I hadn’t seen her since we worked in downtown Frederick
together. We met at Tauraso’s, when I was 18 and trying to get out of
Frederick, desperately and fast. I asked her what her story was as she stood by
the focaccia. She was on the older side to be starting her career as a
waitress. She had white hair and translucent skin that was borderline albino.
She was a Midwest gal, grieving the loss of her parents and wanting to keep
busy.
I had moved to Miami and was back visiting eight years
later and my dad told me he saw my old friend Alice working at the Starbucks
off 85. The next day I stopped by for a frappuchino and she was in the coffee
shop version of the “weeds”. She didn’t have time for eye contact but she did manage
to scribble something on a napkin and hand it to me along with the verbal
instruction to open it once I was outside.
I obeyed and could barely handle the suspense, why couldn’t
I open it inside? I was sucking down on that frappuchino when I opened it.
There were two things written inside. Her phone number. This statement.
I have cancer.
Alice and I had been through a lot together and I had spent
a good amount of time with her since my pattern of befriending women over 50
was becoming well established. From listening to her over the years, I gathered
she was a photographer for Frank Lloyd Wright, was meant to be married to
her first love who tragically ended his own life right before the wedding and
her passion of sailboating had to be stopped due to her incredibly mid west
whiteness. When we worked at Tauraso’s she repeatedly would tell me of the home
she was looking for in Scotland to retire in.
Scotland?Great! When can I visit?I was sure she was going to get out of Frederick first and live out my ex patriot dreams. However, things never seemed to materialize with Alice. She promised me over 10 times she would take my pictures but she always cancelled because the light wasn’t right. She was convinced I should be a model and if it would get me out of Frederick faster, I would have done more than model for her.
Now, she was a Starbucks barista passing out cancer napkins
to friends she hadn’t seen in awhile. I was on my way to the airport and I must
of had to blow my nose, because I lost the napkin before I ever got the chance
to call and console her. You give someone your number and a cancer confession
and the least you expect is a phone call. There has to be a better way to come
out of the cancer closet. I tried calling Starbucks to get her number but they
wouldn’t give it to me. It was hopeless
trying to explain. She has cancer and she gave me a napkin with her number on
it, but I lost it, can’t you bend the rules? This is cancer we are talking
about.
A few years later and I was back
in Frederick, getting some coffee at the Starbucks downtown and I ran into her.
Hey Alice! How’s the cancer? She started the conversation there, so I figured it was appropriate to continue it.
It’s in remission.
Oh, that’s great, what are doing with yourself?
She told me she was working across the street at Acacia and
that she was late and she couldn’t talk.
I said, oh ok-I will come and see you so we can catch up.
Hey what happened to Scotland, I managed as she was walking out the door.
I got Cancer!
Alice waited on me at Acacia, I filled her in on the last
years. Told her I finished my first book, she said she wanted to buy a copy. I
told her I would let her read it if she gave me feedback. So we set up a time
to meet the next day or so, and I never saw her again because she got food
poisoning.
Despite all the uncertainty of our friendship, Alice was a
good friend, she listened and was there for me in bad moments of my life. We
worked at Tauraso’s together and she got me a job at Venuti’s when I was going
through my most severe depression. Having a glass of wine after a long shift
with her seemed to make the days go by easier. She was peculiar, my friend and
I am still waiting for my photoshoot, whatever else the case may be, I am sure of this. She was a trendsetter.
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