Question for the week
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Each day a different chapter from The Square Root of Someone is featured. Readers often ask if the essays are true. Every single one is.
Goodbye, Gary
I was on a roll. My brain and fingers worked feverishly together at the computer, as ideas flowed from one to the other. I was aware of how good it felt to be at work when the jangle of the telephone interrupted my concentration. It took the full four rings to decide whether to let the caller go to voicemail; but at the last second I picked up.
“Hello.”
"Anne, it's Gary.”
I heard a quick intake of breath.
“I’m calling to say goodbye."
Gary was a business acquaintance. We were not particularly close, but he had come through for me a couple years back when I was in a real jam.
"Are you moving?"
"No, I’m dying."
I smiled, and it was probably good that he couldn’t see through the telephone line. But I was struck with how typical this was. Gary had the ability to cut through the muck and the mess and assess a situation clearly. If he said he was dying, then it was so.
I didn’t say anything, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“The cancer has spread,” he finally said.
“I’m so sorry,” I told him. And I truly was.
I thought of how I’d turned to him in need. My client had given me part of my fee which I, in turn, gave to a graphic designer whom I’d subcontracted to help me. How was I to know the designer would take my money and never deliver the work? Frantic, I went to see Gary at his office. Inside half an hour and several cigarettes, Gary arranged for another designer to do the work for free, provided I did some writing for free in exchange. I would always be grateful.
The last time I saw Gary was about a year ago. I’d asked him to lunch, mostly to catch up on each other’s lives; and we agreed to meet at some nondescript coffee shop near his office. I don’t remember the name; but I do remember that, when I arrived, Gary was already sitting in a booth in the nonsmoking section. The other strange thing was that his head was completely bald.
Over lunch I thanked him again for saving me. It was then that he talked about discovering he had lung cancer. There had been surgery; and, after that, he’d managed to give up his two-pack-a-day habit. Everything was under control, he told me. The additional treatments were almost complete; he was in remission; and, just in case, his wife Susan was coming into the business.
We hadn’t talk since. Until this phone call.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked. It felt like a lame thing to say, but no other words came to mind.
"I have a favor to ask,” Gary said. He paused for a split second, then said: "If Susan needs help, can I count on you?"
"Gary, you know I'll be there. Just have her call.”
“No, Anne. She doesn’t know you. She won’t call. You must call her. “
I realized I was trying to put the responsibility for doing Gary a favor onto him or his wife; maybe I was even trying to avoid it altogether. But he saw through it.
"You must call her," he repeated.
“I promise," I said. “Writer’s word.”
"Thanks. I don’t have a lot of time left. I'm telling my friends that I’m not going to make it, because I want them to hear it from me personally and not from some third party or after the fact. Then I’m going to spend the remaining time with Susan and my daughters."
Never before had anybody telephoned me with a message like that.
“I’m flattered to be included among your friends, “ I told him. "And whatever Susan needs from me, I’ll be there.”
"I wanted to hear it. Thanks, Anne. I've enjoyed being your friend too. I won’t call again. This is goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Gary.”
I put the receiver down and stared at my computer. The work on the screen no longer held my interest. Instead I clicked on the new document icon and began to write an essay about my friend. The opening sentence was: “Gary showed me that life is mostly about looking reality in the eye and not being the first to blink.”
If you like this essay and want to read more by Anne Brandt,
order an autographed copy of The Square Root of Someone
by clicking here.
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