Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

One of the first things Jay told me was, “I love your hair.” It was 1995, and it was inky black from drugstore dye. After I got my first magazine job, it was colored red in a Madison Avenue salon. When we married, it was twisted in perfect ringlets. After two children, it was in a ponytail 24/7. In our L.A. years, it was straightened weekly at a blow-dry bar. During the pandemic, it turned silver. And when it fell out in chunks last month after chemo, it was shaved off by my husband who said, “I love you without hair.” — Julie Taylor

Making Space

On short notice, I helped my first post-divorce girlfriend empty her storage unit. The facility was sold and would be bulldozed in days. Other tenants had left bulk items behind, littering the scene with belongings from past lives. While packing a box, I discovered my girlfriend’s copy of Dr. Phil’s “Relationship Rescue Workbook.” I confessed to also owning the book, remembering the days when I diligently filled out exercises. My girlfriend and I smirked, shared a sweaty kiss, said silly expressions in Dr. Phil’s vowel-heavy accent, then threw his workbook into the dumpster. — Roy Mason

‘Jeopardy!’ and Jammies

We’ve been together 40 years. In gay time, that’s more like a century. It hasn’t always been disco balls and fabulousness. No matter your sexuality, there are times when you wonder just who this person is sitting across from you each morning. But there is something wonderful about staying with it, growing old together. At the end of the day, with the dog walked and dinner eaten, we slip into our “jammies,” stretch out on our recliners and watch “Jeopardy!” Some days he gets more of the answers, other days, I do. We don’t keep score. “What is … happiness?” — Brian Christopher Giddens

Mum’s Last Visit

Mum visited us often in New York from Mumbai. She loved being with grandchildren, eating at Red Lobster, shopping for bargains. I had canceled her last visit as it was inconvenient. She was mad at me. A month later she had a stroke and died. I was left with self-recrimination and regret. In India, I cleared out her saris, donating many to respectable causes, hoping to assuage my guilt. Years later, I visited a clothing store in Queens. On the rack, I saw four of her donated saris! The universe made sure Mum came to visit one last time. — Kavita Gonsalves

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