« Ain’t It Somethin | Main | A Priceless Gift »

Wednesday, 27 January 2010

Gone for Good

By Johna Ferguson

About nine years ago, my closest friend and I were awaiting the arrival of one of Jeanne’s shirt-tail relatives. Alma was flying down from Juneau to see her doctors in Seattle; we guessed those in Alaska weren’t good enough for her.

Alma was formerly from Texas and spoke with a drawl more prominent that Texans themselves. She was just five feet tall with tiny feet; she always told us how she just wore a size four shoe. She had a lovely mane of bright red hair, natural for sure, and big boobs.

This time she came draped in a full-length mink coat, a new Neiman Marcus suit and wearing a five-caret diamond on her right hand. On a previous trip to Alaska for sight-seeing, she found her “sugar daddy” there and decided to stay and live in that rough, undeveloped land for all it was worth.

Jeanne asked what her medical problem was this time, as once she came down because she had a hang-nail. She quietly told us she was a little afraid about heading into menopause and wanted her doctor to explain it more to her.

She babbled on and on about this or that, but mostly about all her doings. When she was in the bedroom calling for an appointment, Jeanne asked me if I could think about any way to prevent Alma from coming anymore. She was fed-up with her antics and truthfully never wanted to see her again. It’s not like they were first or even second cousins.

I mulled it over for a few minutes and said I had an idea, but Jeanne must mean she really didn’t want her back and also must follow my cue once I stated it. She agreed emphatically. As we sat at the lunch table I brought forth my plan.

I asked Alma did she have any specific problems about menopause and she answered that she really knew nothing about it since she didn’t have a mother anymore and no really close women friends she could discuss it with. I suggested she ask the doctor about her prostate gland, perhaps that might be the cause of her concern about it starting so early. I told her if it was a little enlarged it could cause all kinds of problems in the pelvic area and she certainly wanted to avoid any of those.

Jeanne just about gagged her lunch up, but she also showed a definite concern that it might be a helpful way to start a discussion about female problems with her male OB/GYN.

Well, that ended Alma’s visits – well, all except for a phone call about two years later.

Seems Alma was flying back to Texas since her “sugar daddy” had died and left her with only the clothes she wore, plus her mink coat and diamond ring. She never mentioned her prostate, probably too angry or humiliated to bring that subject up ever again.

About six years ago, my friend also passed away. I am so sorry she didn’t live until now. She would have so enjoyed listening to and seeing Sarah; almost in my mind a true reincarnation of Alma and both of them from Juneau.

[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post


Do you think Alma could see Texas from her kitchen window?

Johna - Nice story. After I stopped laughing at your 'termination' strategy, I read on.

But I am in suspense! Have you told Sarah about her enlarged prostate yet! - Sandy

You ladies are mean!
I am having trouble with my ovaries.

Sandy: I don't think I dare ask Sarah about her prostate, but I'd sure like to.

The comments to this entry are closed.