Seated Women - A Snapshot of a Friendship

 ‘prosperity provideth, but adversity proveth friends’

Queen Elizabeth I

Insurmountable comforts are derived from the contented discourse amid friends over a demitasse, an exchange devoid of puerile comportment.  Two women, like-minded and even hearted, construct a dialogue without the worry of judgment, of criticism, and of persecution.  Free to lament openly, muse poetically and mourn emphatically, a friendship calculation by equal parts solace and propinquity.

**

Lenore hates Harriet’s voicemail.

Ring ring.  Click, “I’m pathos-ridden and can’t come out to play, leave a message at the beep.” BEEEEEP

Pause.  Sigh.  “You really need to change that message.” 

Click.

Lenore dialed the number back immediately.  This time Harriet picked up.

Before Harriet could dispense an appropriate greeting, Lenore hummed into her Blackberry, “Harry, meet me at The Middle Spoon on Barrington, usual table.  Fifteen minutes.”

Harriet scoffed in a wildly distracted timbre, “Fifteen minutes?!  Negative.” 

Lenore took umbrage to Harriet’s incensed counter, emitting a sigh, “Very well.  I suppose I’ll have to indulge with this Peanut Butter Pie all by myself.  Perfect, flaky crust, smooth peanut buttery custard, whipped cream …”

Harriet groaned and interjected, “Must you seduce me away from writing with sweet confections today?  You know I have a deadline, Len.”

A quiet pause stilled the line then Lenore announced, “My results are in.”

 “Give me five minutes, I’ll be right there.”

Click.

**

By her own curiosity, Lenore couldn’t resist looking down at the haphazard notebook pressed open into the lap of the woman beside her.  Their close proximity in the waiting room was the immediate culprit for her nosiness but she was strangely rapt by her neighbor, complete opposite of Lenore’s own tidy ensemble, clothed in a baggy frock and pilly cardigan, hair piled high in what could hardly be classified as a bun, scribbling a merciless riptide across the lined page.  Sensing Lenore’s meddlesome manner Harriet released a long incensed sigh,

“Mind your p’s and q’s, Nosy Parker.”  Harriet cut her eyes at Lenore and shifted in an attempt to conceal her book.

Lenore’s face turned crimson and moved to dispense an immediate apology but Harriet continued irritated,

“I hate this waiting room; it’s so small and stuffy, all elbow to elbow.  No offense, I just hate people reading over my shoulder, it makes me feel claustrophobic.”  She held up her occupied hand with the pen dangling between her fingers and gave a half wave, “Harriet Weeks.”

Lenore, a great sigh of relief, blinked a stray tear from her eye and smiled tentatively, “Lenore Henry.” 

Harriet focused back down on the task at hand.  Lenore accepted the introduction as an invitation for further repartee.  She cleared her throat, forcing herself not to glance down at Harriet’s script and inquired, “What brings you here?”

Harriet stopped, ago,g considering their location and purported, “Same as you, breast cancer.”

Meet cute, a November afternoon, 2000.

Two new-fangled friends found themselves in the window at Harriet’s favored café, Jane’s on the Commons.  Between them, the table was littered with fair trade coffee in white porcelain cups coupled with decadent desserts, Lenore opted for the Passion-fruit Pannacotta and Harriet the Coconut Cream in a short bread crust. The conversations shared that afternoon ranged from the agony of mammograms, Kotex versus Always, family, fortune, or lack thereof and of course the complexity of men.

Lenore stirred a foam crusted spoon around in her empty cup and asked Harriet if there was anyone at home waiting for her.  Harriet rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair and looked across the café,

“I saw him right over there in that corner reading The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.  Looked like Paul Bunyan.“  They both laughed. Harriet continued, “His name was George.  Kohl black hair and matching beard, dark rimmed glasses, and you know, that classic flannel and jeans duo; burly and strong looking, pensive but a touch stern. My first instinct was to mock him and ask where Babe the Blue Ox was hiding but the more I ogled him the more endearing he became.  The way he broke off tiny bites of his pie crust with his meaty fingers then wiped the crumbs on his thigh.  Oh my, those thighs.  I don’t know there was just something seductive about a man reading a passionate book that delves deeply into the ethical debates of God, free will and morality while resembling a lumberjack.  I felt this surge of want in my loins; I HAD to have that beastly man reading the dead Russian’s supreme literary achievement.”

“He sounds wonderful.”  Lenore tried to imagine the brawny man and her new friend in kind.

