Page 2 of Between Then and Now
When I arrive at the mall, I go straight to the salon. My split ends aren’t really just at the ends of my hair now. Are split middles a thing?
When I get there, I see a sign that says they are offering free haircuts for those who can donate a full length of hair. I’ve never cut my hair short before. It’s always been long andstraight. A part of me is screaming to finally give in to the temptation, and the other part is begging me to preserve my beautifully damaged hair. I go in to check the requirements anyway. Inquiring won’t hurt.
One of the staff members makes their way toward me and says, “Ma’am, the length of your hair is perfect. We are currently in collaboration with the Philippine Cancer Institute and we’re donating full length wigs to patients. If we cut yours into a bob, it’s going to be the perfect donation.” He gestures to the detailed flyers and hands me one.
It contains infographics on cancer patients in the country and how having a full head of hair helps them feel less insecure about the effects of chemotherapy on their heads and bodies.
“You can think about it until tomorrow, Ma’am. The promo will end by then,” the staff adds.
I’m not gonna lie. A free haircut and a chance to do something good are really appealing to me right now. So, I say, “No, let’s do it now!”
I was never an overthinker. I’d like to think of life as something that would pass me by if I took too much time thinking about what might go wrong. I took up my college course in film production simply because I love watching movies and I have strong opinions on production quality. By strong opinions, I mean that I’m one of those cuckoo strangers on the internet that post paragraph-long discussions on Rotten Tomatoes. Because who else is going to tell Russell Crowe that his Javert is terrible? (Spoiler alert: a lot of people. Oops.) I didn’t think about where film production would take me; I just thought it would be something that I’d love to do.
This time, I'm cutting my hair short—not because I need a change or want to shed some emotional baggage, like manypeople do when they decide to change their hairstyle. No, I'm doing it simply because I saw a sign offering a free cut and the chance to help someone else. So, here I am, ready to lose some hair and gain some good karma.
When the stylist finishes, I look at myself in the mirror and can’t help but smile. The new bob looks fantastic, and I feel an incredible sense of lightness. I thank everyone in the salon profusely for helping me make what I now consider one of the best decisions I have made so far.
As I drive home, my new haircut blowing lightly in the wind, I feel reborn. It’s amazing what a haircut can do for a woman, especially when she hasn’t had one in years. This is probably what butterflies feel like when they wake up one day with pretty wings instead of fuzzy… skin? I don’t know.
On the way home, I park in front of the local restaurant to grab a sandwich with Haley. And as I get out of my car, I see Ryan sitting in the outdoor dining area. He’s looking at his burger like it’s a bomb he’s trying to defuse. I chuckle because a part of me, as always, just itches to disturb his concentration.
CHAPTER TWO
Ryan
Ihave exactly twelve minutes to finish my food and leave. I'm in The Corner Bistro, a local restaurant right at the literal corner of the entrance to our village. I'm finishing off my lunch before heading to the hospital for my residency, and I’m running a bit late, so I decided to time myself. I chose a seat outside because the weather is nice, and so I can easily bolt to my car after my meal. This is also good practice for when I’m a real surgeon and time is of the essence. I set the timer on my phone, place it down, and start munching on my burger.
From a distance, I see Bonbon park her car and make her way to the restaurant. I'm trying to steer clear of her because Bon is... a lot. She can make any conversation last for hours. And while it's amusing to talk to her, I just don't have the time right now. I make an effort to hide from her view by pretending to tie my shoelaces, but as I glance at her, I get distracted.
She chopped off her hair. For as long as I've known her—which is almost two decades—Bon has had long, straight black hair, like it was picked out of a shampoo commercial. Now she's cut it into a very short bob that grazes just below her ears. This is the kind of haircut that looks good on celebrity faces, but somehow Bon pulls it off. Honestly, she has never looked this good.
“Nice hair, Bonbon,” I say, despite my earlier commitment to keeping quiet.
Bonbon frowns. “Just Bon, now. You’re making me sound twelve.” Ever since she graduated high school several years ago, she insisted on being called Bon. Everyone came around todoing it eventually, but I’ve always felt like Bonbon was a better fit for her, so I still call her that occasionally.
“But thanks!” she beams. And then she stops in front of me. “I was already thinking of getting a trim, and then this salon I passed through offered a free cut if I donate my hair to cancer patients. So, ta-da!” she says, turning around theatrically and swaying her hair. “I feel fabulous, and now so does a cancer patient.” She smiles triumphantly, like she just solved world hunger.
A normal person would have just said thank you and continued walking. But Bon is probably the reason the word talkative was invented. She is an explosion of all things loud and bright, a walking burst of color and sound that draws attention effortlessly. Today, she is wearing a pink striped shirt that stands out vividly, paired with jeans adorned with playful butterfly prints. Her outfit is as lively as her personality. It's impossible not to spot her in a crowd.
“There’s no cure for cancer but at least they have nice hair.” I shrug.
“Whatever, grumpy grouch.” She takes a french fry from my plate. “The cure for cancer is your problem to solve, not mine. Maybe you should spend less time lurking around and more time solving world problems,” she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Eight minutes left, Dr. Miller,” she says in that annoying tone she always uses, pointing to my phone where the stopwatch is running. I frown as she walks away with my fry.
I proceed to eat while Bon greets everyone in the restaurant as if she owns it. She moves from table to table, her bubbliness drawing smiles and laughter. It's like watching a social butterfly in action, connecting effortlessly with strangers and turningmundane moments into lively interactions. It's a quality I admire, even if I don't always understand it.
While people like Bonbon easily connect with anyone, I'm the opposite. She has this innate ability to draw people in with her warmth and genuine interest, making friends effortlessly wherever she goes. I, on the other hand, struggle to find common ground with most people. There are only a handful of individuals I feel comfortable enough to engage in conversation with, and most of them are from Magnolia Heights. Among them, Bon is the easiest to talk to—because she’s so... Bon.
I really believe she has some sort of superpower that can draw people to her like a moth to a flame. Her ability to connect with people is both fascinating and intimidating. Watching her interact with strangers and turn them into friends within minutes makes me feel like I’m missing some crucial social gene.
Ever since we were kids, Bon was always the one who dragged everyone along with her ideas. She always knew how to persuade everyone to her favor.
One time, when she was in middle school, Bon convinced us all that she had a boyfriend in a different city. She conjured scenarios and dates that seemed so real we all had to believe it. It wasn’t until they “broke up” (because there was actually someone she liked for real) that she admitted it was all fake. She had us under her spell for a year. Now, as a doctor, I’m supposed to be firmly against spells and witchcraft, but that’s the only explanation for Bon’s whole deal. She’s a witch.
My phone buzzes, reminding me it's time to leave. I sigh, take the last bite of my food, and wash it down with a final gulp of water. As I stand up, I spot Bon inside the restaurant, her face lighting up the room with that infectious smile. She waves at me, her eyes sparkling with the joy of the moment, and then turnsback to her conversation with a group of elderly women. What they are talking about, I have no idea, and honestly, I don't want to know. I go to my car and make my way to work.
I’m a new doctor, and at twenty-five, I’m pretty young to have already finished med school. I skipped a few years in middle school, which put me ahead of the game. But being the youngest in my batch made it tough to make friends. I’ve always been a bit of an introvert and get socially awkward, and being younger than everyone didn’t help. People just assume I'm gruff and keep their distance.
I park my car in the residents’ lot and head straight to the head doctor’s office. I’m training to specialize in general surgery under one of the best doctors in the hospital. Today, I have clinic duty, and my shift starts in about thirty minutes. Still feeling sleepy, I decide to hit the cafeteria for some coffee.
