She sat with me in the white bathroom, holding my hair while I upchucked in the once-pristine commode. When there was nothing left to hold, she rubbed small circles between my shoulder blades. At the wig shop, she held up a red bob.
“Spunky,” she said. “And sexy.”
She drove me to radiation, to acupuncture and support group. She brewed herbal concoctions that smelled of twigs and dirt. She brought casseroles and cookies, and later, applesauce and other soft sick-foods. She painted yellow happy faces on my toe nails, upside-down so my piggies smiled up at me during infusions.
After I survived the treatment, I weighed the possibility of reconstruction. She came with me for the fitting. I cried at the scars cratering my chest, mourning how my husband once caressed the soft fullness of my breasts, kissed my rosebud nipples. She squeezed my hand the way only a best friend could reassure.
“He loves all of you, not just your body parts.” She held up a C-cup mastectomy bra, a full size bigger than what I'd lost. “So let's go, Dolly,” she said, and we both laughed.
Turns out she brought more than food for comfort. Now my husband begs me to take him back, but I don't return his phone calls, or hers. Nights I climb the stairs to the empty bedroom, rubbing the stubble growing newly black on my head, the prosthesis stashed deep in his underwear drawer.
26
favs |
1951 views
42 comments |
256 words
All rights reserved. |
Inspired by the 52/250 challenge theme: brutality of friends.
Also inspired by a series of true circumstances, thankfully not mine.
Great sad, surprising story, Linda. Betrayals from within and from without.
"once-pristine commode"--phrases like this are too jagged in time. They pull the reader out of the moment. "dirty commode" works as well if not better.
"cratering"--draws all the energy out of the line. A simpler word will save the sentence.
Hope you don't mind the suggestions.
This is so well written and the end, surprises, but then doesn't surprise. It speaks so much to the isolation of cancer, even cancer survival. Nobody can know that world that hasn't been there. Even the best and devoted friend. I think what makes this is how you shirk any sort of cliche here and bravely go deeper, where it hurts the most, Linda. Right there in that last paragraph. Yes. Fave.
This is so sad and SO perfect, Linda. Touches like:
"...yellow happy faces on my toe nails, upside-down so my piggies smiled..."
turn me upside down with emotion, bring me in. I am there. I love this more than I can tell you. The last paragraph is a knife to the heart that is so perfectly sculpted. I wish I could double fave this.
Agree about the final paragraph, Linda - "Nights I climb the stairs to the empty bedroom, rubbing the stubble growing newly black on my head, the prosthesis stashed deep in his underwear drawer." Especially that image. Really strong work.
The energy/force of the day-to-day carries its own weight, its own sadness. I like this piece.
Bill, thank you for reading, and no, I never take exception to your suggestions -- you're usually quite right! Peace...
Kathy, thank you -- I try to keep my writing honest, it's one of the few things I try to keep straight always. Your comment keeps me on that road. Peace...
Meg, if I could double fave your comment, I would -- made my week. Thank you, and peace...
Thank you Sam, you are always so generous and careful in your reading. Peace...
excellent. your writing is dense and evocative and yet a deep emptiness exists here that i find gratifying given the subject.
Oh, no... no! Beautifully done. This story is going to haunt me.
How well you've drawn in your reader, given us the same hope as the narrator, so that we feel that stab of pain too. Nice.
Polished, powerful. Strong ending. This is very, very good stuff. Fave.
This really grabbed me.
Saddest story I've read in months. Turns everything upside down in that last graph. I felt as betrayed as this poor narrator--whew.
The ending is powerful kick in the stomach that made me hold my breath for a minute, but it's beautifully done. *
This story began so uncomfortably, then, once I was lulled back into my ease, you socked it to me. Great dramatic sense. I also love the use of friendly words such as "rosebud," "spunky" and "piggies" to draw the reader in.
Great story. Superb ending.
Marcus, your observation interestes me, full yet empty. I'll treasure your words. Peace...
DEAR ALL!!!! Thank you for your kind words and inisghts, and the pretty stars, too! The system keeps booting me out when I send comments or write on your walls, so please accept this fictionaut-wide valentine! Peace...
Very moving, a breathtaking drop from the bright peaks of devotion and companionship to a deep valley of despair. Loss on many levels. Beautifully done.
Layers of friendship and betrayal, packed so tightly. I admired this when I first read it, now here again. The details make this piece really stand out, from the red bob wig to those smiley faces to the black stubble and the last image of the prosthesis in the underwear drawer -- HIS underwear drawer: I love that detail: it drives the story home and breaks the heart all over again.
*
So good, so sad. Really good, tough read. *
I agree with Susan, that loss of friends is just as terrible - maybe more so - than cancer. Your last sentence is stellar.
Dean, thanks so much for reading, and glad you felt the emotional rollercoaster. Peace...
Michelle, thank you for reading so carefully, for loving the details I love, too. Peace...
Jules, thank you for reading and faving. Someday, I will write an easy piece ;^)
Mark, thank you. Cancer IS isolating, and it's the betrayals large and smll that hurt the most. peace...
What is so perfect about this is how the actions of the characters speak for themselves and not even the first person narrator gets between us and what they do. You hit this square and solid. A gem. -- Q
Quenby, thank you so much for your kind words and the fave -- much appreciated! This one pained me to write. Peace...
excellent storytelling here. *
wow, linda, this is incredible.
you hit so hard in the understated first line of that last graf: and then, how you work it through imagery, rubbing the stubble makes us think of a man (her husband) but it's on her head, and then it's her prosthesis (the ultimate symbol) abandoned in his drawer.
A student of mine actually put me onto this story, Linda, and I'm very glad she did. Check out the General Forum for the rest of the story.
I missed this earlier. David's Forum post brought me to it. Luckily.
Fave
Julie, thank you so much!
Sara, your words make me smile so hard my cheeks hurt. TY!
David :^)
James, I am always honored when you read my words. Thank you.
Peace...
lovingly told
MJ, thank you for reading! Peace...
Linda, this asks questions as well as paints the picture of friendship and trust. Is it that some things are beyond healing? Great piece of literary fiction.
fav
this is a total fucking killer of a story (pardon my french). but i was so blown away by this. i've heard cancer stories in real life that ended this way and it is shocking and appalling.
BIG *
Holy cow, Susan -- here's the bar of Ivory! Love it when I touch a nerve ;^) and thought it was appropriate for WAF. Thanks for the read and the purty star! Peace...
This is a perfect story. An obvious fave. So beautiful, sad, true, unflinching. A 360 degree piece of writing. This enviable friendship is validated through the voice of the author of this story. Her narration makes us want the friendship of this voice. Her narrative of loneliness is ours. The real world beautifully told by a voice of courage and love. It is a double fave.
Brutal. Awful. Perfect. Awe-ful. A place this survivor is glad she didn't have to go to. *
Really sad and comes through is the isolation/self-imposed exile of the narrator/survivor. Excellent read.
I hate cancer and what it does to families. You have given us a fine example.