Running Through the Words, 4

Four.

“Guess what,” Magnolia demands as soon as her almost-brother picks up the phone. And then, not giving him a chance to speculate, she answers her own question: “I was supposed to go to the beach next week with my friend Jess and her family, but her grandfather’s really sick and now they’re not going. But I still have the whole week off. How would you feel about me coming for a visit?”

“Um… I’d feel pretty good about it,” Bas informs her. “Hold on. Let me find out if Lucy feels the same way.” He lowers his phone, turns to the woman sitting beside him on the couch, and asks, “Do you care if Nol comes for a visit next week?”

“Of course not!” is her immediate reply. “She’s always welcome.”

Returning the cell to his ear, Bas says, “It took considerable persuading on my part, but she’s agreed to let you stay with us.”

Lucy rolls her eyes and lightly smacks his stomach.

“Oof!” Sebastian huffs, feigning injury. He musses his girlfriend’s hair and climbs to his feet, walking out to the calendar that hangs in the couple’s kitchen. When he’s touring, Lucy employs the monthly grid to keep track of the band’s shows and their locations. Now that Bas is home, though, the boxes are used to record events of a more mundane nature: the electric bill is due on the eighteenth of the month, Bert has chemo next Wednesday at nine, and Russo’s stopping by for a beer later tonight. Bas grabs a pencil and wonders, “When should we expect you?”

“Friday evening? Does that work?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t make anything. I wanna take you guys out for dinner to thank you for hosting.”

“That’s completely unnecessary, Nol.”

“Maybe so, but it’s what I’d like to do.”

“Alright, well… we’ll talk about it on Friday. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“I’ll see ya then.”

“Love you, Bas.”

“Love you too, Little Three-Eyes.” He ends the call before Nol can reprimand him for using the nickname she despises. Then he goes to the cupboard, retrieves a glass, and fills it with water from the tap. He drinks it as he stands at the sink, staring out the window and watching a fat squirrel as it scampers about in the dogwood out back. The furry fellow’s tail has a mind of its own, flicking to and fro as the lithe little creature hops from limb to limb.

In his pocket, Bas’s phone vibrates for a second time. He assumes it’s Nol yet again, having forgotten a crucial detail regarding her upcoming visit, but when he glances at the screen, it’s Bert’s face that pops up. In the photo, he’s dripping wet, having just run through a downpour in order to retrieve a baggie of weed and a book of Mad Libs from the tour bus. They’d been playing a sold-out show in Seattle that night and, with two opening acts before it would be their turn to take the stage, the band members were looking for a way to pass the time. “Hold on,” Bert had said amicably. “I’ll be right back.” Bas had tagged along to prop the back door for him, and then snapped the picture as Bert returned from the bus, charging toward him as he attempted to dodge raindrops.

The photograph is a good one—classic, boyish Bert—and Sebastian is smiling as he answers the phone. “Hey, B. What’s up?” His smile falters, however, when he catches the tone of his friend’s voice.

It’s sad… possibly scared.

“Are you busy?” Bert asks plaintively. “I think… I think it might be time.”

“Nope, I’m not busy. I’ll be right over.”

“Actually,” he says softly, “would it be okay if I came to you? I’m feeling a little bit… claustrophobic, I guess. I’d kinda like a change of scenery. D’you mind?”

“Not at all. Lucy’s here. Is that cool?”

“Yeah. She can help.”

“Alright. I’ll let her know you’re coming over. See you soon, B.”

“Yup.”

There isn’t much to be done beforehand. Sebastian gathers some clippers, a pair of scissors, a grey towel that will double as a smock, and the vacuum, its canister newly emptied. Lucy unearths three Champagne flutes and a bottle of prosecco she purchased last week in preparation for this very event. She places the bubbly and the glassware on a tray and carries everything upstairs to the master bathroom. Sebastian waits in the foyer, watching for his friend.

Bert arrives twenty minutes later. “I may not have a lot of hair, but I really like my hair, and I’m so not looking forward to doing this,” he says when Bas opens the door. “Cancer can go fuck itself.”

Without saying a word, Sebastian wraps him in a bearhug, holding him tight. Bert collapses into him, allowing himself to be held for a moment before pulling away. Then, his arm looped across the exhausted man’s shoulders, Bas leads him upstairs and through the master bedroom. Lucy leans against the bathroom sink, waiting. “Hey,” she says, holding out her arms for an embrace of her own. “How’re you holding up?”

