by Rae Zappe
As I was leaving the hospital, I saw Cassandra standing near the entrance, smoking a cigarette. She nodded at me as I walked up to her.
“You’re Olive, then”, she said. Her voice was low and raspy.
“I am”, I replied. I tried to imagine a younger version of her; tried to picture her with Delilah, the Delilah I had known, but it was difficult. She was so much her opposite – hair dyed black, her presence assertive, with an almost intimidating gaze.
She took a drag of her cigarette. “Delilah told me a lot about you”, she said.
A twinge in my stomach. Joy mixed with guilt. Delilah had thought of me during all those many years we hadn’t spoken. And yet – when was the last time I had told anyone about her?
“I don’t suppose she had too many good things to say”, I replied.
Cassandra shrugged. “She told me a lot about your childhood together. I think she missed you a lot. Still, the way things ended – that really messed her up.”
“It was horrible”, I said earnestly. “I was horrible.”
Cassandra looked at me like she was trying to read me.
“Nasty thing to do. But”, she added with the hint of a smile, “personally, I guess I have to thank you for it. I would have never met her otherwise.”
She took out another cigarette and I noticed one of them stuck in the box upside down. I laughed in surprise and pulled my own cigarettes from my purse, showing her how I followed the same ritual. I rarely smoked, and I had all but forgotten where I had learned this habit, until I saw Cassandra’s frown.
“Yeah, well. She insists I turn one around, for good luck, but she always forgets about it herself.” A dry laugh. “I guess it really works. If only she listened to her own advice.”
Cassandra told me what Delilah hadn’t wanted to speak about. She had received the diagnosis just three months ago. It was a regular check-up, and the doctor discovered the growth in her lungs at an early stage, so despite the initial shock, they had felt positive that she would be fine. But the cancer grew quicker than anyone anticipated. Hospitalisation, the doctors had insisted, was her best chance. There were so many new treatment options. So many stories of full recoveries, patients who lived another twenty-five years after their diagnosis. Attitude, they kept saying, was everything. When I made to leave, we nodded at each other with a smile that promised optimism, a smile that spoke of toughness and hope. But as I drove away from the hospital, I felt the strength that had carried me through the day drain from me, and with every mile that I added to the distance between me and Delilah, I felt more tired.
© Rae Zappe 2024-08-31