“Past tense, WAS wonderful.  He started making other plans with some corporate hussy downtown before he even had the courtesy to tell me we were kaput. They look like brother and sister for Christ’s sake!  I encountered them, hand in hand, walking through the ped-way. I assume on the way back to whatever high falutin’ office tower the troll works in.  He just gave me this look like ‘don’t breathe a word’ and walked by like I was a complete fucking stranger.  I guess breast cancer isn’t exactly alluring pillow talk. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, talk about morality.  It’s safe to say that I have trouble sorting the wheat from the chaff. You have a beau?”

Harriet shook her head exasperated at the memory and looked to Lenore for her reply,

“There was someone.  Aaron.”

Harriet threw her hands up, “Look at us, both past tense gals.  What happened to Aaron?”

“He just fell out of love with me I guess.”

Lenore looked down at her hands, placed dejectedly in her wrinkle-free lap.  Harriet furrowed her brow,

“Fell out of love? With you?”  Lenore half smiled and shrugged but Harriet pressed on, “I just can’t imagine someone falling out of love with you, I mean look at yourself!  So poised and so well put together, unlike me, I’m emotional barf.”

Lenore blushed, frowned  and giggled all at once, “He said he was tired of hugging an ironing board.”

“Huh?”

“It … it’s just I’m … I don’t like hugging or being touched.  Much.”

“Oh.  Well … fuck him with a rusty chainsaw.  It’s his loss.  You are a phenomenal woman.”

Lenore was taken off guard by Harriet’s colorful language but mustered a smile.  “I do like affection, I just like my space. Even more-so now, you know? At least until I sort out this health issue.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, I’m a walking contradiction.  I’d much rather a second dessert at this stage of my life than a penis and when your body battles cancer, anything attached to testicles is a pain in the ass.”

“Oh dear.”

Harriet shrugged, “I’m just sayin’.”

“Message received.”

**

Harriet pulled a fuchsia hand-knit London cap on to cover the wild Medusa mess her hair was in, threw herself into a second hand pea coat, stomped into her worn in Ugg boots, bolted down the stairs from her ransacked apartment and flew down the sidewalk until she found herself out of breath and stuffed into a chair across from Lenore at The Middle Spoon.

Lenore regarded her nonplussed in the same way the crisp server did when she poured coffee into her cup.  Harriet sat there, bushed, chest heaving, trying to catch her breath, “I got here as fast as I could.”

Lenore sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, “You live one block away, I said fifteen minutes.  You didn’t have to kill yourself to get here, silly.”

“I panicked, I’m sorry.  Sue me.”  She shrugged off her coat and gulped down half of the dark coffee steaming from her cup, wincing from the intense sensation of the java searing her whole mouth.  “Ok, so tell me.  What’s the prognosis, lady?”

Lenore sat quiet for a moment, the pause lasted so long Harriet thought she might reach across the table, grab her by her silky blouse and shake her silly.  “Spill!”  Harriet’s voice echoed through the dessert bar.  Lenore shushed her, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed crimson from the outburst. 

Lenore smiled tentatively, “Cancer free.”

“YES!”  Harriet sprang to her feet, fists darting straight up in a victory pose.  In her alacrity, she knocked the chair over she was inactive in only a brief moment earlier.

“Oh. My. God.  Will you sit down!?”  Lenore felt like a social pariah from Harriett’s over-zealous antics, onlookers leering at the raucous disruption.

Ignoring the scene, giggling like a school girl, Harriet amended her seat and plunked herself back down properly, all teeth, smiling.  “That is the BEST news ever!”

“With the exception of losing my breast, it’s wonderful news. I’m grateful.” 

Harriet felt a pang of guilt tear through her looking at her fragile friend.  Harriet’s breast cancer was only stage one, the lumpectomy and chemo were both successful, leaving her with a funky battle scar she couldn’t wait to show off at a nude beach come summer but Lenore’s was stage two and a mastectomy was necessary.  “You can have one of my boobs.” 

“Yours are too small.”  Lenore jested, they both laughed.

“Wait until the chemo-brain fully sets in.  I’m still bad for it and it’s been forever since my last treatment.  I still have to cat nap all the time and write stuff down to remember everything I need to do.”

“Your apartment is always littered with post-it notes.”

“Well, I’m forgetful as it is, cancer has mashed my noodle into a bowl of mess. It could also be from the medicinal marijuana too.”  They laughed.

“I can’t wait to have eyebrows again.  And real hair.”  Lenore touched the blonde fool-proof wig on her head.  “I hope my hair comes back as full and as fast as yours did. And as curly.”

“It’s getting there now.  I still look like I stuck my finger in a light socket.  These curls are haywire and have a mind of their own.  Fucky.  Oh hey!  I almost forgot, I got you your stuff.”  Harriet dug around in her bag and fished out a Body Shop bag.  “One brand spanking new Body Shop brow and liner kit, courtesy of moi. I also threw in a Raspberry Body Butter too.  They had a few jars in and I know how hard it is for you to find.  It’s your favorite so … ”

“Thank you, Harriet.”  Lenore choked on her tears.

