FRIDAY, MAY 12

PINK RIBBON IT SAYS on the bracelet I’ve just slipped over my wrist. In the bookstore we pass a pile of books on the way to the thrillers and bestsellers. Help, My Wife Is Pregnant! I read.

“That’s supposed to be good, too, but I don’t particularly want to read it.” Chantal walks straight on to another pile of books, one without pregnancies, ovarian tubes, or bibs. She must feel so lonely in a room like this with so many stories. Stories about falling in love, getting married, having babies, growing old. For her this is all past tense.

We have a drink on the terrace of the Café Pilsvogel. As I pluck at my pink bracelet I realize I’m missing my yellow one. Lost yet another. Yellow stands for a lot: Marco, Salvatore, and Lance. Pink is for Chantal, trapped in a body full of cancer. I won’t lose this one; I made sure to get the smallest size.

Chan is drinking wine; I’m having tea. Chan has a great tan and beside her I look almost see-through. But she’s riddled with cancer and I’m clean. As I work through the foodplatter in front of us, Chantal tells me she’s been having a hard time seeing the point lately. Her cynical tone permeates everything she says, whether it’s about foodplatters, doctors, or love.

“Nothing is fun anymore. I don’t know what’s wrong, but when I wake up all I want to do is go right back to sleep. Everyone thinks I’m having a great time because I spend every day sitting in bars laughing and joking around, but I’m only there because, really, I’m all alone.”

I take another bite.

“In ten years’ time—if I make it that far—I won’t be able to use my arm, the doctors told me. From the radiation.”

“Oh, well, luckily you won’t be around by then,” I say.

“Sure you won’t have a glass of wine?” she asks.

“No, thanks.”

“You know, I’ve been having the worst headaches lately. Sometimes they keep me up at night.”

“Are you worried?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. A few weird things happened this week.”

“Like what?”

“My friend Ellen came around last night, and when I went to open the door to let her in, I forgot how to turn the key. The same thing happened on the toilet. I forgot how to flush.”

“That could get dirty.”

Chantal doesn’t laugh. Neither do I. “Have you gone to see your doctor yet?”

“She’s on vacation.”

“So what, she has colleagues, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, she does. But I’m seeing her on Thursday, I’ll just ask her then.”

“Chan, that’s a week from now, why don’t you go before then?”

“I’ll see how it goes.”