Deidra Alexander's Blog

June 11

The last person I was thinking about this morning was Charlie’s mother, Livia. To be honest, we barely knew each other. She was a mover and shaker in town, running much of the political scene both in the university and out. Her husband’s family had a long history at the university. They were founders, deans, and department heads. Her family was long time supporters of the university, the arts and the local political scene. Allie was more likely to run in her social circles than I was. Livia didn’t even know I existed before Charlie and I were engaged. I’d hardly seen her more than six times, including the wedding.

So I don’t think it’s terribly surprising that I told everyone I had cancer – Charlie, Allie, everyone at work, and all my friends, but I forgot to tell Charlie’s mother.

“How do I learn my daughter in law has cancer?” Livia asked, perched on the edge of the sofa, sipping tea.

I didn’t reply. I thought it was more of a rhetorical question. She would tell us anyway so there was no point in guessing.

“Louise from Ladies Guild, that’s how. Louise knew before I did. She insisted on taking over my chairmanship. So I’d have time to help my daughter-in-law.”

“We’re really sorry, Mother. We should have told you,” Charlie replied.

I think he was hoping for a quick exit but he should have known better.

“It wasn’t just any chairmanship. I was chairman of the Arts Committee. Do you know what it took me to get that position? Do you know how many women I’ve had to lie to, persuade and court? I practically had to wrestle it away from old Mrs. Gartner. Now it’s all gone. Louise has had her eyes on the Arts Committee for years. I’ll never get it back.”

I know I should have felt bad for not telling Livia myself, but the idea of being used to stage an uprising to overthrow Livia made me want to laugh. At least cancer could be used for something positive. It also made me certain in my decision to never join the Guild of Backstabbing Biddies, as Charlie called them.

“Livia, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. I’m still in shock myself,” I said trying to sooth her ruffled feathers.

“What’s done is done,” she sighed. “I must turn my attention to you, of course.”

“We’re fine. Aren’t we Charlie?”

I gave him a swift elbow in the side, just in case there was any doubt.

“Nonsense, there must be something I can do. I’d loan you my housekeeper,” she sniffed, looking around. “But I depend on her too much. I’ll drive you. I’ll be your constant companion through all of this.”

I had just heard my worst nightmare, six weeks of constant and continuous Livia. I pinched Charlie so hard, he could hardly speak.

“Really, we’re fine Mother,” Charlie said, with tears in his eyes. “It means a lot to us that you would even offer, but I think Allie has already volunteered. We couldn’t tell her no now.”

“Yes, yes, of course not.”

Unfortunately for Logan, he picked the wrong time to come romping through the house with his football in arm, fresh from a game with his neighborhood friends.

“The boy, Logan, I’ll take the boy,” Livia said, triumphantly. “Logan dear, I’ll take you to your tennis and golf lessons.”

“I don’t take tennis or golf,” Logan innocently confessed.

Livia was floored. There for a moment, I thought she was speechless, unfortunately she recovered quickly.

“Then we’ll start. Business is won or lost on golf courses and tennis courts, my father use to say. Leave it to me, by summer’s end you’ll be a gentleman ready for society.”

And here I thought business was conducted in boardrooms and on the stock exchange.

It seemed to be settled to everyone satisfaction, though probably not Logan’s. Livia and Logan would spend the summer together, with luncheons at the club, tennis lessons, and golf lessons. I don’t think Logan really knows what he’s in for, but my boy’s tough. It will take more than Livia to turn him into a socialite fit for society.

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June 10

I wasn’t sure how long Margo could keep from telling Allie about my cancer. I wanted to be the one to tell her, but I didn’t want to tell her on the phone. I was starting treatment in a few days. I had to tell her today, no more excuses.

We met at a sushi restaurant near her house, of course. I’m not much of one for raw food. I even like my vegetables cooked until there aren’t any vitamins left. But today it didn’t matter. I picked over fried rice while Allie ate eel and squid wrapped in rice and seaweed paper. Eel and squid, really?

She was telling me about her latest coup at Ladies Guild. Almost every woman in town was involved in some way; I never had the desire to get involved in ladies politics.

“I’m chairing the fund raising committee,” Allie was saying. “I’ve wanted to do an auction for years now, but no one ever listens to me. We always do bake sales and the fall dance. I think we should forget about the little bake sales and hold a dinner and silent auction.”

Allie continued talking nonstop through lunch. I was trying to find the right time and way to tell her. But to be honest, it was easier to let her talk, putting off the inevitable as long as possible.

Finally, the bill was paid and we were gathering our things to leave. I couldn’t put it off any longer.

“I have cancer.”

Allie slumped back in her chair. Her face was motionless, frozen in confused, disbelief.

“You mean they think you have cancer. They don’t actually know yet.”

