Sixty-three Year Old Widow Refused to Hide Her Gray Hair at Work

quiet, the fluorescent tubes humming above the dairy aisle.

Clara, who had lived three doors down from me since the summer of 1990, was standing near the cheese display. She smiled when she saw me, her eyes dropping immediately to my hairline.

“Oh, Martha,” Clara said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “I ran into Brenda at the pharmacy yesterday.continue reading …