She had never run a marathon
until she received word from
her sister that her cancer was
malignant. That changed her
phone-call greeting from “Hi, Pat.
What’s happening?” to “Hi, Pat.
Is there anything I can do for you?
How about lunch?” Pat always
replied, “Yes!” When they exited
the car to go to the luncheonette
Pat lagged a bit behind, bent over
like a scalene triangle, but
remained game, despite her lack
of appetite. Food smelled like
shit and tasted like copper.
“How ‘bout we split that check?”
she said, pulling out her purse,