Pizza talk

I have known her for many years – well not really known her perhaps, but we saw each other when waiting for the bus now and then, said hello when we came across each other at the market or in the bakery. She lived in the building next to mine, just across the street. And one day, after living in close vicinity for more than three decades, we met in that tiny pizza restaurant that had only recently opened just a few blocks away. The place was full, so we came to share a table and after a few minutes of smalltalk we got engaged in conversation just as if we had known each other all our lives. Waiting for the pizza seemed like it took a lifetime, but for us, time flew by as we talked.

I spoil myself from time to time, she said, smiling.

So do I, now and then, I said and returned her smile, and told her of my recent divorce and how my ex had spread ugly and untrue gossip amongst our friends.

She nodded in consent, and then revealed her story. I suppose she must have been lonely because she spoke quickly and almost without a break, like a waterfall – a wordfall, like. She had a cheerful look, as if talking would restore her spirits. Before the pandemic, she said, I saw my doctor, because I had developed some dark spots on my skin. From the sun, I first thought, and so did he. During the pandemic, everything was at a standstill. And then, all of a sudden, the dots grew darker and stronger.

She stared at me and I noticed now that her face showed jagged lines, like when you carelessly rip a piece of paper trying to make a curve. That half-bluish mark contrasted sharply with her white cheekbones. “Sorry,” I said. I should not have stared. But she did not mind, she also showed me her arms and some small marks that were drawn on her skin, like a permanent tattoo.

“The doctors diagnosed me with malignant melanoma,” she said without a tremor in her voice, and I suppose she had already very often said this sentence to herself to convince herself of the situation, to make herself accept the diagnosis, the problems it will bring, and the future that may now lie ahead of her. She did not flinch. She was determined to be strong. And to fight.

That’s why I give myself all my pleasures whenever I can., she said, smiling again.

I looked at her, trying to give her the support she needed yet so badly.

That’s right, I said. Don’t stop living! Treat yourself to whatever gives you joy. Be happy while you can!

And she did. She was courageous. She never gave in. She is still fighting today. And we still share the odd slice of pizza once in a while.