Friends Indeed

Walking up to the street from the subway station at my usual Wednesday night stop in New York’s West Village, I headed west on Christopher Street.

I nodded hello to the man who’d been selling newspapers on the same corner every night for years. After a few blocks I saw the sign for The Blind Tiger. Soon I’d be sitting at a table with my buddies, classic rock in the background, a football game on the pub TV.

But this was no ordinary Wednesday night. Earlier that day I’d gone to the doctor for some test results: I had colon cancer. The doctor said it wasn’t life threatening, but we needed to operate fast—followed by five months of chemo.

Immediately after getting the news I went back to my office and stared at the phone. Who to call? I was almost 50 years old. I had no wife or children.

I’d always enjoyed being a bachelor, but suddenly the idea of someone to go home to at night, to take care of me during the chemo treatments, didn’t sound so bad. Only family would do that, I thought. And I didn’t have one. God, I wondered, am I all alone in this?

I pushed open the door to the Tiger. The familiarity of the worn wooden tables, the brick fireplace and the sound of spontaneous laughter instantly soothed me. All the regulars were there: Ray, Pete, Carl, Donny, Matthew, John.

“Phily!” Matthew shouted. Matthew was a huge classic rock fan. We swapped CDs and music magazines. “I brought you the new issue of Mojo. Amazing article on Joy Division.”

Somehow I couldn’t quite summon up the enthusiasm. “Thanks,” I managed.

“Phil, where you been, mate?” John was a British expatriate. A dead ringer for Led Zeppelin’s Robert Plant, no less. “The waiter offered me a taste of their new micro brew, but I didn’t want to try it without you.”

“I would have gotten here sooner, but it’s been a long day,” I said.

“What’s up?” John asked.

I hesitated. Over the years we had shared plenty of troubles with one another. Job troubles, relationship troubles, even some philosophical troubles like figuring out the meaning of life. But this was different. This wasn’t anything a discussion with the guys could fix.

“I’ve got some bad news,” I said. “I have colon cancer.”

For the first time in recorded history, Carl, a fanatical football fan, actually turned away from the Steelers game on TV. “Phil, I’m sorry,” he said.