“I mean the biopsy came back positive. I have cancer.”

She looked at me the way she did the day Mom died. The way you looked at your big sister when she’s failed you, again.

“How long have you known?”

“About a week now.”

“You waited a week to tell me?”

“I couldn’t find the right time.”

“Well that’s just great Jo. I have commitments. I finally get a committee.”

“You’re worried about your committee? I have cancer and that’s what you’re worried about?”

But Allie was already dialing the phone.

“Hello, Louise Honey, bad news,” Allie mewled, “I’m not going to be able to chair the fund raising committee after all. I’m sure. I’m just not going to have the time. Jo has cancer. Yes I know. It was shocking to me too.”

I left Allie giving her big resignation speech.

I thought she’d fall apart, that I’d spend most of my time consoling her, taking care of her. Like I did after our parents died. Part of me wanted her to crumble, to be devastated. Wasn’t I worth a little devastation? I guess Margo was right. She wasn’t that little kid anymore. I’m just not sure I know who she is.

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June

Past

June 3

I spent the day sorting through the kitchen. I packed up sets of dishes. It’s amazing how many sets you can accumulate over the years. Yellow flowers, solid pink, and a blue lattice pattern I never really liked anyway. I boxed up bowls, saucers and cups. A couple of teapots bought for a party that never happened, all found their way into the donation box.

Sushi plates? Do I really need sushi plates? They’ll go to charity. Someone will find a use for them.

I kept the important things. Grandma’s china from the 40’s, Mom’s stoneware from the 50’s, Charlie’s Grandmother’s fine china, and Portuguese crystal goblets with an intricate floral design. Allie brought them back for me when she was on vacation in Lisbon. She was always traveling to some place exotic and I was always saying maybe next year.

I kept the dishes Mom helped me pick out, a delicate pink floral collection of fine china. She took me to Europe when I was eleven, just the two of us. We brought those dishes back.

I was captivated by Venice. I was going to be a great artist. I was going to paint in a studio overlooking a canal with an orange cat sitting on the windowsill. I don’t know why the orange cat. Cats seemed to be everywhere in Venice and it sounded romantic and a little tortured. The great American artist painting alone with only her cat for company. Now I would add the occasional hunky Italian, but mostly just the cat. How silly childhood dreams are.

Mom and I brought this set of china back with us. I’ve never used them. They’re the “good” china. Why do we wait for the right occasion before we use the things that mean the most to us? Why do we keep those things packed away waiting for the right time? A time that may never come.

I thought I would have plenty of time. That I’d wait until after my son was grown or I retired to start living, but what if that time never comes? What if my right time has already passed? What would I do if I knew I only had a year or two left? I’d certainly use the good china. No one has ever used Mom’s good china. Those plates were made to be used. I think I’ll use them tonight.

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May 31

I went to the old drive in for breakfast this morning. It’s been a while since I was last there.

I remember hanging out at Marty’s during high school, not much has changed since then. I sat in the car under the red and white metal awning. The few cars there were arranged in a semi circle facing the red and white checked front with the chrome strip gleaming in the morning sun.

I could see Laura and Nancy inside. The morning shift still belonged to the ladies, three women now in their fifties who ran the drive in. Martha was still manning the grill. Nancy was taking orders and running out the food. Laura must have been in the back tidying up and preparing for the day’s business.

It wasn’t long before Nancy had taken my order and return with a hash and egg sandwich, sunny side up. I sat there staring at the old picnic tables, the warm yoke running into the hash, soaking the bread and my napkin.

We use to hang out here in high school. We’d talk about the things we were going to do and the places we were going to go. I don’t remember ever saying I was going to go to the local college, get a job and live here the rest of my life. No, I’d sit on the picnic table with my friends talking about art school, painting, and traveling to foreign places.

“I’m going to art school in Chicago,” I would say, “I’ll live in Italy and travel to London, Paris and Rome.”

But life didn’t happen that way. I was left waiting, waiting until Allie didn’t need me, waiting until I finished school, and finally until my son was older. When do I stop waiting and start doing?

My thoughts were interrupted by the whirl wind that accompanied Allie as she jumped in the front seat. She practically climbed on my lap to place her order. It wasn’t long before the smell of pancakes and syrup was mixed with eggs and hash.

“What are you doing?” I asked Allie.

“Having breakfast,” she replied with a mouthful of pancakes.

“Why here?”

“Because I don’t want to get syrup on my car.”

That was just like Allie. I decided to ask her the question that was on my mind. I thought I might be able to find an answer through her.

“Did you come here when you were in high school?”

“Yea, sure I think everyone does. Why?” she replied, pouring more syrup on her pancakes.

I tried to explain it to her.

