MARGARET’S CHOICE

From a plastic bag she removes a small ash tray, lays it on the nite table in her Astor Hotel room. What does Margaret care if there are ‘no smoking’ signs in the lobby, on elevators, in the halls? She opens her antiquated silver cigarette case, flicks her Bic and takes a long, deep drag on a Marlboro.

There is little for her to unpack as there is almost no hope of getting any part, even the most trivial, in another revival of ‘Oklahoma.’ Self analysis makes it clear that she smells of smoke, her fingers are yellowed and would be a deterrent, a physical risk for the new Angel.

The Cattle Call line snakes around the block. Why am I here? I must be crazy, she thinks. I’m chasing a faded rainbow. Her mind see-saws, stick it out; Idiot, get the bus and go home. Go hide and have a smoke to calm down. No, throw the pack in the Hudson River. Add the cigarette case. No, keep the case. That’s all I have of Eddie.

The audition line moves like a dying side-winder. At last, Margaret reaches the marquee and the shade. It helps, but not much. Turning to the fresh, stacked, squeaky clean Cow behind her, she asks, ‘Will you hold my place for me? I have to go to the loo. I’ll hold yours when I get back.’ With a partially honest ‘thanks a lot’ she almost runs to the outside toilets. It stinks in there but a cig is worth standing it. Catastrophe! Her Bic slips from her nervous hand and drops in the toilet. It’s the only lighter she brought with her. The Horns of a Dilemma rear. The flush toilet looks clean and the lighter is reachable but it is wet and won’t work. With a frustrated sigh, she pulls down her panties and pees, flushes and returns to the line. The girl behind her let’s Margaret into the line as it is moving faster. They are almost at the theatre doors. Margaret gives the young girl a silly military salute and walks away.

Disgruntled with herself she stops at a Going Out of Business store, goes in and buys two Bics, lights up as soon as she gets out the door, inhales until the smoke touches her ankles. She checks out of the hotel and heads back to Northbridge, home NOT sweet home. There she mopes and smokes. Her last x-ray report from the MRI Center has been delayed. It was not a good report three months ago so this one is going to be worse. She’s been foolish but has never been stupid.

Looking up into the sky, she cries, ‘Momma, Momma, can you hear me? You were right. I knew you were right but I had to defy you. You could not rule me. I had to be ME. And, Momma, I am not afraid. Rest, Momma.’

It takes a year for that week to end. She can see right thru Dr. Glassman. He’s going to want her to start chemo at once even though they both know it won’t save her. ‘Dr. , how long do I have?’ With no hesitation he replies, ‘Not much. Get your affairs in order, maybe six months, a little more, a little less.’ He is not surprised to hear strong words. ‘Right now, get out the legal papers. No chemo. Let me go. No resuscitation. No prolonging my life. You have checked, told me my heart is good, my eyes are good. So far the cancer has not metastasized, right?’ Dr. Glassman lowers his head and replies, ‘Right, Margaret.’

‘As soon as I am comatose, do nothing. Let me die. I want to be a donor. Take my heart, my eyes, my skin. Give them to those who are smarter than I have been.’ ‘You are sure, Margaret? There will be no turning back.’ ‘Yes, just give me the papers.’ The doctor’s nurse witnesses the signatures on three separate forms. An assistant from the outer office notarizes them.

Margaret leaves, reaches the doorway to the street, opens the door, walks out, lights up a Marlborough with her new Bic, looks back towards the sky again and says, ‘ Momma, I’ll see you soon.’ She takes a long, deep drag.