Chapters 17 & 18

Regular friends and visitors to my blog know that its content is usually respectful and appropriate. So please be forewarned: the language in Chapter 17 is definitely X-rated. Authenticity insisted.

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Chapter 17

Mike walked into Hough’s Tavern with his shoulders folded inward and his head dropped into his chest. He moved like a limp balloon. He took small steps toward the bar and put both hands on the stool to steady himself before he sat down and looked up at Danny. His soft blue eyes were deep and red and hollow.

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“My wife’s a fucking lesbian, Danny”.

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Danny opened his mouth full circle, then fell back with a squint. “What kind of a fucking lesbian?" He paused. “You mean like a real one?”

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“Yeah”, Mike said, “A real one.”

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“Whoa”, Danny said, “You’d better see a priest, Mike. Or a marriage counselor”

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Mike shook his head. “There’s another problem, Danny. You know she’s sick. She could die. Not for sure, but maybe. Her time is at a premium.”

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Danny scrunched his eyes into his nose. “Well what the fuck does she want if she’s dying, Mike? Who the fuck would even date her?” He paused again. “That’s if lesbians date, you know..”

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“Remember her friend, Lily, Danny? She loves her. I’ve known for years. She loves me and the kids, but I knew. She’s tried. She really has. So how can I expect….?”

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Mike stopped and sat perfectly still.

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“Oh Jesus the fuck, man” Danny said. “What a bear”.

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“Yeah”, said Mike. “What a fucking bear."

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Chapter 18

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"After I got my diagnosis you can imagine my wild hysteria. I would look at Andy and Amy and erupt just thinking about the possibility of them without me. And Mike. How would he manage? And the business?--who would run it? It's amazing how you think about things when you've got limited time staring you in the face.

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Just before I started chemo I went to a psychic praying and hoping she would tell me I’d be ok. Instead she told me about you. She said we are soul mates. That’s the first thing she said--that there was nothing either of us could do to make it otherwise, that destiny linked us together. I went to her desperate to hear that I would live, Lily, that cancer would not take me out, and instead she talked about you--and I was relieved. Relieved, Lily. I know exactly what you’re thinking: I’m as utopic as ever. But really, how could any normal person think otherwise? How would she have even known about you?
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In the days that followed chemo I couldn’t do much except lie in bed and watch my hair fall out, until I finally had it fashionably shaved, Howie Mandel style. Sometimes I would vomit in my little plastic wastebasket—do you remember it?—the one you gave me with the leopard design?--and I would begin my private symphony of fear and helplessness, over and over and over. But every second, before, after, even in between the dry heaves, there was your face. Your voice. There you were, your green worried eyes and so serious solemn face—the expression you make only in dire moments-- fluffing the pillow for me and telling me to get a life. Get a Life??? I’m lying in my real bed, sick as a dog wondering if I will die, and I’m hearing your imaginary voice telling me matter of factly to get a life, and I find myself laughing out loud. The rollercoaster that will always be Lily and Alex—how deep and real it felt, then and now, even in my pathetic misery.

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I’ve struggled with all this for weeks now. I've talked to Mike, and I've prayed hard and deep. Then I knew I had to tell you: I’m still here, Lily. "