“I was thinking about all the plans I had back then. I haven’t done anything I thought I would.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean my job.”

“You have the perfect job.”

“I just create reports to help other people make decisions, without actually making any of my own.”

“Who does all that stuff they talk about in high school anyway?” Allie continued taking another bite.

Yes, who does all that stuff they talk about in high school, certainly not me.

I asked Allie the big question.

“If all jobs paid the same, what would you be?”

“I’d be my own personal shopper,” she replied without skipping a beat like she’d already thought it all out.

I was supposed to want to a real estate management firm. That’s what everyone said I should do, so that must be what I should want. But I didn’t.

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May 30

I told Charlie I have cancer today. He stopped in mid-stride and sat in his chair staring at me, his shoulders slumped. I had done the only thing that could defeat him right now. I was sick, as sick as the people he was trying to save.

He began silently rolling up his designs, notes and parts sheets, taking the most promising designs down from his walls.

Charlie wanted to resign immediately. This is exactly what I didn’t want. I would not be the reason he gave up his dream. I would not do to him what was done to me.

I was finally able to convince him to keep working at least for a while. Besides, I’ll have Allie. I won’t need him every moment of every day. I promised to be there when he takes the first prototypes over.

I didn’t want to take away his hopes, his work, and his dreams. I know what it’s like to give up on a dream to accept responsibilities and I didn’t want him to give up so easily. Perhaps I shouldn’t have given up so easily.

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May 29

I dreamt of the bronze lady last night. She was still hugging her baby close, but there was another little girl clinging to her skirts. The woman wasn’t calm and serene. She was begging for someone to watch over her babies, as the flames consumed her. I was helpless to help her, to ease her mind. And then she was gone and the two children were left behind clinging to each other.

***

Charlie was filled with hope and excitement. I was beginning to worry that this project would defeat his spirit, but the old Charlie was back. He was pacing his office, with Tom and several younger men, rifling through his designs and parts lists. He was making notations in red, taping the resulting sheets on one wall. His office was a flurry of activity when I came in.

Tom in the mechanical engineering department at the university had signed on to the project. He was even talking about going over personally to install the first prototypes with his graduate students. Tom had suggested that they speak to Martin, a professor in the biochemistry department, researching alternative energy. He was also excited about the project, seeing it as an opportunity to demonstrate a practical application of some of his theories.

The three older men brought together the best and brightest from their fields. Charlie’s office was filled with young engineers eager to save the world. He had inspired this newly formed group with his stories and pictures.

I’m glad he spent this last day in a euphoric state of activity and anticipation. Tomorrow I have to tell him no matter what. After all, what difference will a day make?

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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.

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May 26

I was sitting in the weathered leather chair in Charlie’s office, trying to decide how best to approach this. The chair belonged to his mother’s father. The great captain of industry had sat in this chair amassing a fortune. He was a financier. He bought, sold and traded companies, like pieces on a chessboard. He was born wealthy, so I didn’t think acquiring more wealth was necessarily any great accomplishment. But to hear Livia, Charlie’s mother, tell it the man walked on water.

Charlie was a theology professor by trade and volunteer youth pastor. He’d come to Christianity late in life, a confirmed atheist and bachelor. His views on the world and his faith were different from most. He held degrees in Chemistry, Physics, and most recently Theology. So his faith was founded in math and science. I admired his ability to debate the existence of God without ever quoting the Bible.

“You can’t use the Bible as an argument if your opponents don’t believe in it,” he’d say.

He’d spent years studying math and science, sure in his believe that God didn’t exist. He felt a sort of quiet superiority over those of “faith”. But after all those years of study when he was graduating with his first PhD, his convictions become less clear.

Charlie decided to take an extended trip to clear his head. He was really looking for answers he couldn’t find in a classroom. He didn’t travel to Europe and the civilized world as his mother would have liked, but to primitive areas. Places that could only be reached by the heartiest jeep, horse or on foot. His travels took him to remote villages in Latin America, Asia and Africa. Places no one had heard of, that weren’t in travel guides, where five star hotels and post cards didn’t exist. It had started as a spoiled kid looking to “find himself”. People without money don’t have time to find themselves. They have to be happy with whatever self they have.

Early in his trip, he met up with some missionaries bringing medicine to the remotest of villages. At first they tried to convince him of God’s existence, to save his soul. But after several unproductive arguments, they gave up, though they still let him tag along.

In many places, the number one killer was starvation, but Charlie was surprised at how many people still died even with enough food. Impure water was another big killer. Even though the water wasn’t clean, the people had little choice but to use it.

Something happened during that trip that math and science guy was never quite able to explain. All of his questions and doubts, all of the quiet whispers in his head began to come together and he knew. For the first time since he was a boy, he just knew. God existed and had something for him to do.

