I Dream of Jeannie

by Marie Delgado Travis

I often dream of Jeannie.  Sometimes I think of a wonderful bit of news I’d love to share with her and pick up the phone.  But then, I remember and hastily put down the receiver.  Although she was "Anglo" and I a so-called "Minority," Jean was one of the first students to befriend me in our Catholic high school in the upper Bronx.  Our friendship would last more than 40 years, yet even that long time-span seems truncated now.

As teens, we attended birthday and Christmas parties at each others' home.  I never told her that her parents´ chip and dip parties were dull compared to my folks´ lively Latin dance sessions in the projects.   On the contrary, I was always moved to receive an invitation from Jeannie and felt the warmth that she and her family extended to me and their other teenage guests.

I attended Jeannie’s wedding to Bill, whom she met while studying environmental sciences at a prestigious university in upstate New York.  This was well before the issue of the environment had become popular.  Had she not been one of the very few Girl Scouts in our high school, I would have found her interest in nature quite amusing for someone who had grown up in the inner city.

Jeannie and I exchanged photos of our children as they grew to adulthood.  And when she moved from her Bronx tenement building to a rural Midwest I had only read about, I looked forward to her chatty Christmas  newsletters about her family, pets and life in a real house in the country.

One New Year's Day, I noted on my caller ID that I had missed a phone call.  The area code was unfamiliar, but in light of the day’s significance, I instinctively dialed the number. It was Jeannie calling from her new home in Kansas to wish me a happy holiday.  She apologized for not getting her Christmas cards out in time that year.  It was due to their recent move, she explained.  And, oh yes, she said casually, she had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  "But with mastectomy, chemo and radiation treatments, I'm doing really well," she added quickly.

Concerned, despite her assurances, I reminded her that a reunion would be taking place at our high school in a few months time.  Sensing she might need someone just to listen, I suggested that we share a hotel room together, if she could attend.   We met at the airport in New York City and I was amazed by her enthusiasm and energy.   It was only when Jeannie removed her glasses that I received a disturbing insight into the ordeal she had endured.   Harrowed was the word that leapt to mind when I saw her usually bright hazel eyes framed by dark circles and wrinkles incongruent with her not quite 50 year old body.

During our weekend together, Jeannie never really dwelt much on her illness, except to say that she had completed her therapy and the doctors were hopeful that they had found the cancer at an early stage.  But when we dimmed the lights in our room, she revealed something totally unexpected.  In a tone that seemed so foreign to me as a highly expressive Latina, Jeannie stated matter-of-factly that husband Bill had never loved her.   I did not want to probe further, because over the years, Bill had become my friend, too.  Disturbed that she could even think such a thing, I blurted, "Jeannie, Bill never would have stayed with you for 25 years, if he didn’t love you!"  But she seemed unconvinced.

The following day at lunch, as we caught up on the details of our lives, she mentioned that Bill, a volunteer firefighter, had taken lessons so he could dance with her at the Fireman's Ball.  I lit up and said, "You see, Jeannie, there are lots of ways to say I love you.  And one of them is learning to dance for your wife, when you don’t want to."  And in the crowded New York City restaurant, she began to cry.

Over the next few years, Jeannie's cancer would continue to spread:  first to the liver, then to the lymph nodes, eventually to her lungs.  We joyfully celebrated each remission, as she continued to beat the odds with traditional and later, experimental treatments.  On one such occasion, she traveled alone by train twenty two hours each way to be with her former classmates.

Once again, she and I shared a hotel room.  She apologized as she took off her wig.  I assured her that she always looked beautiful to me.  I inquired how her relationship with Bill was going. She responded, "Better.  I guess cancer brings people closer together." I said gently, "Jeannie, that's only true when someone loves you.  Otherwise, I should think cancer would tear people apart."  I wasn't sure, however, if my words were at all persuasive.

At our last meeting, Bart, one of my dearest classmates, and our spouses had to bring the reunion to Jeannie in the Midwest.  We never expected her to enter the room we had reserved for the occasion in a wheel chair, pushed by her obviously very tired and distraught husband.  Bill looked, in fact, like he might suffer a heart attack at any moment.  Paper-thin, Jeannie breathed with the aid of a portable oxygen tank.   I was dismayed by the ominous pallor of her skin.  Had Bart and I imagined the delicate condition she was in, we never would have arranged the get-together.

Despite the initial trauma of seeing Jeannie in such poor health, I couldn’t help but observe that that Jeannie was very neatly and prettily attired.  Her cheerful print dress fit loosely, not unexpectedly, as her weight had dwindled to seventy five pounds, almost fifty pounds less than her normal weight.  I wondered if Bill had selected the dress for her.  It was he who called me to say that Jeannie’s health was declining rapidly and could her classmates do something special for her, before it was too late?

I knelt next to Jeannie’s wheelchair and touched her curly greyish-brown hair, which had grown back once doctors discontinued her treatments, judging them futile.  "Your hair looks pretty, Jeannie."  She smiled, confessing that Bill done her hair.  I held her tiny hand; half fearful that it would break and whispered for her ears only, "You see, Jeannie, Bill loves you

very much!"

In spite of her extremely frail physical condition, Jeannie’s memory and indomitable spirit of friendship were flawlessly intact.  We reminisced happily about our high school days, favorite teachers and the fullness of our lives after graduation.  It was only when we began to say our goodbyes that Jeannie realized that her oxygen tank had long run empty.  Miraculously, she had been breathing on her own and without difficulty for much of the evening.

That was her last outing.  When I received the message little more than a week later, I was deeply touched to hear that Jeannie entered heaven as her husband Bill gently brushed her hair.

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MARIE DELGADO TRAVIS is an award-winning writer.  She writes poetry and prose in English and Spanish.  Her poem, "The Window" recently won Second Prize in the international Tom Howard Poetry Contest (over 1,600 entries received).  Visit Marie's website.   Contact: Marie Delgado Travis