“It’s just hair,” Bert says, trying to make light of the moment. “It’ll grow back.” But there are tears in his eyes.

Lucy rubs soothing circles between his shoulder blades while Bas uncorks the prosecco. “I guess,” he says as he distributes the glasses, “step one is to decide who’s going first: you or me.”

Bert arches his thinning eyebrows. “You or me?” he repeats. “No. I’m the only one shaving my head today. There’s no reason you should be bald too.”

Sebastian takes a seat on the edge of the tub and rests his hands on his knees. His dark curls are pulled into a high, sloppy knot at the back of his head. His beard, recently trimmed, neatly hugs his narrow cheeks and angular jaw. Never has his hair been this long before; until a year ago, it had been only an inch in length. “If you tell me you’ll be offended if I do it, I won’t,” Bas says now, “but I’d like to do it in a display of solidarity. Me shaving my head will in no way provide me with an understanding of what you’re going through—I’m not trying to negate your experience, B—but me having hair while you’re bald…? I don’t like it.” He shakes his head. “It makes me happy when people ask if we’re brothers, but will they still do that if I’ve got a mop of curls and you’ve got nothing? I just… I want to do this, alright? But only if you say it’s okay. Only if you let me.”

A tear slides down Bert’s cheek, followed by another and then several more. “There you go again,” he whispers. “Showing up.”

“He is pretty good at showing up, isn’t he?” Lucy asks softly. She picks up the towel and unfolds it, holding the grey terry cloth rectangle horizontally and looking from one man to the other. “So?” she wonders. “Who’s going first?”

Bert takes a small step toward Lucy and ducks his head as she wraps the makeshift smock around his shoulders. He sits on the lid of the toilet while she first trims his shaggy locks to an inch in length, and then carefully guides the clippers over his scalp. Dark tufts of hair litter the bathroom floor, falling around his feet. When she finishes, he runs a hand over his smooth head. Bas hops up from the tub and joins him, cupping the back of Bert’s skull with his palm and leaning down to plant a soft kiss on top of the pale skin. “My turn,” he says, switching seats with him, and soon his curls are mingling with Bert’s hair on the tiles beneath his feet.

“Will you keep the beard?” Bert asks from his perch on the sink.

“I’d like to, but I don’t have to.”

“The last time I can remember you being clean shaven was probably thirty years ago. Please keep the beard. Or, at the very least, some scruff. Naked cheeks are gonna look too fucking weird on you.”

One side of Sebastian’s mouth quirks into a bemused smile. “Alright,” he promises, “the beard can stay.”

When his scalp, too, sports little more than peach fuzz, he moves to stand beside Bert so they can study their reflections together in the mirror. Lucy pulls her phone from her back pocket, snaps a photograph of the men standing side by side—Bas’s hand once again on Bert’s head and Bert’s hand wrapped companionably around Sebastian’s waist—before plopping herself down on the toilet and announcing, “My turn.”

“Lucy, no!” Bert exclaims, spinning around just in time to see her pick up the scissors and use them to remove a good six inches from her sunshine-hued hair. He rushes over to her, holding out his hand for the utensil in an attempt to prevent her from doing more damage, but it’s Sebastian to whom she relinquishes the shears. To Bert’s horror, he proceeds to cut more jagged clumps from her head, the golden tendrils tumbling down to drape themselves across the boys’ dark locks.

“I knew you’d try to talk me out of it,” she explains to Bert, “so I had to be a little theatrical about the first snip. And just so you know, it was too short to donate. I looked into that.”

Bert rolls his eyes and picks up his prosecco, holding it as he watches the transformation of the woman in front of him. “I really didn’t expect today to pan out the way it has,” he admits, taking a small sip of the bubbly sweetness. “I really didn’t expect to feel so…” But he trails off, unable to find the right word.

“Celebrated?” Lucy suggests.

“Adored?” Sebastian provides.

“Not alone,” Bert clarifies. “I thought shaving my head would be a lonely experience. But it hasn’t been. It’s been really… special, you know? Way different than I thought it’d be. Way better. So… thank you for that.”

“There’s no need to get all sentimental about it,” Bas says as he runs the clippers over his girlfriend’s head. “It’s just hair, remember? It’ll grow back.” But then smiles across the bathroom at his friend and adds, “You’re welcome, though.”

“And don’t think you’ll be alone for one second through this whole ordeal,” Lucy pipes up, “because we won’t allow that to happen. Also, you should stay for dinner tonight. Bas is gonna grill turkey burgers.”

