from side to side. It was kind of stylish . . . I guess . . . but it made me feel like I was supposed to start walking stealthily through the store solving crimes.

  “Oh yes. Now that is totally you,” a male voice said.

  Startled, I turned around. A guy about my age was grinning at me. He had curly black hair and he was wearing jeans and a light-blue shirt with a button-down collar. Did he work here? He certainly didn’t look like someone who would work in a women’s clothing store. But why else would he be talking to me? Was he making fun of me? Was he just some kind of weirdo who spent his Saturdays hanging around the mall harassing shoppers? If so, he was kind of a cute weirdo. . . .

  “All you need to do now is put on some sunglasses and start singing I’m a Soul Man.” He sang a few lines, snapping his fingers to the beat in his head.

  I blinked.

  “You know . . . the song Soul Man . . . from The Blue Brothers movie.”

  “Oh . . . right,” I said, but I was still confused. However, I did know that I wasn’t striving to look like John Belushi. I sheepishly took off the hat and hung it back up.

  He walked behind me to the other side of the rack. “Now here’s what you need,” he said, plucking up a green beret and handing it to me. “This is what you should get. Seriously.”

  “O. . .kay.” Still not sure if I was being made fun of or not, I tried it on and looked in the mirror. It was perfect! Stylish, but not too showy. It gave me the tiniest bit of a funky look that seemed to fit a music teacher, yet it didn’t look overpowering or bizarre. And the color was amazing. As a matter of fact, I had a sweater almost that exact shade. They would look great together. “You’re right,” I said, turning to look at him. “How did you do that?”

  “It’s the shade of green.” His impish grin turned into a soft smile. “It matches your eyes.” He paused. “You have very pretty eyes.”

  “Oh . . . uh . . . thank you.” I was confused all over again.

 
He gave me a little salute with his index finger. “Enjoy your new hat,” he said before walking out of the store into the mall.

  I stood there in a daze. What in the world just happened? Some cute guy appeared out of nowhere, instantly solved my hat dilemma, complimented me, and disappeared. Who was he? He obviously didn’t work here and he left without buying anything. Was he just some sort of roaming personal shopper who goes from store to store helping people make buying decisions? Who would do that?

  I headed toward the entrance, hat still on my head. Realizing that I didn’t want to be arrested for shoplifting, I turned around and put the hat back before rushing out of the store.

  I stood against the railing next to the escalator and scoped the mall. Being a Saturday, it was crowded and I didn’t see any sign of him. He could be anywhere. Was I really going to run around the mall trying to find a guy who I knew absolutely nothing about except for the teeny insight he gave me into his taste in music? I knew I was being ridiculous. If I were to find him, how pathetic would I look? I mean what, exactly, was I planning on doing? Chasing him down? And if I caught up to him, then what? I scolded myself for acting like an idiot.

  I sighed before going back into Savvy Boutique. I bought the green beret and a tan one as well.

  My quest for a hat was successful—better than I’d hoped for in fact. Why did I still feel so dissatisfied?

  EIGHT

  Josh

  My phone developed a weird glitch so I went to the mall on Saturday. I was heading for the Apple store when a girl caught my eye, not because she was cute—although she was—but because she looked familiar.

  I slowed down and veered left. The girl was a little on the short side with wavy brown hair down to about her shoulders. She was trying on different hats and hesitantly checking herself in the mirror. For a moment I thought that maybe she was a former student from a couple years ago whose name I couldn’t remember. But no, after another glance I realized that she was definitely an adult.

  This was driving me crazy. Who is she? I knew I knew her from somewhere. I went in the store and pretended to look at scarves while I checked her out over my shoulder. She was humming to herself as she tried on hats. Her humming was a little different than most people’s though. Instead of being a random of mush of notes it was a very clear, precise melody.

  I finally remembered where I knew her from! A couple days ago I was walking through the main atrium at school when I saw her come out of a classroom in the music and arts hall. She came out the room singing and sort of bobbed along as she shut the classroom door and headed the other way down the hall. It was kind of late and most people had gone home hours ago. She probably thought she was all alone. The ceilings are kind of high, so her voice echoed a little and I could hear her pretty well even though I wasn’t near her. I’d grinned to myself at the time. If I’d been closer, or heading in the same direction, I would’ve walked up behind her and tried singing along . . . or something. Then again, it was probably a good thing that I didn’t do that—I probably would’ve scared the hell out of her. As it was, I just watched her bob down the hall singing before I continued on my way. I glanced at hat-girl again. Yup. It was definitely her. Phew, what a relief to figure that one out.

  Since she was a teacher at my school I reckoned I should go say hi. Nah, I thought, smiling to myself. That would be too boring. She appeared to be trying on everything with no rhyme or reason. It seemed like she was dead set on getting a hat but she had no idea what look she was going for. The hat she was trying on made her look like she was auditioning for a role in The Blues Brothers. The bewildered look on her face as she studied her reflection in the mirror made her look so funny and cute. That was my cue.

  “Oh yes. Now that is totally you,” I said.

  She stared at me, confused.

  “All you need to do now is put on some sunglasses and start singing I’m a Soul Man.” I don’t know why, but I started snapping my fingers and sang a few lines.

