Ellen

The group scrambled within the quiet conference room.  Drips of hot glue were scrubbed away, burned fingers were wrapped around cups of ice.  Everyone quickly donned a homemade pink-silk ribbon, on collars, lapels, pockets, purse strings.  They navigated through curling ribbons that dangled from dozens of pink balloons that bobbed across the ceiling.

“Here she comes!” one of them loudly whispered.  Ellen’s shadow, and then Ellen herself, appeared in the doorway.  She was grinning ear to ear.

“SURPRISE!” yelled the group.  “Welcome back!” chimed several.  One proud co-worker held up a pan of cupcakes, half frosted chocolate, half vanilla, all with pink ribbon accents carefully squeezed on top.

Gentle hugs were exchanged all around.  Cups of juice and soda were distributed with pink napkins.  Frosting was licked from lips and fingers.  The guest of honor was given a pink corsage, carefully placed on a wrist that still had a few telltale bruises.

Ellen’s eyes were misty, and she whispered, “Guess what!”  She lifted the front of her ash-blond wig.  Her scalp was covered with white, baby-fuzz hairs.  “The good stuff’s growing back!”