Three Weeks in Spring

Chapter 23

Wednesday, April 30

And the students came from Endicott. Sometimes the girls came alone, sometimes they came in groups, three or four at a time. In each instance Joan had to tell them and then relieve the weight of their knowledge, had to be upbeat and easy in her presentation. The girls took it well and responded to the vitality of Joan’s recovery.

“And how’s Big Bobbo doing in class?” she asked.

“He’s just like you said he was,” Teddi told her.

“He does not look happy coming into class,” Kim said.

Joan laughed. “Oh, you should hear him bitch about it.”

“He’s nice though,” Teddi said.

“Oh, yes,” Kim said. “He’s nice in class. But you know he is not pleased.”

“I am going to ask you ladies,” Joan said, “not to tell anyone on campus what my surgery was. I would prefer to tell them myself. When I come back I’ll tell my classes. But I would rather they hear it from me.”

Both girls nodded and promised. Joan made the request of every student who came to visit. As far as she knew everyone kept her promise. No one told.

And Sharon Taylor came. Joan had not seen her since her abortion and she had a double problem with Sharon. Joan had to tell her of the surgery and relieve her guilt feelings. I want to rub her nose in it a little too, Joan thought. I may be Nora Noble, but I will get a little revenge pleasure too, before I help her through it. But not much. She was a plus. Her dilemma helped us think less about ours.

“Sharon,” she said, “let me tell you about my surgery.” It was devastating for Sharon. Her eyes filled and she flushed as Joan told her.

“Oh my God, Mrs. Parker.” Joan knew the memory of all their conversations was coming back and painfully, to Sharon. She had said that the Parkers could never know the kind of pain she and Mike were suffering. She had spent hours talking about her problems to a woman who had breast cancer. “Oh my God, Mrs. Parker.”

“Sharon. You and Mike were good for us,” Joan said. “Your story, weaving in and out of our own, that was a good thing. It was not wrong for you. And it gave us something to do and something to think of. You helped us through this.”

“But all the time Mike and I were there, talking about ourselves.”

“Ace and I both feel that it was much better than us talking about ourselves,” Joan said. “That would have been the pits.”

For Joan the students were another reward. She invested a large part of herself in them. And their visits and their concern for her were, as she said, “a payoff. My investment in them has really paid off.”

“Ms. Chips,” Ace said, alone with her briefly after visiting hours before he went home.

“Look at the cards,” she said. “And the flowers. The kids have really rallied round. They care. I needed to know that.” She was high, he knew. Animated as she always was by human feedback.

Thursday, May 1

Ruth Sullivan came to visit. A very tall big-breasted woman, wearing an incongruous wig. She had the soft voice and lack of affect of someone who’s had extensive analysis. She taught English with Ace at Northeastern, and she too had breast cancer. Joan was never clear on the details of Ruth’s cancer, they were not close friends, but she remembered the visit vividly as one full of unspoken things and inarticulate questions. With Ruth were two other women and the husband of one of them. Ace was there. They never mentioned Ruth’s cancer, but Joan sensed that Ruth wished she could. The tension was very tangible beneath the bright chatter. The women seemed less easy than anyone had. Joan knew that among them there were feminist positions more extreme than hers, and she felt a certain disapproval from them at her willingness to undergo mastectomy, and almost a disappointment that it was not a more crucial moment in her life.

When they left Joan said to Ace, “Jesus, there was a lot that wasn’t being said.”

“Yeah, Ruth really wanted to talk with you, I think, but she couldn’t bring herself to it. Maybe if she’d been alone.”

“Maybe,” Joan said, “she’ll call me.”