Underneath the Obvious

All I can do is smile and stare at my friend as she picks up a hair tie and fiddles with it in her right hand. Her left hand rakes through her cancer-scarred scalp as new, magic hair grows back at a rapid rate. Within seconds, her lush mane that disappeared months ago is back at full glory. Now she’s back to being the fierce lionness I always knew her as.

With a small smile on her lips, she draws the new hair back into a long ponytail. She whips a few times, feeling the hair hit against her ears and neck. Perfect.

Next, she picks up the box of new shoes. I recognize the brand. They went out of business around a decade ago. Any shoe survivors became worth a fortune. My friend didn’t care about that. Carefully, she removed the out-of-style pumps from the box. There’s a sticky-note on the back of the left pump. With a delicate touch, she removes the note, reads it, and quickly begins to weep. I rush to her and squeeze her in a tight hug.

On the note was the words: “Get a little crazy, baby girl” in soft, cursive handwriting. My friend used to have a pair of pumps just like those--except they weren’t new. They had been worn only once by her mother on her 1983 prom. Unfortunately, during freshman year, she passed away. And left my friend those pumps to wear on her own prom--now only a year away. However, they were accidentally destroyed in a recent house fire.

But now, they were back exactly the way they were before she lost them.

Finally, my friend picked up her new iphone. Gleefully, she texted me--even though I was right beside her.

Look what I got! She typed.

I can see. I responded.

She pulled me into another hug. I gotta admit, texting is a lot between that using that landline she called me on. My friend briefly scrolled through her contacts. Only her dad and me were in it. I know why.

Because I’m the only one who would understand the meaning of such mundane things.