“Russo’s dropping by for a beer at some point too. Definitely stay. It’ll be fun.”

“Alright,” Bert agrees. “I will.”

🍁

Kenny Russo has Finn Gregory in tow when he stops by later that evening. When no one answers the front door, they walk around the house and cross the backyard to join the trio on the deck. “Woah” is the first word out of Russo’s mouth. The next five are “What happened to your hair?”

Bert quickly recounts the afternoon’s events.

Just as quickly, Russo makes the decision to bid adieu to his own honey-colored locks, eager to join his bandmates in their new baldness. Finn, not surprisingly, isn’t quite as eager to jump on the bandwagon.

Whereas Russo wears a subtle fade with an inch or so of hair on the top of his head, the group’s bass guitarist sports thick, ropy dreadlocks that have been a part of his identity since late high school. “For the record,” Bert says when Lucy runs to retrieve the clippers, “I haven’t asked anyone to shave his or her head. The fact that three out of five people are bald right now is not my doing.”

“Soon to be four out of five,” Russo corrects.

“I can’t be the only band member with hair,” Finn groans. “I’ll look like an asshole.”

Bert holds up both hands, palms out in front of him as if to stop the consideration. “Don’t shave your head, Finn! If you don’t wanna do it, don’t fucking do it!”

“Maybe we could just add another hairy guy to Flannel Lobster’s lineup,” Bas suggests, taking a swig of his beer and hiding his sly smile in the process.

Finn sinks down in his chair and covers his face with his hands. “No,” he grumbles, “I’m gonna do it. My mom’s been trying to get me to lose the dreads for years. I wish we’d done this last week though; I would’ve put ‘em in a box and wrapped it up for Mother’s Day.”

“Well, when’s her birthday?” Bas wonders.

“Not ‘til September.”

“Yeah… that’s kind of far. Oh, well. It was a nice thought.”

Bert snorts, choking on his beer. “Was it?” he asks, laughing and coughing at the same time.

Lucy returns with the necessary materials and hands the scissors to Bas so he can start trimming Finn’s dreadlocks while she uses the clippers on Russo’s head. As they work, the sun dips lower and the sky grows dusky. Moths flutter against the outdoor light, drawn to its iridescent glow, and fireflies act like miniature beacons throughout the yard, flashing here and there with no rhyme or reason. Somewhere in the neighborhood, an owl hoots melodically, calling for a mate perhaps. Bas mowed early this morning and the air, growing cooler by the second, still carries a faint scent of newly cut grass. He inhales, filling his lungs with the clean aroma, and notes, “Sam’s gonna wish we’d documented this. Band bonding, you know? Great for social media.”

“I took some pictures,” Lucy says.

“So did I,” Bert echoes. “We can share ‘em with him.” He’s quiet for a moment, watching as his bald friends work to remove the hair from his not-yet-bald bandmates’ heads. And then he admits, “I might need something to look forward to, guys. I might need something to get me through the next six months.” He takes a deep, shaky breath and adds, “Today ended up being a good day. I didn’t think it was going to be, but it was. I need more days like today.”

Lucy pauses her progress with the clippers and glances over at him. “Aww, Bert… You know we’ll do anything for you. What’re you thinking? A party or something?”

He shakes his head. “More like a fundraiser,” he says. “For breast cancer awareness, maybe? And possibly with a focus on male breast cancer, because I don’t think that’s talked about a whole lot. But it should be. I mean… if I hadn’t casually mentioned the lump to Bas, I would’ve kept on ignoring it, you know? I would’ve thought it’d always been there and I’d only just noticed it. But…” He looks over at his friend and forces a smile. “You knew. You knew as soon as I said, ‘Feel this lump. Does it feel weird to you?’ And you made me visit Urgent Care right away.”

Sebastian doesn’t say anything. He just nods in acknowledgment and keeps delicately trimming Finn’s dreadlocks.

“October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month,” Russo points out. “That’s about six months from now. If you wanna do a fundraiser, that’d be a good time to do it.”

“Plus, your favorite holiday’s in October,” Lucy says. “Maybe we could combine the two.”

Finn gets on his phone, scrolling through the calendar app. “Halloween’s on a Saturday this year, so whatever you decide to do, it oughtta take place earlier in the day. People’ll have parties and trick-or-treating and stuff like that later on.”

“So... a morning event?” Bert wonders.

