The Girls From Ames Part 16

She pulls out a cloth bag. Inside of it are twenty pebbles, all with numbered stickers on them. The numbers correspond to fill-in-the-blank statements that Angela has typed up on a sheet of paper folded on her lap. Each of the girls will reach into the bag and pick a number.

"It's a great game," Angela says. "Just answer honestly. We have enough pebbles for two rounds. It's going to be fun."

"Maybe it's a good thing we're drinking wine," someone says.

Angela shakes the bag and holds it in front of Diana, who reaches in and picks out the pebble with the number 14 attached. Angela looks at her list, finds 14 and reads: "When I tell people where I'm from, they say_____."

Diana's first thought is that she is "from" Scottsdale, Arizona, where she now lives. "Sometimes I don't tell people I'm from Scottsdale," she says, "because they'll say 'Snotsdale?' So I just say I'm from Phoenix."

The girls notice, of course, that she didn't say she was "from" Ames. What was she thinking?

"Oh, yeah, of course, I tell people I'm from Iowa," Diana says. "And that's when they say, 'Idaho?' "

"When I lived in South Carolina, so many people were provincial and had never left the state," says Jenny. "I'd say 'Iowa' and they'd say 'Ohio?' "

Karen says that where she lives, outside Philly, "people think Iowa is cold and wet. They ask, 'So what is there to do there?' "

"People in Minnesota don't really like Iowa," adds Kelly. "I didn't know that until I moved there."

"In Minnesota, they say the best thing to come out of Iowa is Interstate 35," says Angela.

I-35 and then, of course, all of the Ames girls.

Next it's Sally's turn. She picks pebble 2: "The angel on my shoulder keeps saying___."

"I guess my mom is the angel on my shoulder," she decides. "Some people say, 'What would Jesus do?' I find myself thinking, 'What would JoAnn do?' And I guess JoAnn on my shoulder tells me to be less judgmental."

"I literally had this angel on my shoulder saying, 'Don't do it,' " Kelly says, "and then I did it."

"Did what?" Diana asks.

Kelly just smiles and everyone laughs.

Marilyn picks the pebble numbered 15: "None of you know it, but in my twenties I _____."

"None of you know it," she says, and pauses, "but when I was in college, I slept with some boy on a cruise s.h.i.+p-the Norwegian Cruise Line-in the Caribbean."The lineup today (left to right): Karla, Sally, Karen, Diana, Jenny, Cat hy, Kelly, Marilyn, Jane and Angela In response, there is something of a group gasp, and several girls start asking questions at once. "If everyone is quiet, I'll tell you," Marilyn says. And then she shares the story of how her older sister was the s.h.i.+p's doctor, she went along for the cruise, met some boy, and that's what happened.

Jane gets pebble 12: "You think you know me, but_____."

"You think you know me," she says, "and that I'm a pretty together person. I'm together on my job. But I'm actually a very sensitive person. I have one friend back home who is confrontational sometimes. That's hard for me. Please don't ever yell at me. I don't like being yelled at."

Karen picks pebble 6: "In ten years I'll be____."

"Fifty-four," she says, "and an empty nester, and possibly teaching again. I had a job offer for this coming year, but I turned it down. It was a Quaker preschool where my kids went to preschool. My oldest son is going into high school, my second son is in middle school. There are too many changes in our lives right now. It wasn't the right time to go back. But in ten years? I think I'll be teaching."

Jenny pulls pebble 16 from the bag: "None of you knew it, but in my thirties I____."

She thinks for a moment. And then she smiles. "None of you knew it, but I went to Egypt and had a romance with a sheik."

The other girls start buzzing. "A romance with a sheik?" Karla says, trying to picture it.

Jenny explains. It was back when she was single and worked for the congressman. The congressman was on the foreign affairs committee, and this Egyptian sheik came over on business. He asked Jenny to come to Egypt for a job interview. She was always adventurous and figured even if she didn't take the job, it'd be an experience. The sheik flew her to Egypt first cla.s.s, had a chauffeur meet her at the airport, and then he put her up in a fancy hotel suite. He took her on his private plane so they could rendezvous with his yacht in the Red Sea.

"Was it oil money?" the girls want to know.

"I'm not sure," Jenny says.

"Did you know the sheik's intentions?" the girls ask.

"I was a girl from Iowa," she says. "I thought I was going for a job interview. I believed him."

"I hope he showed you a d.a.m.n good time," Kelly says.

"He showed me a good time, he did," Jenny says. "I was supposed to be there for a week and I stayed for two. But I also had the feeling that I should do what he wanted or I might not get back home. It wasn't like I was kidnapped. It's just that women were subservient there, and I just had this sense about it all."

"Was he cute?" Karen asks.

