Stolen Wigs and Baseball Caps

It was early one Saturday morning when Sally woke to the sound of a
truck driving right over her neighbour's letterbox. A door slammed,
someone yelled, a dog barked, a child giggled. What was all the
commotion?

She found her mother standing at the kitchen window, looking out across
the street. From the flour smudges on her face and apron, and the blue
stains on her fingers, there would be blueberry pancakes for
breakfast.

"Good morning, love," said her mother, "it looks like we have new
neighbours."

Sally looked out the window and saw the large truck parked on the front
lawn of number 43 Oak Street. The twisted remains of the letterbox lay
beneath the back wheels. Two men in overalls were unloading a red sofa
under the watchful eye of a stern-faced woman. A golden retriever puppy
barked at their feet, scampering about and chasing their shoelaces. On
the verandah, a little girl about Sally's age sat laughing and calling
to the puppy.

"Lydia, take that dog around the back," snapped the stern woman.

The little girl ran down the steps, "Come on, Jemima. Come on, girl."
The dog lumbered over to her, jumping up to leave dirty paw prints all
over her pretty dress. Lydia giggled and the pair disappeared behind
the house.

Sally let the curtain fall across the window. "Mum, can I go outside
and play with the new girl and the puppy?"

Sally's mother smiled. "Maybe this afternoon. I don't want you getting
underfoot."

"I'll stay out of the way," promised Sally.

"Why don't you go get dressed. You can help me make pavlova after
breakfast."

"With strawberries?"

"You bet."

Later that afternoon, Sally and her mother greeted the new neighbours
with freshly made pavlova, topped with juicy, ripened strawberries and
passionfruit.

"Oh, how lovely," said Lydia's mother, not looking so stern.

The two mothers drank coffee and gossiped like old friends, while the
girls drank lemonade and ate delicious pavlova.

"Can we go outside, mum?" asked Lydia.

"Yes, dear. Put your plates in the sink first," her mother said, "and
take the dog with you."

The trio went into the backyard to play. Sally stopped in awe as she
spied the large, shiny trampoline by the back fence.

"Santa brought it for me last Christmas," said Lydia. "I had to choose
between that or a swimming pool."

Sally didn't know anyone who had a trampoline or a swimming pool. Her
parents said they couldn't afford to buy such expensive toys. Santa
only ever brought her dolls and books. Maybe next year she'd write him
a letter.

"Come on, let's get on," Lydia said as she picked up Jemima, heaving
her onto the trampoline.

The two girls jumped up and down, giggling and bouncing the dog. Jemima
barked and tried to play but kept losing her balance.

Finally, the three lay side by side on the trampoline, basking in the
waning sunlight. Exhausted and bursting with happiness, Sally decided
that Lydia was her new best friend. "Will you walk with me to school on
monday," she asked.

"I have to go to the hospital on monday," Lydia answered.

"How come?"

"Mum says I have to start chemo."

"What's that?" asked Sally.

"It's medicine to help me get better."

Sally sat up. "Are you sick?" she asked.

"I get headaches a lot," answered Lydia, "and I used to vomit all the
time. But I'm better since I had my operation."

Sally didn't think Lydia looked sick. "What sort of operation?" she
asked.

"The doctor says I have a brain tumour. It's something bad that grows
in your head."

"Does it hurt?" asked Sally.

"Just the headaches. Mum says the chemo will make me sick. And it might
make my hair fall out."

Sally was afraid. "Can I catch a brain - a brain - "

"Tumour. It's called a brain tumour and I think anyone can get one. But
it's not catching or anything."

Sally was silent for a moment before softly asking, "Are you going to
die?"

Lydia petted the puppy who was napping beside her. She shrugged.
"Maybe." She smiled at Sally. "Do you want some more lemonade?"

Over the next few months, Sally continued to play at Lydia's house.
They walked to school together and were in the same swimming class.
They ate their lunches in the playground, swapped dolls and played
house underneath their favourite oak tree. Occasionally Lydia would be
too sick to come to school and she spent a lot of time in the hospital.
Sometimes Sally would see Lydia's mum crying, but only if she thought
no-one was watching.

Gradually Lydia's thick, brown curls became thin and colourless until
finally her head was covered with nothing more than fuzz.

"I have to wear a wig," said Lydia, showing Sally her new fake
hair.

Sally thought it would be fun to wear a wig. Movie stars wear wigs.
That's what her mum told her. "Try it on," she said.

Lydia put the wig on and they giggled in the mirror. "My dad says he's
going to shave his head for me," she laughed. "But he already has a
bald patch."

"Do you miss your hair?" asked Sally.

"It's only hair," said Lydia. "It'll grow back."

The next day at swimming class, Lydia wore a blue baseball cap in the
water.

