Saturday, June 18, 2011-- Lunch with the ladies

Saturday, June 18, 2011

The champagne colored Honda minivan rolled slowly up Stafford Avenue. Its occupants scanning right and left waiting for just the right time to stop and snatch Bill Potter off the street.

Bill didn’t see the van creep towards him as it passed the giant pine tree marking the beginning of his property. Dressed in a bright red Hawaiian shirt and khaki Dockers, he walked slowly down his driveway to his mailbox.

“There he is,” one of them shouted. “Get out and open the side door. It has child safe locks and he’ll never be able to get in.”

Sher Valenzuela, a thin athletic blonde woman, hopped out of the van and gave Bill a hug.

“Bill, you look great,” she said.

“It is so great to see you,” said Gwen Jones, the driver who owns smile a thousand meters wide. “You look so cute in your shirt and Army doo rag.

“You don’t look sick at all,” Sher said.

“Thanks guys!”

The three friends had been planning for some time to go to lunch together. Ever since Bill was diagnosed with cancer about two months earlier, dates kept sliding because of chemo appointments or work schedules.

But today, they finally were going to lunch; Bill picked an Irish place, Catherine Rooneys on Newark’s Main Street.

“What is it the Irish like, that pie or something,” Gwen asked.

“Oh Lassie,” said Bill in his best Irish brogue. “Tis the shepherds pie you’ll be wanting. Tis a feast for sure, but since tis Friday you may be wanting the fish and chips too.”

The dining room was paneled in darkly rich hues of different woods. Small tables creating an almost conspiratorial atmosphere were spread throughout the room with just enough distance between them for privacy.

“Bill this is beautiful,” Sher said. “I remember when this was something else; this came out great.”

Gwen, Sher, and Bill were ushered to a corner table where the two ladies ordered quiche and salad (Bill questioned the Irish authenticity of the choice) and he had the fish and chips.

“Take the doo rag off,” Gwen said. “I want to see how you look.”

Bill was wearing a white Army Strong doo rag emblazoned with U.S. Army recruiting logos. He recently started wearing it because much of his hair fell out from chemotherapy.

He took it off.

The front his scalp to the middle of his was bright white creating an easy to follow map of where his hair had been. The rest of his head were patches of hair fighting for a toehold like the front lawn of house full of kids.

“That’s not bad,” Sher said.

Gwen said Bill only looked like he lost some weight.

“You really do look good.”

They chatted back and forth about different things and about different challenges they each had overcome throughout the years.

Though the conversation never died, lunch finally had to end with Sher walking up Main Street to Panera to meet her husband Eli and Gwen going back to work in Wilmington.

Bill for his part had to go back to the Helen F. Graham to drop off some, er, ah bodily fluids for analysis.