Henry's Sisters

by Cathy Lamb

  But at least I had my sister. I did. I had Janie.

  And Cecilia, too, the fire-breathing, foul-mouthed, Tazmanian she-devil kindergarten teacher.

  Henry’s decline was initially slow, then it sped up like a freight train zipping through the night to heaven. He stopped eating and lost more weight. His stomach hurt, ‘like there’s a knife stuck in it, Is.’ His smile was not as ready as it was before, not as quick. It was as if the smile was getting ready to hide for good. I felt like I was being run over by a tractor eight times a day as I watched, helpless, furious.

  We set up a table and chair for Henry to hand out bakery treats and say, ‘Jesus loves you,’ to people walking by. He visited with Belinda and Bao, and on his break, he and Lytle threw checkers around.

  Henry still went to pet the dogs. They set up a comfortable chair for Henry to sit in while he watched the dogs play. Although it was a sunny day, we brought a blanket for his shoulders because Henry said he was cold and having trouble breathing.

  He still went to hand out doughnuts at church and to listen to me sing. He helped out at mass, but wore a sweater even when the wind turned warm. When he had trouble walking up and down the altar steps, Father Mike helped him and the congregation waited.

  During Bunco at the senior centre he dropped a couple of trays because they were too heavy, so they gave Henry lighter things to carry and a pat on the back.

  But Henry, our favourite, the sunshine of our lives, the laughter and the hope, the only thing that had ever held the Bommarito family together, started to melt away, inch by inch.

  My nightmares increased and I was bone-ripping exhausted, but as so many people do who are dealing with cancer, I kept my chin up.

  It about killed me.

  But I did it.

  Three weeks after his first chemo Henry woke up screaming again, his brown curls on the pillow.

  Within two days, Henry was bald.

  He did not take it well, and the tears rolled.

  He moaned pathetically when he stared in his mirror, moaned again when his hair stuck to his fingers. ‘I sad. I embarrass. I have no hair. Henry ugly. I ugly. Big head. Bumps. Funny ears.’

  And he refused, for the first time in his life, to go out. No church on Sunday, no animal shelter, no Wednesday night church, no helping at the senior centre, no playing checkers with Lytle, no going to the daylong events with his friends.

  He went up to his bedroom and got in bed and shut the door. He didn’t want to eat. Didn’t want to play, didn’t want me to read to him. He started to slide, quick and sure, right into death.

  ‘We have to do something,’ I told Cecilia and Janie on Sunday afternoon when we met under the willow tree, the wind ruffling the three of us.

  ‘I tried to get him to wear a wig,’ Janie said, anguished, wringing her hands. She’d brought her photo of her therapist, a journal, and her Yo-Yo Ma CD, but not a CD player.

  It had been a disaster. ‘No! Gross,’ Henry said, waving his hands. ‘I don’t want a fake hair, I want Henry hair.’

  I had tried a baseball hat.

  ‘I still bald! I still bald! No hat in church. I no wear hat in church. That bad.’

  So he lay in bed. Dad came by for hours each evening pale and withered, exhausted, but he couldn’t interest Henry in any garden projects or hikes or bike rides, as they’d done before.

  ‘I tried to get him to go flying with Grandma,’ Cecilia said. ‘She misses him.’

  ‘The other day I saw Grandma wiping tears off her cheeks on the porch,’ I said. ‘She was hunched over, her goggles dangling off her fingers. I said, “What’s wrong, Amelia?” and she said, “I miss my co-pilot. He’s ill. Jungle fever, I think. Maybe typhoid.”’

  We were silent for a while, that ruffling, never-ending wind swirling my hair. Poor Grandma. Poor Henry. Bald and hiding. Dying quick because he had no hair.

  I put my hands to my own hair, ran my fingers through it with the wind. It was hair. Only hair.

  ‘I think I’ll shave my head,’ I said.

  I expected Cecilia and Janie to freak. They didn’t.

  ‘If I’m bald, Henry won’t feel so embarrassed. He’ll go out. He doesn’t have much—’ I had to stop. Heartbreaking. ‘He doesn’t have much more time. I want him to enjoy what time he has.’

  ‘My hair has always been the only thing that’s pretty about me,’ Cecilia said as the wind twirled her hair. ‘The only thing. But what’s it brought me? Nothing. I’ll shave mine off, too.’