"Where's your wig?" asked Sally.

"I'm sick of it," said Lydia. "It makes my head itch. Anyway, I'm not
supposed to get it wet."

"But you can't put your head under water with a hat on."

"Mum says the other kids might make fun of me if they see my bald
head."

Lydia was so sweet, Sally couldn't imagine anyone making fun of her.
"Race you to the end of the pool," she said.

Later that day, the bell for recess sounded and Sally hurried to the
playground to look for Lydia. She found her crying in the sandpit,
sitting beside a mound of sand which used to be her sandcastle. She
wasn't wearing her wig or hat and a group of three boys hovered around
her. One of the boys held her wig in his hand.

Sally watched as Lydia stood up and tried to take back her wig. The boy
held it high out of her reach then tossed it to one of the other boys,
beginning a cruel game of piggy-in-the-middle.

"Give it back," cried Lydia.

The boys laughed. "Come and get it, baldy," said one.

"You look like a melon head," said another.

Sally ran over to the group and pushed the closest boy into the
sandpit.

"Give it back," she said angrily. It broke her heart to see her friend
in tears. She'd never seen her cry before.

The boy with the wig put it on his head, "Look at me, I'm having a bad
hair day," he mimmicked.

"I hate you, I hate you," screamed Lydia before running from the
playground.

"Scaredy cat."

"Chicken."

The boys called after her, making clucking noises and laughing amongst
themselves.

"Now look what you've done!" yelled Sally. "It's not your wig, so give
it back."

The boy in the sand stood up and pushed her. "Who made you the boss of
us?" he demanded.

"Why do you want to hang around with a melon head anyway?" asked
another.

"She's not a melon head," Sally cried, feeling her own tears streaming
down her cheeks. How could they be so mean?

"Look at the cry baby," she heard them say.

"Cry baby; Cry baby," the boys chorused.

"What's going on here?" came a man's voice. The group, including Sally
turned to see Lydia standing with Mr. Sullivan, one of the third grade
teachers. She wasn't crying anymore, and Sally noticed her semi-smug
smile.

"Nothing, Mr. Sullivan," answered one of the boys, bowing his
head.

"Samuel, what are you doing with that wig? I don't believe it belongs
to you." said Mr. Sullivan.

"We were just mucking about."

"Well I suggest you give it back to Lydia, then go muck about outside
the Principal's office."

"Dobbers wear nappies," Samuel hissed under his breath as he handed
Lydia the wig. Mr. Sullivan led the boys away from the
playground.

"I hope they get they get detention for a whole year," said
Sally.

"I don't care about them anymore," Lydia smiled.

The bell rang to signify the end of recess. The two girls gathered
their bags and walked to class together. Lydia stopped by a garbage can
and Sally gaped as her friend tossed the wig into it.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I don't need it," said Lydia. "My real friends don't care if I don't
have hair."

Six weeks later, Lydia was sick again, and Sally went to visit her
after school. Lydia's mum wouldn't let her go inside to see her. "She's
just too sick to have visitors today," she said, her eyes glistening.
"I'm sorry, Sally."

Several days passed and still Sally hadn't seen her friend. She made a
card for her and wrapped her favourite doll in pretty wrapping paper,
left over from her last birthday. She tied a yellow hair-ribbon around
the gift and secretly placed it outside Lydia's front door.

Late one evening, Sally was in bed, thinking of her friend and hoping
she'd be better soon. She heard the front doorbell and listened as her
mother answered the door. Sally heard Lydia's mum's voice and she
quickly pushed back the covers. She crept into the hallway but remained
out of sight.

"I'm so sorry, Barbara," Sally's mother said.

"She wasn't in any pain, and it was all very peaceful," Barbara said
thickly. "Could you please tell Sally that Lydia loved her very
much."

"Of course," she heard her mother say. "I know Sally already misses
her."

"Greg and I are moving back to Tamworth after the funeral."

Sally didn't hear the rest of the conversation as she silently returned
to her bed. She pretended to be asleep when her mother checked in on
her a little later.

The next morning, she awoke to find Jemima in the backyard. Barefoot
and still wearing her pyjamas, she went outside and hugged the dog. Her
mother stood on the back verandah watching her quietly.

"Lydia's in Heaven now," Sally said bravely.

Her mother came down to kneel beside her. "She wanted you to take care
of Jemima, and to think about her sometimes."

"Will God take care of her, mum?"

"Oh, yes, Sally," her mother answered as the floodgates burst. "God
will take very good care of her."

"I miss her so much," Sally wailed.

"I know, my darling girl. I know."

Mother and daughter sobbed into each others arms, drawing strength and
comfort from one another.

Jemima sniffed and explored her new home, then proceeded to dig a hole
in the parsley patch.