  She looked slightly alarmed, almost as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. I took a closer look at her. She had a light dusting of freckles around the bridge of her nose and her eyes were a unique, gorgeous shade of green.

  If her initial reaction to me had been different I might’ve said something like: On second thought, don’t put on sunglasses. They’d only hide those beautiful eyes of yours. But I had a feeling that that might not go over so well. Instead, I explained why I was singing Soul Man and then handed her a green hat that I guessed would accent her eyes. And I was right.

  I got such a kick out of how amazed she seemed by my hat-finding abilities that I couldn’t ruin it by introducing myself. It was much better to be the mysterious stranger than just some boring English teacher who worked at her school. I gave her a goodbye salute and headed back out into the mall. I whistled all the way to the Apple store.

  NINE

  Meg

  I wanted to perfect my new look and I experimented with jewelry over the weekend. I also spent some time examining my eyes in the mirror. They were kind of pretty, weren’t they? They were olive-green with brown flecks and had a special beauty that I never noticed before. Yet that guy . . . whoever he was . . . had noticed them right away.

  On Monday morning I settled on a pair of big gold stud earrings. They looked great with my green sweater which, as I suspected, went perfectly with the beret. By the time I walked into school I felt kind of stylish and funky. I was feeling better about myself than I had in months. I no longer had the nagging worry in the back of my mind that people might see that my hair was getting scraggly. And now, of course, there was no way anyone could see the small bald spot on the crown of my head.

  During the morning announcements I was able to revel in the newfound spring in my step. I twirled around the classroom a bit as I straightened the chairs, opened the blinds, and cleared the top of the piano. Then I hummed a happy tune until my first period sixth grade general music kids came piling into the room.

  Tyler Hudak, a blond kid who always asked a lot of questions, rushed in and threw his books on his desk. “I get to write today’s date on the board!”

  “No! I get to!” yelled BJ Rockwell who’d entered the room right behind Tyler.

  The two of them scrambled to the whiteboard. BJ beat Tyler by about a second and snatched up a black marker.

  “Ha!” BJ said.

  “Nuts,” said Tyler as he walked back to his seat.

  This battle happened every morning. It occurred to me once that I could assign each of them certain days or weeks to write the date on the board. But I had a feeling that writing the date on the board just wouldn’t have the same appeal if they didn’t have to fight for it.

  “Ooh, I like your hat Miss Caldwell!” said Lindsay Ricketts. She always wore headbands and other accessories. “Is it new?”

  “Yup,” I said proudly. “I bought it this weekend at Savvy Boutique.”

  “Oh yeah, that color looks so good on you,” said Brooke Antonelli, Lindsay’s friend. “It matches your eyes.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.” I smiled. “Okay everyone, settle down,” I said as the kids took their seats. “As you might remember, tomorrow is our quiz covering both the Classical period and some rhythmic and melodic dictation. We’re going to spend today reviewing everything that will be on the quiz.”

  Michael Fischer waved his arm in the air. “Are we gonna hafta know all the dates?”

  I shook my head. “You don’t need to know the dates that the different composers were born and died. But you do need to know the dates of the Classical period itself. So . . . when was it?” I looked around the room.

  Lindsay raised her hand. “Seventeen, um . . .”

  “Seventeen-fifty!” Michael blurted out. “Seventeen-fifty to eighteen-fifty!”

  “No!” Lindsay shot back. “Seventeen-fifty to eighteen hundred.”

  “Yup,” I said. “Seventeen-fifty to eighteen hundred.”

  Lindsay lifted h
er chin and smiled proudly.

  “Everyone got those dates?” I asked. “Good. Okay, so the first thing we’re going to do . . .”

  Mrs. Kirk, one of the assistant principals, slipped through the door and quietly shut it behind her. She walked to the back of the classroom and sat down, clipboard on her lap.

  Aargh! She was here to do my fall evaluation. I felt myself standing up straighter. Then I realized that this was actually great timing. With my stylish beret, matching blouse, and the newly discovered beauty of my eyes, I felt completely confident. I could handle anything. I was at the top of my game and a surprise evaluation was no problem. Bring it on!

  “Okay, so the first thing we’re going to do,” I repeated a little louder, “is play a review game. But I’m not going to come up with the questions. Instead, you are!” I pointed my index finger at the class with a playful little bounce. “I want you to take out a sheet of paper and write ten questions you think might be on tomorrow’s quiz. And don’t forget to write the answer to each question underneath it.”

  “Can we use our notes?” someone asked.

  I nodded. “Yes. You can use your notes, but please don’t use each other. I’d like you to work quietly and independently. When most of you are finished I’ll collect your papers and we’ll play the game. Any other questions?”

  There weren’t any.

  I glided up and down the aisles monitoring the kids’ progress. I felt like a new woman in my beret. It was amazing how much power a simple hat could grant the wearer. I knew that my hair loss was making me self-conscious, but I hadn’t realized how much it was affecting my mojo in the classroom. And now, I felt just how much this new style was really working for me. I might end up with a huge hat collection—one to match each outfit! Eventually I’d be known throughout the school as the cool teacher who always wears hats. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I’d never been cool in my life.