“You don’t look sick.”
The woman who uttered those words to me had cancer that had spread. Now we’d met in a residential clinic both trying to get our lives back.
There was one other person at the dining table and there may have been more people in the room. I watched as her words seemed to hang in the air inviting me into a battle of wills.
What was I to do? Smash the ball back? Go for the clever winning shot? Sprint to the net to make a volley?
The space widened around her words. The third diner looked at me expectantly. “Go on, we’re waiting,” the room seemed to say. Finally I spoke.
“Thank you,” I replied.
I thought I detected relief and a whiff of confusion in the air. Whatever it was, the world continued on. Now that it was over, it all seemed like an illusion.