In the blink of an eye

My girls’ day out ended with a bang this weekend. Holly and I road-tripped to Dallas in her brand new gleaming black Cadillac sedan. With our café-au-lait in matching chrome mugs-to-go and our lips freshly glossed, we settled in for the ride to a trendy salon for Holly’s hair appointment. Any pampering is just more fun when it’s done with a girlfriend.

In the two hour drive, we paused only once in conversation to take a potty break in Melissa. It set us back about five minutes once we hit 75 South in McKinney. We thought we’d make up the time with a heavier foot, but a wrong turn after we exited took us 15 minutes out of the way. We knew we’d made a mistake when the quaint shopping district turned into rows of aqua, hot pink and ochre buildings -- mostly washeterias, liquor stores and Mom-n-Pop shops. A quick call to the salon and a perky chat with Daphne?, Courtney? Whitney? put us back on track.

We finally parked, but walked circles in the building until we found the elevator. Twenty-five minutes late, we walked into Studio One Ten.

Greeted with true Texas charm, we were ushered quickly to Holly’s consultation where a platinum-haired cheerleader promptly told her everything she wanted to hear. “Your hair is gorgeous,” she purred. Her head tilted to the right, she ran her fingers through Holly’s hair about 50 times while still keeping an eye on herself in the massive mirror that lined the walls.

“Hmm. Hmm. Yes, yes. Something classic. Not too much off. We’ll go back in and do some layers around the face and add some texture. No bangs. No, you can’t do bangs,” she rattled.

“Oh, let’s give you some dimension. Some caramel highlights and a bit of your natural color to cover up…” She paused and whispered, “your gray.”

Now, Holly is stunningly beautiful. I mean stop-in-your-tracks-and-bow beautiful. Thick, shiny dark hair. Gorgeous skin that glows sans makeup. A nose (all hers) that would finance your plastic surgeon’s two-month vacation to Bora Bora. And these huge, sparkling sometimes blue, sometimes green eyes. She’s all sexy curves, manicured nails and sumptuous clothing.

So, I was not expecting some major transformation. There’s not much you can do with perfection. I thought this would be a quick effort.

I slid into the chair next to her and played the part of adoring fan. With all the hairdryers blowing and gossip flying, we could barely hear each other so we settled into occasional how-ya-doing glances. A bag of salted peanuts, three magazines, five cell calls, two bottles of water and seven trips to the bathroom later, Lindsey (or was it Lin-Z ?) put the finishing flip on Holly’s mane.

Magnificent as expected! What bounce, what life…in her hair and her step. There is something rejuvenating about getting your hair done! It gives you hope that you are still a sight to behold.

Her zero bank account balance couldn’t cast a shadow on her brilliance. We skipped back to the car, ready to grab a bite at Tom-Tom’s Noodle House in the West Village.

“Why don’t you drive to the restaurant,” Holly said. “And then I’ll drive home from there.”

“Alright!” This was my mini-makeover. Peppy, affordable Honda CRV to sleek and eye-catching Cadillac. I swirled through the parking lot and swept out the exit in TV-commercial style. Five minutes later, we pulled into the West Village parking garage and slowly moved up the ramp. Perfect – a spot not far from the entrance. I stilled for the exiting traffic. A quick arc in and BAM!

“Shannon,” Holly’s panicked voice was muffled by my own outburst.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. I’m going to be sick.” I couldn’t land on any particular thought. My mind took roll call of the possibilities. Estimates. Insurance. The hassle for Holly. Money, money, money. The other car.

Holly was perfectly calm after her initial yelp. We surveyed the damage together. Nothing to the car I hit. But her black beauty had the scars. Dented fender, marred paint. Cha-ching. Cha-ching. Cha-ching.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated softly as we inspected the injured fender.

“Come on,” she said. “I’m hungry, let’s go eat.” She moved expertly in her three-inch heels down the ramp, her hair swaying and bouncing around her shoulders.

I silently followed her, so very thankful for her response. I wasn’t surprised. Grateful.

After an entertaining lunch with my brother Seth, a self-described slacker entrepreneur known for his sharp tongue and honesty, and his photographer friend, Matt, we strolled to the bakery to stock up on coconut macaroons and coffee for the trip home.

Back at work Monday, I was still moaning over my fender bender. I thought about calling my insurance agent to check on the coverage on driving someone else’s car. Before I had a chance to look up the number, Holly called.

“Don’t you know Cynthia Rainey?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “I was just about to call her about my insurance.”

“She died at about 12:30 today, Shannon,” she said. “They took her to Dallas this morning. She died hours later.”

I thought about the instant of my ‘crash’ and how sick, how anxious it made me. It’s nothing. Something to be taken care of, but nothing Holly or I will hold on to…

But for Cynthia – everything has changed in the blink of an eye. For her husband, for her two children, for her family, for her friends.

There’s no cover up, no quick fix, no way to erase the marks.

With life so real, so stinging most of the time, why do we need reminders of true perspective, relativity?