The only woman here at Remaining Men Together, the testicular cancer support group, this woman smokes her cigarette under the burden of a stranger, and her eyes come together with mine.
Faker. Faker. Faker.
Short matte black hair, big eyes the way they are in Japanese animation, skim milk thin, buttermilk sallow in her dress with a wallpaper pattern of dark roses, this woman was also in my tuberculosis support group Friday night. She was in my melanoma round table Wednesday night. Monday night she was in my Firm Believers leukemia rap group. The pat down the center of her hair is crooked lightening bolt of white scalp.
When you look for these support groups, they all have vague upbeat names. My Thursday evening group for blood parasites, it’s called Free and Clear. The group I go for brain parasites is called Above and Beyond. And Sunday afternoon at Remaining Men Together in the basement of Trinity Episcopal, this woman is here, again.
Worse than that, I can’t cry with her watching.