"He was," Jenny says. "He was probably about forty-four. But he seemed so much older than we are now. It turned out to be a wonderful time, honestly."

Angela has a question. "What did you tell your parents?"

"That I went for a job interview," Jenny says, and everyone laughs.

Round two. It's Diana's turn again. She picks pebble number 11: "The most appealing famous man is _____."

"Dead or alive?" she asks.

"Try one dead and one living," someone says.

She opts for John F. Kennedy and Johnny Depp.

The other girls start naming names: George Clooney, Bono. Karen likes Jon Bon Jovi because he's still married to his high-school sweet-heart. Sally mentions Mike Rowe, host of Dirty Jobs Dirty Jobs on the Discovery Channel. (It's fitting. Of all the girls' husbands, Sally's has the most physical job. Back in Iowa, he's a project supervisor for a company called Hog Slat, which builds hog confinement units.) on the Discovery Channel. (It's fitting. Of all the girls' husbands, Sally's has the most physical job. Back in Iowa, he's a project supervisor for a company called Hog Slat, which builds hog confinement units.) Kelly says she likes Kenny Loggins. She enjoyed his 1998 book about the secrets to an undying love, written with his wife, who happened to be his former colon therapist. Kelly says she resisted the easy ways to dismiss the book: that the enema-giving Mrs. Loggins "knew Kenny inside and out," or that the couple had no prescriptions for marriage and romance, considering their 2004 divorce. Kelly says she understands that not all love lasts forever, but that doesn't mean it never existed.

Jane picks her second pebble: "In thirty years I'll be_____."

"I'll be seventy-four years old," she says, "and taking wild trips all over the world. With Justin."

"You notice she involved Justin," Karen says. "That's good." Karla picks pebble 3 out of the bag: "I'll move back to Ames when _____."

While Karla is thinking, no one says, "when h.e.l.l freezes over." And Karla soon has an answer. "I'd move back if my mother got ill and needed me," she says. Some of the others agree; they'd consider moving back to help their parents.

And then Cathy says, "I'll move back when all of you move back." It's such a perfect answer that the girls actually applaud. "We should get one big house and we'll all live there together," says Karen. Angela adds: "Or we should just build the s.h.i.+t Sisters Retirement Community."

Now it's Karen's turn, and she picks pebble 1: "The last time I cried was ______."

"Well," she says, "we've all cried this weekend." Everyone starts to enumerate-at the table over there, at two in the morning last night, in the living room the first day, when Marilyn said the blessing before dinner . . .

And then Karen gives her answer. "I cried with Cathy, talking about when her mom died, and how much I regret that I didn't make it in for the funeral," she says. "We cried with Karla over Christie. I cried with Jane when she talked about her daughter's bat mitzvah. I cried with Marilyn when she talked about her brother Billy, and the accident, and that letter she wrote."

"So you didn't cry that much this weekend," Diana says, and everyone laughs.

"Could we count how many times we laughed this weekend?" someone asks.

Karla says she has laughed so hard that she's uncomfortable. "I get tired of laughing so much when we're together," she says. "I know it's time to go when my cheeks hurt."

The cloth bag is handed over to Kelly, who picks out pebble 19: "You all think I'm _____ but really I'm _____."

Kelly takes a breath while she thinks for a moment. Someone says maybe they should have gotten the pebbles in advance. They could have formulated answers.

"No," Kelly says. "That would have felt like homework. I like doing it this way. Thinking on the spot."

The backyard is silent except for the crackling fire, as Kelly formulates her answer in her head.

She repeats the phrase from pebble 19. "You all think I'm . . . but really I'm . . ." And then slowly, drawing out her words, she says, "You all think I'm only interested in s.e.x . . ." The others laugh.

"Now you're going to feel bad for laughing," Kelly says, and starts again. "You all think I'm only interested in s.e.x, but really . . . I'm interested in finding relations.h.i.+ps as special as the ones all of you have."

She pauses, then delivers the longest response of the evening. "Having watched Karla and Bruce and their incredible relations.h.i.+p, I am searching for something equally as meaningful in my life. I left a bad relations.h.i.+p because I saw how Karla had a really good relations.h.i.+p. And I wanted that, too. That's the truth.

"I saw I had only a shadow of a loving, happy connection with my husband. Some people are content to live that way. I decided I was not, especially after seeing Karla's marriage and family, and seeing what a healthy home life looked like. And every time we are together and Karla confirms that her marriage is a ten, I feel like I have validation to find something like that in my life. In fact, all of your marriages are really up there. Your relations.h.i.+ps are strong. And I feel like I deserve that."

"You do," says Karla.

"You go, girl," Diana says.

"And, Diana, I've seen you and Bob over the years. I've seen what he does for you. That's another ten. I want that, too, in my life." Kelly has gotten slightly tearful. Jenny reaches out and takes her hand, a kind and sisterly impulse that swells Kelly's emotions even more.