  ‘Me too,’ Janie said. ‘In fact, I think in my next book the killer will be bald.’ She thought for a sec. ‘And it’ll be a woman. A bald woman. This’ll be good research for me. I’ll get the scissors.’

  We did not waste much time.

  Dad came by to see Henry and we told him what we were going to do. ‘Count me in,’ he said, instantly.

  Cecilia’s girls were dropped off by a neighbour as Cecilia slung a pink towel around her shoulders. I had the scissors and razor ready to roar.

  ‘Are you cutting Mom’s hair?’ Kayla asked. She was wearing a beautiful orange-and-gold sari. I did not ask her where she got it.

  ‘Actually, I’m shaving it off,’ I said.

  ‘Cool,’ Kayla said. She crossed herself.

  ‘Yeah, way cool,’ Riley added. She twisted a hair around her finger. She was wearing a shirt that said, E=MC2, and a red headband. It did not completely cover her spreading baldness.

  They thought. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because your uncle Henry is embarrassed about being bald and he won’t come out of his room, so we’re shaving our heads so he’ll live his life again,’ I said.

  ‘Rad,’ Kayla said. ‘It’s monklike. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Riley. She yanked out a hair, studied it, let it drop to the floor. ‘I love gravity,’ she muttered.

  I held the scissors. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ I said. ‘We’re Henry’s sisters…’

  ‘So, like, you’re saying we’re not part of the family?’

  Kayla was so quick.

  ‘Not important because we’re young and not old?’

  Riley was quick, too.

  I did not take offence to the old part. ‘No…’

  ‘That’s what it sounds like,’ Kayla said. Her sari swished around her. ‘It sounds like you don’t think that if we shaved our heads it would matter.’

  ‘Like our relationship to him is less than yours.’ Riley stuck her chin out.

  ‘You always argue,’ Cecilia said. ‘Always. Must you always argue? All your aunt Isabelle was saying was that you don’t have to shave your heads. You’re kids.’

  ‘Henry’s a kid at heart and he’s lost all his hair.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So we want to do it, too,’ Riley said. ‘I always pull out my hair because I’m stressed. I hate myself. If I shave my head I can’t hate myself, right?’

  ‘You shouldn’t hate yourself anyhow, sweetheart,’ I told her. All Bommaritos were whacked. Except for Henry.

  ‘We’ll do it for Henry,’ Kayla said.

  ‘Yeah, for Henry.’

  Janie snuffled. ‘Oh! Oh! I love you two girls! You’re true Bommaritos!’ She hugged them close.

  ‘You are wonderful young ladies,’ Dad said.

  ‘Aw, Grandpa, are you going to start blubbering again?’

  ‘No,’ Dad blubbered. For a manly man, tall and strong with a tough face that practically shouted, ‘Don’t screw with me,’ he sure was an emotional guy. I wiped a tear off his scar. He seemed surprised by my gesture, which set off another round of tears.

  Cecilia said, wonder in her tone, ‘By damn. I think I’ve raised good kids.’

  I hugged those girls tight. We are off our rockers as a family and they all drive me insane, but I love them, I do.

  Even Momma, the Mean Grinch, who had not been mean at all since she’d sent the coffee cups flying.

  We all swung pink towels around our shoulders and got ready for the razor.<
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  ‘We should all shave a little bit of everyone else’s hair,’ Riley said. ‘You know, family like.’

  ‘Right. And you can pray or dance or hoot, whatever your religious preference,’ Kayla added.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ I said, gung-ho. ‘Razors ready? Say hello to baldness!’

  ‘To baldness!’ We all cheered, scissors and razors and fists thrust into the air like champagne glasses.

  So we did it. Those razors hummed and purred as we each took turns shaving the others’ heads. We went straight down the middle first and laughed at our skunkhood. Then we made stripes of baldness on either side. We thought about leaving it at that, but no, we had to be bald, bald, bald. When we were done, we were totally bald. Six bald heads, our hair piled up on the ground – blonde, reddish, white, brown.

  ‘Come out and play, Henry,’ Kayla whispered. ‘Come out and play.’

  Momma came home from the grocery store about one minute after we’d cleaned up the kitchen.

  She dropped a bag of groceries on the floor when she saw our coneheads. I heard the eggs crunch. ‘Oh my Lord,’ she breathed. ‘My Lord. And you, Carl!’

