Background
Thirty something, Jameson, meets seventy something, Iris, through a chance encounter. They meet for coffee. This is the story of their unlikely friendship.
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This is a novella written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be clearly marked with who is narrating.
So far, thirty something, Jameson Petry has a chance meeting with seventy something, Iris. His marriage is collapsing and she is dealing with a terminal illness. They bond over weekly meetings for coffee. Jameson takes Iris's advice and asks his wife if their marriage is over.
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IRIS
Dr. Chalmers apologizes for the cold metal of the stethoscope as he places it on my chest. He moves it slowly from place to place. He asks me to cough once or twice. I've become quite adept at coughing on cue. And I'm a master of coughing for no reason. He transfers it to my back. "Did you start your new medicine?"
"I did." I don't say anymore because he is still listening to whatever tick tocks that happening inside of me.
"Your lungs sound good."
"Why, thank you. You always say the sweetest things."
He grins without looking up. He pulls away and let's the stethoscope fall around his neck. He studies the laptop across the room. "I see your blood pressure is a little elevated. Any reason that you know of?"
I glance around the room. The walls are adorned with posters of warning signs for heart attack, strokes, and blood clots. It is a literal smorgasbord of ways to be betrayed by your very own sweet, little heart. "I don't know. Couldn't be the artwork on the walls. I mean, geez, if you don't come in feeling like you're going to die, you will most definitely leave feeling like that."
He rolls back towards me, an easy going smile plastered on his face. "You're looking at this wrong. These are to give you the upper hand."
"Okay. Whatever you say. I mean you are the doctor."
He doesn't pull away. There's more, I can tell. So far, all I've heard is how good everything seems today.
"Are we done?" I ask, shifting the awkward paper gown around me.
"Iris, we need to talk about something."
"If you're about to tell me that you've fallen in love with me, need I remind you that I'm not long for this world. So, you better act fast." I pause nervously. He looks so serious. "So let's just skip the foreplay."
"Damn." He lifts my hand in his and squeezes it gently.
"Seriously, Dr. Chalmers, what on earth do we have left to talk about?"
He squeezes my hand again. "End of life stage."
End of life stage. The words hit like a brick between the eyes. I've known about it since I was diagnosed, but it was always in the distance. It was at the horizons line thoughtfully moving with the rotation of the earth. Now, it appears, the earth is actually flat. And I am skittering close to that edge.
"Iris, what's going on in your head right now?"
"Can we wait until my next visit?"
"Of course."
"I'd like to have someone here, with me. Would that be alright?"
He nods. "Am I finally going to meet Miss Gertrude?"
"Heavens no. That reminds me, I need to change my emergency contact."
"You can do that when you make your appointment for next week."
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I sit outside the coffee shop, wondering how I got so old. You never see it coming. When I was young I used to be fascinated by old women with snow white hair. I thought that one day I would go to bed with brown hair and wake the next morning with hair of white, like the lawn when it snows overnight. But age isn't like that. It's sneaky, working slowly. Taking away your youth and energy like a convict digging a tunnel with a spoon. It's slow, one spoonful after another.
A young mother pushes a stroller by me. I glimpse the child looking up at the trees. This child is looking up, while I'm looking down. Carefully avoiding roots and raised passages of cement. Can't fall, might hurt myself. What does it matter?
Who will mourn me? Gertrude? She'll miss me, of course, but she will shuffle her life around to fill the void I left.
I stop to rest, reaching into my purse for my phone. I pull up my contacts. Jameson's name and number come up. I don't call. I can't get into the habit of calling him whenever I'm afraid. He has his own problems. I cannot drag him into mine.
He owes me nothing.
Author Notes
Sorry it's short.
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