Deidra Alexander's Blog

May 28

I went to the radiologist today, my first big appointment. I haven’t told Charlie or Allie, so I went alone. I decided I could handle these first few appointments on my own anyway. No need for everyone to start worrying, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

I hadn’t intended to stop, but there was an art gallery a few blocks from the medical center. I thought it might be fun to stop in and I was already there. So I decided, why not?

The walls were pristine white with lights shining on the carefully placed art and sculptures, huge, modern paintings with bold slashes of color and bronzes soaring into the air. The furniture was as beautiful and sleek as the art, modern lines, black leather, Lucite tables and soft music playing in the background.

My shoes echoed on the sleek stone floor. I found myself holding my breath. It was nothing like the art galleries Mom use to take me to. Those galleries seemed warmer, the people friendlier and less stuffy. I was on the verge of turning to leave, when a severe looking woman all in black, her dark hair drawn back, seeming it emphasize her sharp features approached.

“May I help you,” she asked, looking me up and down as if I looked as out of place as I felt.

“I was driving by and noticed the gallery and thought I’d stop in and take a look.”

“Well by all means, let’s take a little look then,” she simpered, as if making some joke.

We spent the next twenty minutes strolling around the gallery, my guide pointing out various pieces of art, explaining the technique, describing the artist and telling little stories. It was a well rehearsed stroll.

“This piece is from a notable Aborigines artist, Ginger Namatjira,” my guide said, pointing to a painting.

It was at least four feet by six feet, too large for any room in my house, but it was fascinating just dots in rows sliding down the canvas. All colors of blue and purple. The entire canvas was covered in these dots made with thick paint. From a distance, it looked like water running down the painting. There was another just like it of reds and oranges that looked like liquid fire.

“We’ve just shipped two of these to the Sultan of Dubai for his country palace. Of course those were much larger then these and were one hundred thousand each.  These smaller pieces are only thirty thousand. Would you like me to have them delivered?”

Was she kidding thirty thousand dollars?

“Shipping is free,” she coaxed, with the Cheshire cat’s smile spreading across her face.

I had stepped through the looking glass into Wonderland in this world where sultans bought hundred thousand dollar paintings for their country homes.

As I was leaving, I noticed a sculpture of a woman rising from swirling flames, clutching a child tightly against her. Her face looked almost familiar. The child was a little girl. It reminded me of Mom holding Allie. It was a glorious bronze with a hint of hand rubbed patina. The sculptor’s name was Alexander, my mother’s maiden name. Perhaps that’s why I liked it so much.

It held me captive for a moment. I simply stared at it for a long while, until my guide coughed.

I turned to go, but not before glancing once more at the bronze woman and child.

***

The oncologist said he thinks he won’t have to use a strong treatment of chemo and radiation. That’s something I guess. He gave me a fifty-fifty chance. He said those were good odds, but I can’t stop thinking it’s just the flip of a coin. It could go either way.