Tuesday, September 04, 2001

Life fakes you out…

Last Wednesday evening felt almost entirely fictional.

Lucas (not his real name), Jeff (not his actual hair color), the Giant Queen (not really giant at all) and I got together for coffee (not our usual beverage).

We talked about Jeff's new job, the Giant Queen's new romantic interest — on which subject we were able to reach a rare consensus approval among us — and my new laptop computer. And then, just as casually as if he were ordering a second slice of cheesecake, Lucas said, "So, there's this thing..."

This "thing" was spotted by his doctor during a regular physical the day before, a growth where things aren't generally supposed to grow. GQ, Jeff and I sat nonplussed while Lucas sipped his latte and remained stoically and damned annoyingly plussed.

I lay awake that night until nearly 4 a.m., thinking about Lucas and the way he finally allowed his composure to slip as we clasped his hands and lingered over the second slices of cheesecake we all had eventually ordered. "I told the doctor that the only thing worse than having to face this," he said, "would be having to face it alone. He asked me if I had family in town and I told him I had something better. I had you all."

Lucas had gone out of town for the holiday — delighting, I presume, in the denial afforded by the fortuitously-timed Southern Decadence — but finally called tonight, ending the almost daily round of voicemail tag Jeff and the Giant Queen and I played for a week: "Have you heard anything? Call me. No. Have you?"

The "thing" was harmless, Lucas said, and I realized I'd been holding my breath since spotting his number on the Caller ID. I exhaled sharply, made a date for lunch next week, hung up and trembled for the next 20 minutes.

There are time when life feels fictional, true. These are often the times when life actually can't get any more real.