  I braced myself.

  ‘You’re all bald! You’ve…you’ve shaved your heads!’

  ‘Now, you girls let me handle your mother,’ Dad said. ‘You all step on back.’

  ‘We had to, Momma,’ I told her. ‘It’s the only way that Henry will leave his room—’

  ‘How could you—’ She slammed her purse on the counter.

  ‘How could we?’ I shot back. ‘He’s embarrassed about his head, about losing his hair. If we’re all bald—’

  ‘How could you—’ Her mouth was tight, hands on hips in fists.

  ‘We don’t need your approval, Momma,’ Janie said. ‘We’ve set our boundaries, and within our boundaries we made a family decision together.’

  ‘River, we did this for Henry.’ Dad’s voice, always so smooth, seemed to reach her. ‘We did it for him. He needs to leave the house, he needs to live.’

  ‘Chill, Grams,’ Kayla said. ‘Pray you won’t flip out.’

  ‘Bald is cool, Grams,’ Riley added. ‘I was almost there anyhow. You know. With my hair-plucking problem.’

  ‘How could you,’ Momma started up again, her voice pitching. ‘How could you do this without me? Without me?’

  We shaved Momma’s head.

  She was still beautiful.

  ‘You are more beautiful today, River, than you were when we met,’ Dad said to her, his voice ringing with this quiet, loving sincerity. ‘You will always be beautiful.’

  ‘Oh, stop it, you old dog,’ she said to Dad and, by gosh, they kissed. On the lips. In front of all of us. Two bald people kissing who were clearly still in love.

  Even after all we’d gone through without Dad.

  I would never completely understand my momma, this I know.

  We waited until Henry woke up from his nap before we trooped into his room, one by one. Dad, me, Cecilia, the girls, Janie.

  Momma came in last, arms outstretched, a smile hiding the tears that were ever present since Henry’s diagnosis. ‘Your bald momma has arrived, Henry!’ she announced, bowing to him as he clapped and laughed and kicked his feet with delight. ‘Now get your bottom out of bed. The bald Bommaritos are going out to dinner to celebrate our baldheadedness!’

  Henry got out of bed, gingerly, giggling, and took us to the bathroom, where we all crammed in and admired ourselves in the mirror.

  ‘Now I not the only bald one.’ He grinned. ‘I bald. You bald.’

  I stared at myself. I had a skinny head. Cecilia’s was perfectly round with a curve at the back. Janie’s was smooth. Momma preened to the left and right, admiring her profile. I swear my dad was even handsomer than before.

  Kayla said, ‘We are the weirdest family I know.’

  Riley said, ‘It’s like we’re so weird I’m past being able to get embarrassed about us.’

  ‘I have never, in my life, met better people,’ Dad said. ‘You’re the best. The best people I know.’

  Momma leant over and kissed his cheek, and he linked an arm around her shoulders.

  I studied myself. I had gone from braids and a wild, travelling, nomadic, alone life to short, curly hair to nothing.

  I almost thought I liked nothing best. I was a new me.

  A new Isabelle.

  I kissed Henry’s bald head. ‘We love you, Henry.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I love you guys, too. We the Bommaritos! We the bald Bommaritos! Family hug! Bommarito hug!’

  I gathered the family and Velvet outside and snapped photos. I shot Dad kissing Momma, Momma’s bald head tipped back for the kiss. I shot Cecilia with an arm linked around Janie, and Grandma saluting and Velvet dancing. I shot Kayla running around with Riley on her back, and I shot all of us together, with a timer, in a pyramid.

  But my best photo was of Henry, arms outstretched, flying across the lawn, his face beaming.

  We created a jaw-dropping stir when we bald people entered Davido’s Italian Pizza joint located in downtown Trillium River in an old brick building.

  For our outing, Grandma tied a pink ribbon to the top of her flight hat. When she first saw all of us bald people, she muttered, ‘It’s an ancient tradition in Indonesia, but these natives are friendly.’

  Velvet said, ‘Well, shut my mouth! I am chugged full of love for you people,’ and then hugged everyone.

  Davido’s is always full because the pizza crust is thick and tastes like northern Italy on a blue spring day. All eating and drinking shuddered to a stop as the customers stared in shock at our family, forks and knives clattering to the plates and floor, the silence noisy enough to blow my eardrums to Venice.

