The truth hurts.

It hurts like a bitch.

I pride myself on being able to speak my mind at any time, not giving a rat’s behind what anybody else thinks. In fact you might say that my ability to be brutally honest and objective is my own way of control, and people would either find me refreshing and love me, or find me rude, aggressive – you name it – and ultimately hate me. So now you can understand my dilemma as I stand in this saloon slash cosmetic store looking at my best friend, Caroline, who is in front of me asking what wig fits her best.

Caroline has a rare neurological disease. It attacks everything at rapid speed and the mortality rate is well, not good. This is the third wig store we’ve been to and as she looks at me for a sign of approval my mind wanders to various scenarios of me telling her the truth.

The truth that she is really a selfish bitch who never stayed on one path long enough to find out if it was the right or wrong one.

The truth that I hate her for what she is putting her family through by saying she didn’t want to continue her treatments any longer because it’s her life and she wants to go out her own way.

The truth that she is making me feel like I’ve lost control with each nod and pursed lip filled with opinions about how she is acting like a damn fool. Making me feel stupid for believing that she’d stick to the process and fight for her life.

The truth that I can’t hold her and shake her repeatedly asking why she had made this decision, was it fear? Was it anger?  Was it about not wanting to get her hopes up and ultimately being disappointed? whatever the reason, the ultimate price was too high to not even try.

The truth in the cruelty of planning a future with me when she knew she would give up so soon, the truth that no matter how hard I try to hate her for everything she’s done, I am still so madly in love with her. The truth that I don’t think I am strong enough to stay by her side as she slowly fades away into nothing and the light in her eyes are nothing but dim, the fear I feel that I won’t be there for her when she needs me the most, the truth that my best friend, my lover, my Caroline had decided to die.

So as she stands in front of me with the badly shaped wig and pale eyes I managed to let out a word that best describes my Caroline,


3 thoughts on “Perfect

  1. I feel the emotions too😧. It’s beautiful


  2. This is brutal prose. I felt it!.


  3. Nice work on creative nonfiction. Here’s hoping last year’s wasn’t the last carol Carol sings.
    Check out the last two lines of the second paragraph. xo


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