“How about one of those plunges that people host to raise money?” Bas suggests. “Polar Bear Plunges… Penguin Plunges… You could organize a Pumpkin Plunge. We’ve already got the lake, and the water’ll be plenty chilly by the end of October, so… I don’t know. Have people pay ten bucks to participate and ask ‘em to wear pink or something. Wouldn’t that work?”

“The Pink Pumpkin Plunge,” Bert muses. “I sorta like that.”

“So do I,” Russo says, “and I bet my dad will too. He could probably get some folks from the hospital to set up a stand with information about the disease. Maybe bring along some of those fake boobies with the lumps hidden inside.”

Finn, Bert, and Sebastian narrow their eyes, tilt their heads, and fix him with puzzled expressions, but Lucy nods knowingly and explains, “It’s a teaching tool to help women learn the right way to conduct a self-exam. ‘Fake boobies with lumps hidden inside.’ I may have worded it differently, but Russo hasn’t completely lost his mind.” She rolls her eyes and continues, “I’d be willing to make some pink pottery pumpkins and sell them at the event, and you know there are a lot of other artists and business owners in town who’ll be happy to participate. Like Joe Abbott! He’ll for sure park the Bottomless Joe’s coffee cart there.”

“And what about that really good bakery over on Lakefront? I forget what it’s called…” Finn bites his bottom lip, holding it between two rows of perfectly straight teeth as he racks his brain for the name. “Piping Hot? Is that it?”

“Best cinnamon rolls around.” Bas’s mouth begins to water.

“It’d be cool to have a mascot,” Bert says, and before his best friend can announce “Not it”—because if there’s one thing Sebastian doesn’t enjoy, it’s donning ridiculous garb on Halloween—he adds, “I’d like to be the mascot, because I love dressing up. D’you think…” He glances at Lucy, who has, over the years, become the queen of costumes, and asks, “D’you think we could brainstorm ideas together at some point?”

She smiles warmly. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do!”

🍁

“Know what’s weird about not having hair? Showering.”

Sebastian uses his towel to wipe his bald head before wrapping it around his waist. “The water sounds different... Like, its spatter-tap-tap is louder, you know? That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“I just think it feels a lot colder in general,” Lucy says from where she’s sprawled on the bed, snug beneath a feather comforter. She slides an arm under her pillow and watches Bas as he crosses the room to collapse on the mattress beside her. Then he squirms around, rolls onto his side, and rests his head on Lucy’s stomach. She places a hand on his smooth scalp, rubbing it absentmindedly. “I’m glad we were able to make today a little bit easier for Bert.”

“Me too. He seemed to have some fun.” Sebastian nuzzles closer and rests a hand on his girlfriend’s thigh. A rumbly chuckle escapes him, resonating from deep in his chest, and he shakes his head in bewilderment as he states, “I can’t believe Finn shaved his head. Not in a million years would I have ever expected that to happen. He was, like—fifteen? sixteen?—when he started growing those dreads… I hope our fans don’t revolt when they find out what he’s done.”

“He looks really different.”

“We all look really different.”

“True.” Lucy moves her hand from Sebastian’s head and uses it to touch her own fuzzy scalp. “Did you send those pictures to Sam?”

“Yep.”

“What’d he say?”

“He promised to get ‘em posted online and asked if we were going for a ‘Right-Said-Fred kind of look.’ I told him no. And then he wrote again to say he loves us, and he misses us, and he asked me to tell Bert he thinks of him daily.”

“Poor Bert.”

“Poor Bert.”

“He seems excited about designing a mascot, though!”

Bas rolls his eyes and hoists himself off the bed, returning his damp towel to the bathroom and replacing it with a pair of boxer briefs. Then he slides under the covers next to Lucy and wraps his arms around her. “You guys and your love of Halloween,” he mutters. “I’ll never understand it. But, if it brings Bert joy, go for it. Just don’t drag me into it, okay? I’m happy to run down a dock and jump into freezing-cold water, but I’m not wearing a costume to do it. Just a bathing suit. Alright?”

“Fair enough,” Lucy agrees. “No silly attire at the Pink Pumpkin Plunge. Got it.”

“Thank you.” Snuggling tightly against her, he breathes in the soapy scent of her skin as he brushes his lips against the back of her neck. “I love you, goose. I love that you shaved your head for Bert and I love that you never waiver in your support of the people you care about. You’re the full package, you know it?”

“Says the sexy-ass musician who goes above and beyond for his friends one hundred percent of the time.” She finds his hand and twines her fingers through his, bringing his knuckles to her lips and kissing each one individually. And then she says simply, “I love you too, Bas. I can’t remember life before loving you.”