Harriet reached across the table and carefully gathered Lenore’s hand in hers hoping not to alarm her with human touch, “I read somewhere that survivorship is a marathon, not a sprint.  I know it feels like it’s all taking forever to be good but everything is going to be ok, do you know why?”

Lenore wiped her eyes quickly, “I know you’re going to tell me.”

“Because we’re running it together.”

**

On their second friend coffee date at Jane’s her stare had a pale cast, Lenore’s ideal friend, struggling with love’s fatal flaws.  Harriet and Lenore were enjoying specialty coffees, Harriet the Spanish because she liked the combination of Remy Martin with Kahlua and Lenore opting for the Monte Cristo preferring the mix of Grand Marnier with her Kahlua.

Harriet clicked her fingernail against the temperate cup and giggled, watching Lenore checking her bangs in a hand mirror. 

“What’s so funny?”  Lenore asked shifting around in her chair, paranoid.

“It’s just so amazing to me that you and I are sitting here together.”

“Why is that?”  Lenore replied, clearing her through with a tiny hiccup.

Harriet leaned her arms akimbo across the table, slapped the top of Lenore’s hand,

“Well for lack of a better word, you’re somewhat of a priss.”

Lenore gasped, “I most certainly am not!”

“Bite me, yes you are.”

**

In a moment of agonizing writer’s block, Harriet rifled around the mess on her desk for her phone and dialed Lenore’s number but it uncharacteristically went straight to voicemail.

“You have reached the voicemail of Lenore Henry, I am unable to take your call at this time but if you would like to leave your name, number and a brief message, I will return your call as soon as I am available.  Thank you and have a great day.”   BEEEEEP.

Pause.  “How dare you be unavailable to me!  This message will not be brief but long and annoying to your dainty little ears.  I have hit a wall with this writing.  I need food and by food I mean dessert.  I expect in hearing so, you’ll drop whatever you’re doing and get yourself to Fireside where I will treat you to the Raspberry Kuchen you so enjoy, warm raspberry butter cake smothered in vanilla icecream, fresh raspberries and whipped cream.  I on the other hand will opt for the Belgium Pecan Ganache Torte.  Silky dark chocolate layered on pecan graham crumb drizzled with gooey caramel.  Better than sex.  Be there or be square, mon frere.  Wait … you better not be having sex.  Who are you having sex with!?” 

Click

**

“Friends don’t let friends get chemo and drive.”  Harriet forced her reluctant and terrified counterpart into the backseat of a taxi cab. 

“Plenty of people undergo chemotherapy drive themselves to and from their treatments.  This is so unnecessary.”  Lenore battled stubbornly.  “And you don’t even drive!  You called me a cab.  I could have called my own.”

Harriet regarded the snipe as fear and stood her ground.  “Considering I’ve HAD chemo before and KNOW what to POSSIBLY expect, I think it’s responsible for you to take extra precautions just in case you don’t react well … “

Lenore interrupted and huffed, “Since when are you responsible?!  I will be perfectly fine.  I don’t need anyone to hold my hand and tell me I’ll be ok so long as I have the right outlook.” 

“Well, with an attitude like that …”

“We aren’t the same, Harriet …”

“No because I’m not as self-righteous and stupid as you are.  Chemo isn’t a walk in the park, Lady Jane.  It’s likely you’ll feel weak and woozy, maybe your stomach will get upset, maybe you’ll shit your pants.  Won’t that be a sexy mess to clean up for your fancy little ass.  Shut your pie-hole and let me help you.”

Lenore sat, arms crossed staring out of the car window, silence filled the moving taxi, the cabbie appeared unfazed by the bickering women.

“I wish I had had someone to give me a hand.  Sit with me, get me home safe, grab me a cold cloth when I’m puking my face off, sweating and aching and shitting.  Maybe it won’t be that bad for you, maybe you’ll be lucky, maybe you won’t.  I’m your ‘in case’ person.”  Harriet choked up.

Lenore settled in quietly for her treatment, armed with magazines, a warm sweater and an over-bearing friend.  She secretly agreed having Harriet next to her even if they weren’t talking was a comfort and she a took note of the truth in the tiredness that Harriet said would likely come over her.  The pair sat quietly as the time passed.

Dressing for home at the end of the dripping hours, she smiled victorious and bragged, “Made it through unscathed.  I’m a little bit sleepy but other than that I feel just fine.”

Harriet shrugged on her coat and sighed, “Certified Superwoman you are.”  Harriet knew the onset of adverse effects was imminent but kept mum to appease her companion.

