Just The Right Way To Do Things
My friend Kathleen flew around the corner at exactly 10 am, in a brand new navy-blue convertible. I’d been waiting for her outside the hotel and I whipped back to get my purse because, really, this was a great car and I wanted a ride.
“When did you get this car?” was the obvious first question.
“As long as I’m dying I decided what the heck,” she said.
I had first heard about her cancer from Linda who’d called her to keep in touch. So I called Kathy but I hadn’t mentioned her illness, because who wants to talk about dying when there are so many other things to talk about? We laughed for about twenty minutes and I told her I was coming home in September and we’d get together. September became October and I was finally here. I hadn’t called because I was scared. When I did call, Saturday night, I didn’t know what I’d say.
“How about breakfast tomorrow? How about the hotel restaurant? How about ten so we can sleep in?”
“You’ve heard that I was dying, haven’t you?”
Well, yes, I had, but I felt like it was gossiping. There was a bit of schadenfreude in the news. A little relief that it hadn’t happened to me. I didn’t want to talk about Kathleen that way.
“I started coughing last spring and I thought at first that everyone gets a cough in spring, but then I noticed that I wasn’t breathing either!”
“They opened me up thinking I might have a tumor on my lungs and it turned out my lungs were full of tumors.” It also turns out there’s not much they can do about lung cancer.
Kathy was a stewardess for United. When they stopped smoking on planes, she figured she’d been locked in with smokers for almost 20 years. She has never smoked herself.
She is the most enigmatic friend I’ve ever had. She was the one and only person I’ve ever known who didn’t care about what people thought. She was kind and considerate; she was just never sucked into the pit that is high school politics.
Kathy gave me the nerve to do things. One day she talked me into lying out on the lawn of our high school during the period after lunch with our feet facing the highway. Our school was way out in the country. Suddenly there was Sister Jean Patrice, the principal, standing over us. “What are you doing and why are you doing it?” she said.
“There is a reason for everything you do. Why are you doing this?”
Kathy wasn’t intimidated. She wasn’t smart-alecky; she was just relaxed while I shoveled diligently away at the hole at my feet trying to explain myself.
When we drove across country after graduation, she ate shrimp at every restaurant for every meal, undeterred by my sarcastic remarks about people who won’t try new things.
Once when she was called for jury duty, she went through the questioning process as the pool was narrowed. Then when the judge announced they had a jury. She raised her hand and said she needed to talk to the judge. The room was cleared, first of everyone but the lawyers and then, when she reiterated she could only talk to the judge, even the attorneys left.
“I’m an employee of United Airlines and as such, I’m not allowed to talk about passengers. But I have dealt with these attorneys on flights and they are rude, drunken louts and I can never be objective with them.” She was excused.
All during breakfast she asked me about my family; she listened to my experiences and shared hers. She said that at first she was scared, but now that it's here, she's filled with a bit of excited impatience to get on with it. She has, in addition to her unwavering faith, the courage to put it into practice.
I remembered why I did things after I left her. Jean Patrice was right. There’s always a reason. I just hope mine serve me as well as Kathy’s.
“When did you get this car?” was the obvious first question.
“As long as I’m dying I decided what the heck,” she said.
I had first heard about her cancer from Linda who’d called her to keep in touch. So I called Kathy but I hadn’t mentioned her illness, because who wants to talk about dying when there are so many other things to talk about? We laughed for about twenty minutes and I told her I was coming home in September and we’d get together. September became October and I was finally here. I hadn’t called because I was scared. When I did call, Saturday night, I didn’t know what I’d say.
“How about breakfast tomorrow? How about the hotel restaurant? How about ten so we can sleep in?”
“You’ve heard that I was dying, haven’t you?”
Well, yes, I had, but I felt like it was gossiping. There was a bit of schadenfreude in the news. A little relief that it hadn’t happened to me. I didn’t want to talk about Kathleen that way.
“I started coughing last spring and I thought at first that everyone gets a cough in spring, but then I noticed that I wasn’t breathing either!”
“They opened me up thinking I might have a tumor on my lungs and it turned out my lungs were full of tumors.” It also turns out there’s not much they can do about lung cancer.
Kathy was a stewardess for United. When they stopped smoking on planes, she figured she’d been locked in with smokers for almost 20 years. She has never smoked herself.
She is the most enigmatic friend I’ve ever had. She was the one and only person I’ve ever known who didn’t care about what people thought. She was kind and considerate; she was just never sucked into the pit that is high school politics.
Kathy gave me the nerve to do things. One day she talked me into lying out on the lawn of our high school during the period after lunch with our feet facing the highway. Our school was way out in the country. Suddenly there was Sister Jean Patrice, the principal, standing over us. “What are you doing and why are you doing it?” she said.
“There is a reason for everything you do. Why are you doing this?”
Kathy wasn’t intimidated. She wasn’t smart-alecky; she was just relaxed while I shoveled diligently away at the hole at my feet trying to explain myself.
When we drove across country after graduation, she ate shrimp at every restaurant for every meal, undeterred by my sarcastic remarks about people who won’t try new things.
Once when she was called for jury duty, she went through the questioning process as the pool was narrowed. Then when the judge announced they had a jury. She raised her hand and said she needed to talk to the judge. The room was cleared, first of everyone but the lawyers and then, when she reiterated she could only talk to the judge, even the attorneys left.
“I’m an employee of United Airlines and as such, I’m not allowed to talk about passengers. But I have dealt with these attorneys on flights and they are rude, drunken louts and I can never be objective with them.” She was excused.
All during breakfast she asked me about my family; she listened to my experiences and shared hers. She said that at first she was scared, but now that it's here, she's filled with a bit of excited impatience to get on with it. She has, in addition to her unwavering faith, the courage to put it into practice.
I remembered why I did things after I left her. Jean Patrice was right. There’s always a reason. I just hope mine serve me as well as Kathy’s.
Comments