A story about a fashion show, waiting for a life-changing text message and a jacket that’s like wearing the future. By Daniel John Smith.
Listen to the story as it was told at The Watercooler storytelling night or read on.
I like to get clothes I’ve ordered online delivered to work and when someone else at work does this we like to - well, I like to - force them to have a fashion show. Put on your new items. Show them off.
So one particular afternoon I had a package delivered. I’m opening it up, excited about trying on my new clothes and doing the fashion show.
And then I notice I’ve gotten a text. Just a two-word text. And you can write good two-word texts; “Love you” is a nice one. “I’m here” is a good thing just to text to random numbers. Then wait five minutes and follow it up with a “behind you”.
But this text is from my Mum and it’s a typical Mum text - all lowercase letters, no punctuation. The two words she’s gone with are “have cancer”.
It’s a statement, obviously, she’s not offering me cancer.
“Have cancer, I’ve got some spare ...”
Though technically any amount of cancer would be spare cancer.
I told my workmates what happened, cause I knew I was about to get a little shaky. And I called my Mum. No answer. So I texted asking things like “What cancer? What did the doctor say? Where are you?”
Now I know what you’re thinking. I bet you think I cancelled that fashion show.
This text is from my Mum and it’s a typical Mum text; all lowercase letters, no punctuation. The two words she’s gone with are “have cancer”.
I did not cancel the fashion show.
First up was my new hat. It was a white and red woollen beanie with a pom-pom, decorated with deer. I tried to pull it down over my entire body and hide from the world, but it only went down to about eye level.
I said to my workmates, “You know this’d be a nice hat to keep the ol’ noggin warm. If you lost your hair for some reason, like I don’t know ... chemotherapy, just off the top of my head.”
I’m taking the stress out on my workmates, obviously. It’s because I looked at the hat and the deer was mostly making me think about Bambi. Because Bambi’s mother lived a long and full life - oh no it was the opposite of that. That’s the plot of Bambi.
I check my phone. No reply from her. Which is frustrating, because she’s so good with her phone. One time I was at university and she called. I pick up the phone. “Hey Mum, how’s it going?” No answer. Shuffling sounds. I think I’ve been pocket-dialled.
I don’t hang up though, because when I do get pocket-dialled I always stay on the line for a couple minutes because now it’s like I’ve bugged a friend.
My Dad is a school teacher and he pocket dialled me recently. I heard him telling off a bad kid. Later, I rang him up.
“What you said this morning to Joseph was completely justified.”
Him: “What? How?”
“It’s all over the news Dad, but don’t worry, everyone’s on your side.”
I know that sounds mean, but in my defence, it’s really fun to confuse dads.
But the time my Mum called me wasn’t an accident. It was just my lovely drunk mother, positioning the phone properly so she could use both hands on the guitar while playing me Guns N’ Roses’ ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’. Guys, she thinks I’m a sweet child. Which means she loves me heaps and also might not know me super well.
This is a woman who won 70 per cent of my family’s Christmas-time women-only arm wrestling tournaments.
But the fashion show isn’t over! Next up was a blue jacket. I bought it cause it looked warm, but what I didn’t realise beforehand was that it’s coated with Teflon, like a non-stick pan. It’s amazing. It’s like wearing the future.
“Look! Teflon!” I exclaimed to my workmates.
Then a tear ran down my face and right off the jacket.
“Gone!” I said. “Just like my mother might be soon.”
My workmates are circling me now, like sharks who prey on crazy sadness. And they descended on me in a group hug motivated mainly by not knowing what else to do. But I needed to let them know that while I was obviously hurting, this dark comedy was my way of coping.
And the way I chose to tell them that was to dramatically state, “Oh, but were this heart coated in Teflon; so that nothing could touch it!”
I’m worried about my mum so I check my phone again. Nothing. Still waiting.
She’s strong though. For starters, this is the third time she’s had cancer. Also, this is a woman who won 70 per cent of my family’s Christmas-time women-only arm wrestling tournaments. Each time reclaiming the title of matriarch for another year.
The last item at the fashion show was a t-shirt for a party I was attending. The theme of the party was to dress like a douchebag, so this shirt said "FBI: Female Body Inspector". So I was going to be dressed pretty well for this party. But I looked at the shirt and I thought man, if only there were more female body inspectors. Or "doctors" as I also call them. Because early detection really is the best chance of survival.
And later that evening at the hospital, my Mum explained that there was a big chance she’d be fine. And I can now tell you she is fine. I could have said that at the start of the story, but I didn’t. She explained it wasn’t really a big deal and she was sorry about the two-word text. Which she didn’t have to apologise for … But she was right to apologise for.
After that I poured a glass of water on my arm.
“What are you doing?!” she exclaimed.
I said, “Don’t worry mum, it’s coated in Teflon.”
And like everything else about me, she thought that was confusing, but cool.
This story was originally told at The Watercooler, a monthly storytelling night held at The Basement Theatre. If you have a story to tell email thewatercoolernz@gmail.com or hit them up on Twitter or Facebook.
Illustration: Phoebe Morris.
This content is brought to you with funding support from NZ On Air.