Wash

My stylist found bald patches at the back of my scalp today.

Alopecia aletea, he called it, but he assuaged my fears by telling me that he'd had it twice in his life, and that all his hair grew back in time. He also assured me that my hair would go back to its ordinarily lush, healthy state as long as I consulted with my dermatologist right away.

I'm quite sad because of this. I associate much of my physical beauty with my hair - it's my crown, one of my best features, the widow's peak that marks my part, a sure sign of God's natural gifts, necessary compensation for a lifetime of being thicker and larger than most.

I'm not mestiza, I don't have perfect, unblemished skin, I've no waist and my thighs are more than thunderous, they're a force of nature unto themselves. I know that the waves of my hair, how it reflects in the light, the way it frames my face, gives the illusion of beauty. And with this, one of the few things I actually like about my body, in crisis, I somehow feel like I've been cheated yet again.

Tomorrow is another day, most of which will be spent at my dermatologist's.

Lord, help me get through this.