Lenore insisted Harriet go home after she saw she was settled with her mountain of reading material, the TV remote and her mild headache left over from the tiredness of the afternoon.  “Go, I’m fine.”

“Call me if you need me, ok?”  More than anything, Harriet didn’t want to leave her alone but Lenore insisted.

“I am reaction free other than being a bit drowsy and bored. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Harriet heard her loud menacing ringtone well after midnight.  She had fallen asleep slumped over her writing desk with phone in hand, it startled her awake.  “Lenore?”

She was met with breathy sobbing on the other end.  “Lenore?  Are you ok?”

“ … you were right …”  Lenore said crying her eyes out, “ … I shit my pants ...”

**

To celebrate Lenore’s cancer-comeback, as Harriet liked to call it, Harriet surprised her with tickets for Symphony Nova Scotia’s production of ‘The Nutcracker’.

“I cannot believe that you’ve lived here your whole life and you’ve never seen ‘The Nutcracker’.  Harriet boasted as the two women queued up to enter the Rebecca Cohen Auditorium.  “And what’s even more incredible is that you’ve never seen it and you got your law degree at  Dalhousie!  It’s part of the campus.  It’s inconceivable to me. At any rate, you are in for a real treat, it’s an extravaganza!”

Ushering in to their seats, Lenore laughed at her friend and replied, “Is it so inconceivable?  I had a heavy course load in university; I don’t think I saw one single movie during those years. I did listen to a lot of Tchaikovsky though.”

Harriet shook her head, draped her pea coat on her chair, sat and stuck her nose in the glossy program.  “With you, that doesn’t surprise me a bit.  Going to ‘The Nutcracker’ was a Weeks family tradition for as long as I can remember.  I think they’ve been doing it here for 20 years or so.  It’s delightful!   Are you at all familiar with the story?”

“Of course I know the story.”  Lenore retorted.  “A girl’s toy comes to life and adventure ensures.”

“They are whisked away to an enchanted world where she must battle the unruly Mouse Queen.  Ah, Tchaikovsky’s music is so haunting and beautiful.   And the puppets, wait until you see the giant puppets and the dancing is so lively and elegant.  Now, just to warn you, they did modify the story from the original Hoffman imagining but it’s still masterful.”  Harriet squealed, “I’m SO excited for you to see this.”

“Me too.  And the dessert that’s waiting for us afterward.”

“You and dessert.  That’s why we get along so well.”  Harriet chuckled and elbowed her gently, nose still stuck in the program, reading aloud to herself in a whisper all of the actor bios and production details.

Lenore was grateful for Harriet’s buoyant spirit.  She watched her face as the house lights lowered and the curtain opened.  Pure joy spread across her friend’s face that swelled up in her own heart.  This is what being alive is all about, ordinary magic, friendship, beauty and collecting moments.  So many years before cancer, Lenore spent with her nose to the grindstone, studying and working.  As she watched Harriet’s eyes widen and light up it occurred to her that she missed so much goodness and what’s the point of working so hard if you never enjoy yourself.   It also dawned on her that the old adage, ‘things happen for a reason’ was actually true.  Meeting Harriet in the breast cancer clinic was the single most defining moment of her life, more than the discovery that she had cancer in the first place.  It wasn’t the mastectomy or the chemo that saved her life, it was serendipity.  It was kismet.  Friendship.  When Lenore clapped and wept for a symphonic display of brilliance, she was really applauding herself for the epiphany, for Harriet, for their lifelines crossing, for a second chance to life well, truly live well instead of merely existing.  And she wept for her body, her heart and her soul.  She wept for Harriet’s.  She wept for proximity and liberation.   She wept for cancer.  She wept for survival.

When the show was over and the curtain drew closed Harriet was the first theatre-goer to jump out of her seat and inspire a standing ovation.  “Bravo! Bravo!”  To Lenore, the thunderous applause felt like they were for her, just for being alive.  She stood with her confidant and in spite of herself reached and hugged her tight. 

**

Insoluble gladness is culled from second chances.  Merits of redemption, the ultimate gift of life and absolute affinity pooled two human hearts together in an unexpected merger.  Reverence, allegiance and trust bind faithful hearts in an earnest pose and compose an accurate design of requirements for a pure friendship. 

**

I worked for a really long time on these ladies.  I think the formatting got a little weird from copying and pasting so much so I do apologize for that.  I confess, like with 'Whistle' I am still adding and subtracting but I wanted to share it here now to give them life, give them an audience.  I hope you like them as much as I loved writing them.

I started work on another short prose piece where I made a startling and racy discovery about the new character.  I'm excited about writing more, to see where he takes me.

Happy Sunday!

In propinquity,
Nic