What Happens When Mrs. Kravitz Won’t Shut Up? Coco’s Journey; Chapter 19

by Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

Ovarian Cancer; Gossip; Discouragement

Coco laughed thinking about her encounter with the little boy. Honesty is such a beautiful trait—and he possessed it. When she considered her striking appearance, given the baldness, it made her understand where little Phillip was coming from. How many glistening top women were roaming around this neighborhood—sane ones anyway? She was the only one—that she was aware of.

As she replayed the conversation, she turned the next street corner and noticed a woman watering her flowers. She had never seen her before, even though they only lived a few blocks away.  

“Good morning,” Coco said, feeling the shortness of breath. “You have the prettiest flowerbeds.”

“Thank you… They are really pretty this year.” Suddenly the woman stopped, turned her head at a funny angle and said, “Are you ok?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You seem... short of breath. And... Oh… I don’t know,” she said staring.

Coco had just seen that same expression on the last block with the little boy. Been there, done that. Then she smiled. “I assume you are talking about this,” pulling her hat off. “It’s just a... temporary hairstyle,” chuckling.

“Cancer, huh?”

“Yes,” nodding.

"Are you still getting treatment?"

"Just finished last week. And I am out celebrating."

“Congratulations... And..."

"And what?"

"Well I just... just... hope you are doing better than this woman I know.” 

Coco did not respond initially, but it seemed obvious this stranger was waiting for her to ask about the woman she had just mentioned. After a pause, she finally acquiesced, "what kind of cancer does she have?"

“She has ovarian cancer." Then the stranger stepped closer. "And I hate to say this, but she is not doing well. I see her all the time, trying to do yard work and such, but I think she is clueless about what she really has. It makes me so sad how naive she is. I mean come on. She has ovarian cancer. I guess I said that already, didn’t I?" Coco wanted to cut in, but immediately the woman continued. "Anyway… I don’t think anyone has ever survived that deal. Some days I just want to walk up to her and say, give it up honey. There is nothing they can do for you. But just when I think about doing that, she looks at me with her little puppy eyes and I hold back." The woman was shaking her head no. "And I’m not sure if that’s the right thing to do. I think she is just living in la-la land,” now moving closer to Coco. Her voice went down to a whisper. “But then I guess that’s not really my place to say those things. But heavens to Betsy, she ought to just go on the internet and look things up.” Now she was no more than a foot away.

“If I were her, I would just quit—now. It’s not worth going through all the treatment. She’s had surgery and tons of chemotherapy. She probably throws up every day. And after all the chemotherapy she went through, let me just tell you, she just looked awful... Not like you of course," pointing her finger at Coco. "She was sicker than most people I think, probably because of the kind of cancer." Then she looked around like someone might overhear them. "I heard her toenails fell off. And she looks like she lost thirty pounds.” Then suddenly a smile crossed her face. “But you know what, she could stand to lose the thirty pounds, if you know what I mean.” The discouraging woman could not stop talking. 

This is really getting weird, Coco thought. The obnoxious neighbor was resurrecting every fear Coco possessed or had possessed—all of it now came rushing back in. Why is this woman so free with her words—painful as they were? She could not believe that any grown person, or anyone with any thread of kindness, could be so insensitive and stir up the raging battle cancer patients experience—the battle that wants to survive--the battle that looks for hope. But this woman apparently was not like everyone else. She was a Mrs. Gladys Kravitz on steroids. Babbling. Noisy. Uneducated. Thoughtless. And frankly cruel. This conversation needed to end—and it needed to end ten minutes ago. 

It was time to keep walking. This woman, hellbent on destroying everything the morning represented, was not going to destroy any more of it. 

Yada. Yada. Yada. On she went. Empty words, but never-ending words.

Coco snatched up her phone, looked at the blank screen and said, “My phone just sent me a reminder about an appointment. I better get going. Nice talking to you,” when she suddenly turned and walked away.

“I enjoyed talking to you,” the stranger said. “Hey, I forgot to ask, what kind of cancer do you have anyway?” now almost yelling as Coco’s distance grew.

Coco would not turn back. 

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