The Last Good Hair Day

The cable guy arrived at 8 AM, exactly when Elena's hair was at its most rebellious—wild with humidity and defiance. She'd been crying for three days.

"Ma'am, I'm here about the internet," he said, not looking at her eyes. He looked at her hair, the gray streak that had appeared overnight after David left. Or maybe it had always been there, and she just hadn't noticed until the apartment felt too quiet.

"It's in the bedroom," she said, and immediately regretted the phrasing.

The cable guy—young, name-tagged GREG—followed her down the hall. His boots squeaked on the hardwood. Everything squeaked now. David had oiled the floors monthly. His rituals had been annoying then; now they were ghosts.

"Issue with the modem," Greg said, crouching beside the bed. Where she and David had slept. Where she'd told him she didn't want children yet, maybe never. Where he'd packed his things in silence.

"It's not the modem," she said. "I cancelled it."

Greg stood up slowly. "Ma'am?"

"I cancelled the service. I just—I needed someone to talk to. Is that pathetic?" Her voice cracked. "My hair looks terrible and I'm lying to cable technicians and my husband left because I'm—"

"You're not pathetic," Greg said. "My dad left when I was seven. My mom did this thing, she bought a mechanical bull for the basement. Said she needed to learn how to ride something that couldn't leave."

Elena laughed despite herself. "Did she?"

"Every Tuesday for six years. I can still hear it." He smiled sadly. "She died two years ago. House feels quiet without that damn thing thumping."

They stood there in the bedroom, the disconnected cable dangling like something unfinished.

"Your hair," Greg said. "It looks fine."

"It's gray."

"My mom's went gray at thirty. She dyed it red for twenty years, then stopped. Said it was the first honest thing about her." He paused. "Maybe cancel the cable was your first honest thing."

Elena touched the gray streak. The apartment was quiet, yes. But quiet wasn't empty. Quiet was just waiting for something real to fill it.

"You have a nice day, ma'am," Greg said, and let himself out.

She stood in the hallway a long time. Then she called her sister. Then she made an appointment to donate the things David had left behind. Then she ordered a pizza, because she'd always loved pizza and David hadn't.

The cable remained disconnected. The gray streak remained. Elena remained, wholly and finally, herself.