He came back ignited with a passion to find a way to clean the water of villages like these around the global. His parents were excited about his new found passion, though they felt it would be better directed at his career, but at least it was something.

This trip did more to Charlie than create a passion, it turned him from a spoiled kid with too much time on his hands and no direction into a man of compassion and purpose.  It would be nice to have that kind of passion and certainty in what you’re doing. At times I envied him. Why couldn’t I feel that same certainty in what I was doing?

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May 25

The end of the year program was held at the school. It was the same red brick building I’d gone to all of my childhood, K through twelve all in one building with the high school upstairs. Before I was in high school, I longed to ascend those stairs but grade school students weren’t allowed upstairs.

I would run my hand along the banister, when I passed by waiting, always waiting. Finally the day came. I remember getting my first locker upstairs. Then one morning I was climbing the stairs and realized I could see out to the distant horizon from the first floor landing. I was sure I could see to the edge of town. I use to imagine I could see all the way to Dallas and maybe even beyond. One day, one day I would go that far and further. I knew my future lay out there somewhere beyond that distant horizon.

All the parents and grandparents gathered in the cafeteria. The hard plastic chairs were lined up in rows facing the stage. The decorations were handmade, tissue paper flowers of every color, shape and size.

Margo’s orange skirt slipped up to show the scar on her knee as she sat down. I remember how she got that scar, when she and Allie were children. Allie always had some brilliant plan and poor Margo followed. I remember the time they climbed to the top of the oak on the big hill in Parlet’s Field. Allie was sure they’d be able to see all the way to Dallas.

Margo got stuck at the top afraid to come down. I climbed up after her, helping her place her feet in the right spots. I got her safely to the ground except for a scrapped knee. I treated the scrape with hydrogen peroxide and a bandage. I was her doctor then.

Here at the school, Margo was just a mom like me. She had traded her lab coat for a blue jean jacket.

“You haven’t told Allie yet,” she hissed.

“Well hello to you too.”

“You have to tell her. Have you told Charlie?”

The first graders filed on stage, singing John Jacob Jingle Himer Schmidt.

“What did I miss?” Allie asked, wheeling in her baby carriage. Luckily her son was in the second grade.

“You’re late,” Margo whispered.

“Couldn’t find anything to wear,” Allie replied with her standard excuse.

Allie had on a black, short sleeved a-line dress printed with large white flowers. The wide scoop band at the neck gave it a retro look. She could have fit in anywhere, elegant as always. I hadn’t given it much thought pulling on a pair of jeans and my old twill jacket.

We sat through several rounds of I’m a Little Tea Cup, Bingo and Farmer in the Dell. Finally, it was time for the fifth grade awards.

The principal, Ms. Howard, stood on stage handing out “awards” printed from the school computer. Logan’s name was called for Excellence in Mathematics. I knew as well as anyone else those awards were just color printer paper from any office supply store. But I also knew once my son’s name was printed on them, they became more than plain old office paper. They would be something that I, like all the other parents, would keep for years.

I managed to escape another lecture from Margo. Perhaps if I don’t take this whole thing too seriously it won’t be too serious. But she’s right and I know it, I can’t keep waiting for the right time to tell Charlie and Allie. I have to face reality, there isn’t a right time.

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May 23

Charlie was ensconced in the little back room he’d converted to an office. There was floor to ceiling bookshelves, a large desk, three computers and stereo equipment that made me wish we’d sound proofed before he moved in. I was itching to make it my next project, but he had me swear not to touch it when he’d first moved in. There were boxes in there whose contents hadn’t seen the light of day since he was in college, but now were off limits to me. I should never have made that promise. How long after you’re married do you have to wait before you break a promise?

It had been a little over three years since Charlie first rang my doorbell. He was the new youth minister. The youth group had been meeting in my house since my son, Logan was nine.

The attraction wasn’t instant for either of us. Whenever I was around he seemed to be explaining lawn maintenance. I had a lawn service, why did I need to marry one?

Our friends were always trying to set us up. Finally I asked him out for coffee to shut them up. We met at a little coffee shop. He was discussing black hole theories. I realized he was smarter than I thought.

He explained how that affected his theory of predestination, whether God already knows if you’ll choose Christianity. Then I realized he was smarter than me.

After that we started seeing a lot more of each other. I hadn’t intended to remarry after one failed attempt. But when I looked into his eyes, there was an intensity there I’d never seen anywhere else. I was captivated by him, his intellect and his sense of purpose.  We were married less than a year after we began dating.

I have to tell Charlie. But what am I going to say? Hey Charlie, we’ve only been married for a year and I have an illness that’s probably terminal. I need you to stop what you’re doing and play nursemaid. How’s that fair?

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