Olive was an exuberant girl when she was in her teens. She was daring and
adventuresome, a girl who pioneered everything and didn’t seem to be afraid of
anything. Her enthusiasm for life was like a fresh drink of water and it spilled over to
the rest of us when we’d hear her stories of hiking for miles in Appalachia, completely
alone except for her dog and a compass. To name a few things: She spent one entire
summer in the south of France riding a bike across the countryside and sleeping in
hostels. She worked in a garage after school so she would know how to repair her own
truck. Yes, Olive drove a truck instead of a car. In her own words, her "truck was better
than any boyfriend because it could carry more and take her more places.” We looked
at Olive in awe. She wore large, pierced, bangle earrings, an abundance of hot pink
lipstick, sky blue eye shadow and would tease her dark brown hair very high. I know,
I used to watch her in the bathroom applying her make-up before class. We were all
allowed a little bit of make-up, but not to the extent that Olive would put on her face.
While she would be applying her make-up she’d sneak a cigarette. School was a place
where everyone would steal a puff if they could. High school dances were definitely an
event. The occasion was incomplete until Olive made her entrance - fashionably late -
with her date. Swirling and laughing across the dance floor, every eye would be fixed on
her. She strived for attention and got it, too. An accomplished straight A student in
every subject, and well liked, there were certainly times when she was envied. You
could almost say Olive had it all. All, that is, except a lot of hair. Her hair was a bit
thin especially on the top. Yes, even back then, when Olive stood under a lamp, you
could see the sparseness and almost count the three hairs on her head. I remember so
well, sitting in their kitchen and hearing her prattle to her mother about her hair.
“But Mom, why do I have thin hair? Who did I inherit this from?” whined Olive,
raising her hands in despair. It was the same old story I’d heard a thousand times,
whenever I spent the night with her. Her mother always talked low and wouldn’t look at
Olive. Her heart had to be saddened to see her daughter in such despair. Her answer
was always the same.
“I’ve told you so many times, my dear, you must have gotten your thinness
from your Uncle Wally.” murmured her mother.
Olive never stood for such a statement and was not able to rest until she
understand how she, of all people, could have inherited anything from her Uncle Wally.
“I don’t even like Uncle Wally,” thought Olive. Her Uncle Wally was an overweight, pipe
smoking red-faced man, who sneezed when he ate rice, talked and walked in his sleep.
She didn’t have a red skinned complexion or allergies. Did this mean she would be
bald by the time she was 40?
Totally dismayed once again over her hair or lack thereof, Olive marched
worriedly around the worn path in their kitchen. When the phone rang, she hurriedly
answered with a complete change of tone.
“Hellloo,” cooed Olive, forgetting her present upset as she recognized the voice
on the other end.
“Hello Olive,” said Damon. “Are you busy today?”
“Oh no,” said Olive, “I’m not doing much today,” she sighed, rolling her eyes
toward me.
“Would you like to go somewhere for lunch?”
“I’d love it,” said Olive, as she happily replaced the receiver and raced to get
ready, forgetting the usual upset about her hair.
