As they walked past me, Elise paused. “The floor cleaner was also a message about our marriage, Johnny. I’m done trying to make it shine. I’m done cleaning up after this BORING relationship. The divorce papers will be mailed to you shortly!”
The following weeks felt like drowning in slow motion. Every morning, I’d catch my reflection in the mirror. My bald head gleamed back at me. And I heard Elise’s cruel words echo in my mind.
Then one Saturday at the supermarket, I almost crashed my cart into Winona, an old friend from our neighborhood softball league. Oranges rolled everywhere, creating a citrus obstacle course in aisle three.
“Johnny!” She laughed, helping me chase down the runaway fruits. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better. My wife, she… she left me for a younger guy. Because I’m bald.”
I caught the genuine concern in her eyes, so different from the pity I’d been getting from everyone else.
“But it’s okay!” I admitted, gathering the last orange. “Want to grab some coffee and hear a really bad joke about floor cleaner?”
Coffee with Winona turned into weekly running sessions, which became dinner dates, which slowly transformed into something I hadn’t felt in years. Hope.
She listened to my story without judgment, shared her own experiences with heartbreak, and somehow made me laugh even on my darkest days.
“You know what your problem was, Jo? You stopped growing,” she said one day.
“But life isn’t just about checking boxes, buddy. It’s about evolving, trying new things, and staying curious.”
“Like purple hair?” I smiled weakly.
“Like being present, dumbo!” she corrected. “Like noticing when someone dyes their hair purple.”
Later that night, as we walked through the park, she stopped suddenly. “You know what I love about your head? It catches the sunset perfectly. Like a personal spotlight!”
I laughed for the first time in weeks. “Are you saying I’m nature’s disco ball?”
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