I wasn’t sure if she was Icelandic or American, and I wondered why I was even thinking that. I said hi when she sat down in the window seat of the plane, where it turned out I was in the wrong seat. I apologized and offered to change, but she didn’t mind and said it was fine the way it was. We didn’t talk after that. She looked young middle aged, but I am terrible with women’s ages. I would have put her mid-40s, not much younger, but women can look that age and be 10-20 years older. Maybe she was mid-50s. I’m operating in my late 70s, so I perhaps I can be forgiven my estimates. On this night flight to Reykjavík, she chose English for the Icelandic movie that played, so one question seemed to be answered. I slept poorly, head dropping, waking me up, then lifting my head, falling back asleep, head dropping again. I hadn’t done an overnight flight for years, and I had forgotten how much I dislike that sleep pattern.
Aircraft lighting and outdoor lighting finally both appeared more or less simultaneously, and we landed not long after in Keflavik. On the bus ride from the plane to the terminal, my seat mate was near me and we started to talk. She said she was going to apologize to me for leaving the window shade open, but it didn’t matter, she continued, as I had taken the blanket I had and buried myself completely in it, conserving at the time both heat and darkness. Her voice was calm and pleasant to listen to. She was traveling for the eclipse, as was I. We talked extensively after we got off the bus and during what seemed to be an interminable hike to customs and immigration. I found myself talking a great deal, because she wanted to know about eclipses, this being her first trip to one, and I was taking my thirtieth. She was from Seattle, I from Eugene, now in full eclipse chasing mode, teaching about eclipses. At one point, her phone was open as she wrote down an eclipse web site I suggested, and I briefly saw “Good morning, Angela,” on the screen. I stayed silent. No need to use her name; we wouldn’t be seeing each other again, and use of her name would be a blatant admission I had seen her screen and noted her name. Men don’t think much of this sort of information gathering or for that matter don’t think much of walking alone; for women, walking alone one does with considerable forethought; personal information gathered by others surreptitiously is scary. I kept my knowledge quiet.
I told her I hadn’t been thinking of coming to this eclipse because I had been sick the prior year, but was now OK and decided to come, although only with a few months warning. By now, we were walking together in one of those serpentine lines airports have for crowds. We were going to be a while. The self-check in kiosks were all out of use, and we were doing check in the old way, by people.
“What kind of illness did you have?”Angela asked from behind me. I had, after all, opened the door to this discussion.
“I had prostate cancer and radiation,” I replied, with a quick head turn. “I am also on hormonal blockers. I don’t have any testosterone.” I said it all normally, for that is my normal life now. I do well, not as well as I once did, but I can do volunteer work. While I can’t hike as fast or carry as much, and my endurance is limited, I can do a lot. And that isn’t factoring in my age, which I didn’t mention. Angela could see me and knew I was old.
Matter of factly, s replied, “I had ovarian cancer 20 years ago.”
Before I could reply, she continued. “It’s come back.”
I stopped short, turned around, and stuttered, “I am so sorry.”
She was too young for this; no; any age is wrong for ovarian cancer. She was likely diagnosed in her thirties or forties. She had done well, until now. Angela thanked me. She really wanted to see this eclipse. I wanted to see it, too. Two people, two cancers, two different futures, linked by wanting to see totality. I always want first timers to see an eclipse; I’ve been going to them for 35 years, I’ve seen plenty. I’m a retired doc, but I don’t ask medical questions of people unless invited. Too often, when I have brought up my own issues, I have been the recipient of advice, especially “should” and “must” in the second person, judgmental comments I don’t desire. I won’t inflict that sort of behavior on others. Angela had a bad disease; I had acknowledged it. Anything further would have to come from her.
“I’m going to New York this fall as well,“ Angela continued, “and my son and I were in Italy last spring.” OK, she has a son, so mid-fifties is right, mid-sixties not out of the question.
I was wondering whether these were “go now while I still can” trips. Angela was interested in my discussion of the August 2 eclipse next year but nothing after that. She was returning to the US same day as I, but a different flight. I wasn’t the only person doing an in and out for this eclipse.
I occasionally have these moments like the one with Angela. I call them, “I have no problems moments.” Well of course I have problems. Everybody does. I had cancer. But I still do much of what I did, although not as fast and with not the same endurance. I have changed what I do, but that might have been coming anyway. I’m not complaining, and I haven’t heard anybody else complaining either, although if they are, I am not listening. I’m a good listener to others, but I don’t have any desire to listen to modal verbs in the second person any more.
Angela cleared immigration before I, waved, and we never saw each other again. She was going up to Snaefellsness. The eclipse was rained out, my fourth fail in 30 trips. I later heard from a friend who said, “Should have gone to Spain.” I was annoyed. I had my reasons for what I did, I’m an experienced eclipse chaser; again I don’t like second person modals.
I can hope Angela gets to see next year’s eclipse, and I hope that maybe she will get more time than it appeared she was letting on, too. But it seems like a stretch. I don’t know. I wished we had talked initially on the plane. Yes, it would have kept me awake when I was trying to get as much sleep as I could on the flight, but maybe the talk would have relaxed me, too, and maybe her. In any case, it’s in the past.
I hope Angela has more future.
Sun Voyager, Reykjavík
Boreal B[l]og 