to
suddenly pop, she slowly wandered to where Allie sat and took the stool next to
her. Fortunately, on that day, she was wearing pants and had no problem
settling herself on the seat. “We’re supposed to be friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course we’re friends,” Allie automatically responded.
“So why can’t you talk to me about whatever it is that’s
bothering you?”
“Nothing is bothering me,” she countered, placing her hands
on the counter in front of her and steepling her fingers. “I’ve been having the
time of my life, Ros,” she added, smiling to herself.
Rosalinda could tell that her best friend’s thoughts had
taken her elsewhere and didn’t bother to attempt to bring her back for some
moments. She took the opportunity to really look at Allie, to note the genuine
look of happiness that radiated from her. However, she knew on a deeper level
all was far from well with the woman beside her. It was a feeling in her gut,
something she could never put into words, but a sensation that she simply
couldn’t ignore.
“I’ve been looking at the world differently.” It was Allie
who broke the silence, as she continued to thoughtfully gaze at her entwined
hands.
“But why?” Rosalinda asked, beginning to feel as though she
were beating against a brick wall. “What’s happened?”
Allie considered how she would answer for several seconds,
before lifting her gaze to Rosalinda and fixing her with open, honest eyes.
“I’ve been given a wake-up call,” she said softly.
“What the heck does that mean?” Rosalinda scoffed back. “You
going to die?”
Allie knew that the suggestion had been made in jest; a
thought so outrageous that it didn’t occur to Rosalinda that it could be true.
She wanted to deny it, to laugh and reassure her friend. However, she couldn’t.
Instead, an uncomfortable silence descended on the pair.
The smile quickly vanished from Rosalinda’s face to be
replaced by one of mortification. “Allie,” she whispered, that one word asking
a thousand questions and expressing a hundred emotions.
***
The women talked well into the evening and, in the end, Rosalinda
spent the night on Allie’s couch. They only briefly discussed the disease,
Allie admitting that she’d not bothered to read anything about it, and that, if
she were honest, she didn’t care. She knew enough to know that her days were
now numbered, all she wanted to do was enjoy them while they lasted.
Naturally, Rosalinda expressed concern and urged Allie to go
back to the doctor, or to at least consider the possibility of chemotherapy.
But she realized, even as she was speaking, that Allie’s mind was firm.
By the Sunday morning, Allie wasn’t sure whether she felt
better or worse for having unburdened herself. In some ways, it was a relief to
no longer carry the secret of her illness alone. On the other hand, spending
the night talking about cancer and death had put those things back at the
forefront of her mind and depressed her deeply. What she need, desperately, was
a new distraction. Another man, another old flame, another good fuck.
Hustling Rosalinda into the shower and inviting her to raid
her wardrobe, Allie settled on the floor by her coffee table and opened her
laptop. As she waited for the computer to come to life, she allowed herself to
drift back over the years; searching for faces that she’d like to see again.
Her brain slowed in its hunt, lingering over a man she’d met at a journalists’
conference the summer before. He’d given her his card and asked her to call,
but she’d never bothered. In fact, she’d stupidly tossed the card in the trash
when she’d got home. However, she did remember that he worked for the LA Times
and his name was Mitch, so he should be traceable.
Going straight to the Los Angeles Times’ site, she began
scrolling through articles, only glancing at the by-line of each. Eventually,
she found one written by Mitch Hatley. “Hatley,” she mumbled.
suddenly pop, she slowly wandered to where Allie sat and took the stool next to
her. Fortunately, on that day, she was wearing pants and had no problem
settling herself on the seat. “We’re supposed to be friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course we’re friends,” Allie automatically responded.
“So why can’t you talk to me about whatever it is that’s
bothering you?”
“Nothing is bothering me,” she countered, placing her hands
on the counter in front of her and steepling her fingers. “I’ve been having the
time of my life, Ros,” she added, smiling to herself.
Rosalinda could tell that her best friend’s thoughts had
taken her elsewhere and didn’t bother to attempt to bring her back for some
moments. She took the opportunity to really look at Allie, to note the genuine
look of happiness that radiated from her. However, she knew on a deeper level
all was far from well with the woman beside her. It was a feeling in her gut,
something she could never put into words, but a sensation that she simply
couldn’t ignore.
“I’ve been looking at the world differently.” It was Allie
who broke the silence, as she continued to thoughtfully gaze at her entwined
hands.
“But why?” Rosalinda asked, beginning to feel as though she
were beating against a brick wall. “What’s happened?”
Allie considered how she would answer for several seconds,
before lifting her gaze to Rosalinda and fixing her with open, honest eyes.
“I’ve been given a wake-up call,” she said softly.
“What the heck does that mean?” Rosalinda scoffed back. “You
going to die?”
Allie knew that the suggestion had been made in jest; a
thought so outrageous that it didn’t occur to Rosalinda that it could be true.
She wanted to deny it, to laugh and reassure her friend. However, she couldn’t.
Instead, an uncomfortable silence descended on the pair.
The smile quickly vanished from Rosalinda’s face to be
replaced by one of mortification. “Allie,” she whispered, that one word asking
a thousand questions and expressing a hundred emotions.
***
The women talked well into the evening and, in the end, Rosalinda
spent the night on Allie’s couch. They only briefly discussed the disease,
Allie admitting that she’d not bothered to read anything about it, and that, if
she were honest, she didn’t care. She knew enough to know that her days were
now numbered, all she wanted to do was enjoy them while they lasted.
Naturally, Rosalinda expressed concern and urged Allie to go
back to the doctor, or to at least consider the possibility of chemotherapy.
But she realized, even as she was speaking, that Allie’s mind was firm.
By the Sunday morning, Allie wasn’t sure whether she felt
better or worse for having unburdened herself. In some ways, it was a relief to
no longer carry the secret of her illness alone. On the other hand, spending
the night talking about cancer and death had put those things back at the
forefront of her mind and depressed her deeply. What she need, desperately, was
a new distraction. Another man, another old flame, another good fuck.
Hustling Rosalinda into the shower and inviting her to raid
her wardrobe, Allie settled on the floor by her coffee table and opened her
laptop. As she waited for the computer to come to life, she allowed herself to
drift back over the years; searching for faces that she’d like to see again.
Her brain slowed in its hunt, lingering over a man she’d met at a journalists’
conference the summer before. He’d given her his card and asked her to call,
but she’d never bothered. In fact, she’d stupidly tossed the card in the trash
when she’d got home. However, she did remember that he worked for the LA Times
and his name was Mitch, so he should be traceable.
Going straight to the Los Angeles Times’ site, she began
scrolling through articles, only glancing at the by-line of each. Eventually,
she found one written by Mitch Hatley. “Hatley,” she mumbled.
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