The deli clerk was slicing turkey breast for me and I was debating whether I should get some roast beef as well. While I was deciding the clerk sighed mournfully. “I just don’t feel good,” she said.
I looked around; it was early in the morning and I was the only one at the counter. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said in a neutral tone.
She kept slicing my turkey. “I had the worst diarrhea last night, “ she said. “This morning too.” I nodded, speechless. She kept slicing. “I probably should have just stayed home today,” she said, handing me my turkey breast. I took the package, holding it squeamishly by the corner. “Is there anything else?” she said, but I was already gone.
Correctly assuming that I would never be hungry ever again I deposited the turkey in the dairy case and went to check out wondering why people feel compelled to share private details with perfect strangers. “Way too much information,” I thought to myself.
I went home and put the groceries away, annoyed because now I had no turkey for lunch. Muttering, I decided to take Ali for a walk because it was a beautiful spring day and as we walked I looked across the street and saw Helen, an elderly neighbor, walking Jerry, her little dog. It occurred to me that I had not seen her husband, Eddie, for a while; I heard he had been sick so I asked how he was doing.
Helen shook her head. “I just don’t know what to do about his coughin’” she said, peering absently at Jerry and adding, obscurely, “It’s so hard to make the right decisions.”
“You should go see Dr. Wellburn,” I said brightly. “He’s a pulmonologist at Holy Cross; he’ll have Eddie on his feet in no time.”
Helen looked at me with distaste. “If that’s your idea of a joke,” she said, “ it’s not very funny.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Eddie died yesterday,” she said. “I’m trying to decide which casket to select and you’re making jokes.” My mouth hung slack. “Come on, Jerry,” she said, “we don’t have to listen to this.” And she stormed off as I was murmuring condolences.
As Ali and I continued our walk in companionable silence, I determined not to say another word to another person for the rest of the day, if ever. As we headed home I saw another set of neighbors, Kenny and Kevin, walking towards me with their two dogs. I forgot my resolve. “Hey guys, “ I said, as they approached. “What’s new?”
“I have a brand new hip,” said Kenny. “Wanna see?” I did not but before I could say so Kenny pulled down his gym shorts to a level that may have been appropriate in a men’s locker room but was unseemly on the street. I looked at the long, angry, red scar and involuntarily stepped backwards.
“Waddya think?” said Kenny.
Kevin interrupted. “Guy does not want to see you scar,” he told Kenny, before telling me, “He shows everyone.” I nodded, speechless.
Shuddering slightly I composed myself well enough to paste on a smile and ask Kevin, “And how are you?”
Kevin sighed. ”You know I have prostate cancer?” My smile froze. “My prostate is surrounded by radioactive pellets,” he said. “I feel like I’m sitting on red-hot walnuts.” I nodded and gave Ali’s leash a hard tug. “We need to get going,” I said, a trifle frantically. “Good seeing you guys.”
“Wait,” said Kenny, “how are you doing?”
“Fine,” I said, not looking back. “Just fine.”