  Together, we probably knew all the humans in that joint. Between Momma and Grandma’s history in this town, our high school years, the bakery, Cecilia’s teaching, the girls’ friends, church families, seniors from the senior centre, Henry’s friends and their families, well, I don’t think there was a single stranger in there.

  But it was so dead quiet.

  Not a word.

  Then Grandma announced, her pink bow wobbling, her voice strong, ‘I am Lady Lindy, queen of the air, and these natives will not hurt you! They are peaceful.’ She saluted.

  ‘We’ll need a table for ten,’ I told the hostess with spiked green hair, who was grinning at Henry.

  ‘Hey, Henry,’ she said to him, her thumb up. ‘You rock, man. You rock.’

  Henry laughed, his old laugh back, gone when he was in his bedroom, death sneaking in step by step, stealing his cheer. He stuck both thumbs up and announced, booming loud to the whole restaurant, ‘Yeah, yeah. I Henry. I rock! We rock! We the Bommaritos! We be bald! Yeah, we be bald!’

  Like I said, we knew everybody and they went wild. ‘Bommarito!’ they shouted and hooted, ‘Bommarito!’

  ‘We the bald family!’ Henry announced, both fists churning in the air. ‘The bald Bommaritos! See? No hair!’

  We were mobbed.

  It took us half an hour to get to our table.

  Grandma prayed at dinner. ‘Dear God, this is Amelia. I told you to heal my co-pilot. What are you, dumb? He’s still sick. What are you, deaf?’ She shouted that last part. ‘Get it right, God. Don’t screw up. What are you, blind? Amen.’

  Somebody took up a secret collection that night and we did not even have to pay for our meal.

  When Momma found out, she bent her bald head and cried, right there in the restaurant.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  We made the front page of the local paper the next day. A reporter had been at the restaurant with his family and raced out to his car to get his camera and take a picture.

  There was an article about the Bommarito family and how Henry was fighting pancreatic cancer. The reporter noted that Henry was embarrassed about not having hair and wouldn’t leave the house. It detailed how we wanted him to continue his life and to enjoy the time he had left. (He got ahold of J
anie; she always spills her guts.)

  The article mentioned that Janie was the famous crime writer, Cecilia was a popular teacher, I was a nationally famous photographer, and our family owned Bommarito’s Bakery in town.

  Henry giggled when he saw the photo of all of us at the restaurant. ‘We famous. We like the movie stars.’

  The next morning I took Henry to the senior centre to help with Bunco. Janie and Cecilia went to the bakery.

  A rumbling, grumbling pickup truck stopped next to us and Henry rolled down the window and waved, both hands, both arms. There were two tough dudes in the truck. Longish hair, hard faces. Mean. One had a face that looked as if he had fought through one too many knife fights.

  ‘Henry, get in here,’ I hissed. ‘Roll up the window.’

  ‘No, I say hi! I say hi.’ He leant out the window. ‘Hey, hey!’

  ‘Henry, get in here!’ I pulled on him.

  ‘No, I say hi to Sammy and hi to Petie!’

  ‘My man Henry! Henry!’ the driver boomed and smiled. Gone was the knife-fight face as his eyes tilted up, his yellowy smile almost cute.

  ‘Henry, dude,’ the other one drawled, flashing him some sort of hand signal. ‘I dig the hair, dude. Dig it.’

  ‘I be bald!’ Henry laughed. ‘I got the cancer. Pain-cree-at-ick. It icky! That’s it. That’s all.’

  I saw their faces drop. ‘Oh man, that sucks,’ Knife-Fight Face said. ‘That sucks.’

  The light turned green. A car honked behind us. I didn’t move, though. Henry was talking!

  ‘Hey, dude,’ the Hand Signaller said, crushed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Henry.’

  ‘Hey! All my friends sorry.’

  ‘Can we do something for you, dude? Can we help?’

  The car honked again.

  ‘No. No. I good. Jesus told me I go home soon. I like seeing you today! I like it!’

  The car honked again. I heard both men swear.

  Henry whispered, ‘That bad words.’

  The men with the bad words got out of that grumbling, rumbling truck, slammed the doors, and glared at the driver who was honking, their leather vests stretching across deep chests.

  The honking immediately stopped. I turned around. It was four young male teenagers. They were now slouched in their seats, mouths gaping in fear.