Fruity Gelato

The physician told her nonsense, and she wept sorrowful tears one night, sharing the nonsense with me. “I might Firdy, i might have breast cancer,” she told, “don’t tell anyone please. Promise me.”

“Promise me Vernice,” I whispered, courageously to her ear, “promise me to never have cancer.”

She nodded, and gently i, stoked her back, trying to stop the vicious tears from tearing her heart, or mine.

***

But the sky was bright, though my heart was broken, though she wasn’t smiling; i was.

“Hey,” i asked, “can i buy you ice-cream?”

On the day when the sky was bright, and my heart was broken, and she wasn’t smiling though i was, or at least in front of her i was; I had told her of amazing fruity gelato that could cure cancer, and turn sour days sunnier, and people would laugh their worries out, scooping out fruity gelato from tiny cups, licking cold mango ice-cream, or the kiwi flavour.

She listened to my lies, and agreed it was a terrible way to lie about fruity ice-cream, but the white train; but the white train on a single beam didn’t mutter a word and traveled us quietly, and safely, to where the ice-cream was.

“We’re celebrating it,” I smiled, “you don’t have cancer Vernice.”

“I don’t know la. Have to wait for the ultrasound.” She couldn’t really smile, on the day where the sky was bright, and there was ice-cream to share.

“But you don’t have cancer, I’m sure it was just a benign lump in your breast, that’s why the second doctor told you to come for the ultrasound only after your period.” I scooped out the ice-cream, and let the flavour linger in my mouth, thinking what to say next.

“But my period still has not come la.” Told her.

I didn’t study medicine, nor did i read a lot of medical journals, but i said it with confidence, and hid a little hope underneath the silly confidence I said, “Hey, some people you know, they develop symptoms even before their mens,” i tried, “i think it’s a good indication, a way of a body tells a person that she’s healthy.”

But it would shatter my heart, that you’re so pretty and young, to worry about having breast cancer. And it would shatter my hope, that you’re so pretty and young, and if i was wrong.

Was i wrong my dear? Did the ice-cream heal the cancer? I waited for a few weeks until she posed for a picture, cancer free.