best self-appointed oncologist yet
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| Leafy greens are good for your health. |
When Bronwyn and Kathy left, a guy with dreadlocks
approached the table. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
Not to presume what it might be, but let’s see, the last two
strangers to strike up a conversation at Buster’s had said, respectively, “You’re
so brave!” and “Why you not have hair?”
“I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about an
oncologist,” he said. “Do you have cancer?”
“Yeah, I’m going through cancer treatment,” I said, because
the chemo is for hypothetical, microscopic, undetected cancer. The only cancer
we knew about for sure is gone, bitches.
“Have you tried medical cannabis?”
“Sort of…. I mean, I haven’t had a really hard time with
chemo side effects or anything.”
For years, I would explain to people that I just didn’t get
high when I smoked. Some benevolent pothead in the group would say, That’s because you’re not doing it right. I’ll
get you high. Then they’d try, and I
wouldn’t feel anything stronger than I’d get from a couple of sips of wine. Finally,
I stopped taking drags when joints were passed around because I realized that
to do so would officially mean I was smoking just to look cool.
“Is it okay if I pray for you?” Dreadlocks asked.
“Sure, thanks.”
He bowed his head and retreated. I kept working on my
freewrite. When he left a while later, he handed me a lumpy, folded envelope
and whispered, “For your health.”
That’s what I call faith in action, y’all.
Comments
AL: I'll consider it liked. I like you.
S: You'll be pleased to know he was an African-American gentleman, or at least partly.
B: Humanity lives at Buster's.
C: Right? I was like, way to walk the walk!