The Line for the Bathroom

I was in San Francisco visiting with friends last week; on Saturday, we spent a glorious day at the Farmers' Market. We wandered for a couple of hours testing olive oil and eggplant and peaches. We wondered at the freshness of the melon and the olives, and the friendliness of the farmers. The sun was shining and our east coast selves seethed with envy at this abundance. The snacking make us hungry; so we sought out lunch.

I finished my roasted tomato soup and needed to visit the ladies room. As I approached, I was dismayed at the line. Again? A long line at the bathroom? It was gorgeous and sunny out and I did not want to be in a line in the dank interior. No choice, though. I took my place and noticed the woman in front of me.

She was wearing a familiar shirt: American Cancer Society Relay for Life. Purple print on white. “I was in the Relay earlier this year,” I told her. “This is my first Relay as a survivor,” she said. “Me too,” I told her. Our eyes locked and that indescribable moment happened; it's happened to me before. I know what you are going through and you know what I am going through. Relief, and the need to talk. I then found out that the Relay was occurring there and then in San Francisco. She was taking a quick bathroom break. When you're going through chemotherapy, a bathroom line is a joy. It's real life.

I never found out her name. We acknowledged the beauty of the day. We each have 2 sons and 1 daughter. Isn't every day we are here magnificent? We walked out of the bathroom together.

“What's your name,” she asked. I told her. “With a 'Ch?' I will light a luminaria in your honor.” The sobbing begins; it happens often. I'm still not used to it.

A long bathroom line can be a good thing.