"And I know you think I'm just crazy," Kelly says, "and that I'm not finding the right guys and I'm just looking for fun. But really, I am looking for something as wonderful as what you all have. That's all I want. Something that simple, that wonderful, that easy."

"I hope you find it," Karla says softly.

"I know I will," Kelly says. "Part of me feels like I'm on my way there. I know it's somewhat disturbing to watch me get there." Everyone laughs. "And it's a little bit frightening, because I have a lot of fun finding my way. But you guys have confirmed for me that I need to keep doing what I'm doing. I need to keep searching, looking, trying . . . and that I'll get there. I will. Anyway, I thank all of you."

Some of the other girls wipe away their own tears. And then a few take turns hugging Kelly. They stand by the fire for a few more minutes, then one by one head into the house to get ready for bed. In the morning, the reunion will be over, and everyone will need to head off for the airport.

20.The Women from Ames

It is before dawn on Monday morning, and the Ames girls rouse each other, dress pretty quickly, zip up their suitcases, and then gather in Angela's large kitchen for their final cups of coffee together.

No one says they wish the reunion would last any longer. They're not exactly talked out-there's always more to say-but they're all pretty ready to get back to their children, husbands and current lives.

As the sun rises, they take a final look at the tobacco field beyond Angela's back porch, and then they pile their suitcases into a minivan and a car and head for the airport. Their conversations on the ride are slightly subdued. That's how it gets sometimes at the end of their gatherings. Some of them find themselves lost in their thoughts.

At the security checkpoint, they share their final hugs. Everyone is turning this way and then the other way, embracing, clutching hands. Kelly, Karla, Sally and Marilyn will fly together to Minneapolis; Sally will drive south to Iowa from there. The others all head for their own gates: Diana to Arizona, Jenny to Maryland, Karen to Philly, Jane to Boston. Cathy will fly to Kansas City to see her dad. Angela will drive home and finish cleaning everything up.

Within hours of their return to their own homes, they are again trading emails. They profusely thank Angela for her hospitality, they recollect the highlights of the weekend, they speculate about who should host the next reunion. They also remind each other to keep everyone posted on all the unresolved issues they talked about over the past few days.

As is always the case after they get together, they find themselves contemplating the meaning of their bonds to each other. This reunion, they agree, is just another step on a journey of friends.h.i.+p that should take them until the end of their lives. "Someday, when we're old women, we'll be able to sit together and look back at these richly detailed lives," Kelly writes. "Even the most common of us have had these journeys. In one way or another, we have every woman's story."

And those stories continue.

In September 2007, three months after the reunion, Kelly sent an email to all the other girls. "I just got off the phone with my health care provider, giving me test results," she wrote. "Her last words to me were to surround myself with loved ones tonight. You are the first people I am telling. I have breast cancer. I will immediately go through more testing to determine what stage I am at. All I know at this moment is that it is lobular carcinoma. I have no history of breast cancer in my family. My daughter will never be able to say that.

"My hands are shaking. So is my heart."

It was crus.h.i.+ng news for the other girls. Karla immediately called Jane. "I had to make a cup of tea, sit down and process it all," Karla told her. "I'm scared for her."

The other women had similar feelings, but they responded as if they were soldiers on a joint mission. Marilyn promised to drive down and be with Kelly any time she needed a companion at an appointment. Karla offered to share all the medical knowledge she'd gathered during Christie's illness, and reminded Kelly to get a flu shot and to have her kids do the same. Cathy told her there are great wigs out there "despite what you may have seen on Britney Spears. You can get a human hair wig for just a few hundred bucks, and they'll cut it on you. I'd be happy to go shop for one and send you what I think would look good."

Jenny wrote: "How I wish we lived closer, so that we could hug you with our arms rather than our words. And now I'm going to switch into work mode." Thanks to her job at the medical school, Jenny had lots of advice to offer: "Go to a university medical center, because they see the most cases and are most up-to-date on treatments. If you do decide to use a community hospital, find out how many cases of lobular carcinoma they treat annually. If that number is low, you MUST go elsewhere for your treatment. You also will want someone to go with you to appointments, at least at the outset. Frequently, patients are so overwhelmed with emotion, and all the treatment plans and options, that it helps to have a family member or friend who can be there to take notes and help ask questions."

This has been the way things have gone between the Ames girls as adults. Love. Support. Advice. Action. What's the problem? What's the solution?

Kelly told the other girls that their support "lifted my spirits to unimaginable heights." She shared with them how her daughter, Liesl, broke into tears upon hearing the news, and slept with her that night.

"She made me promise never to go out without my wig if I experience hair loss. I threatened to go to all her events bald and wearing tank tops that would emphasize if I only have one b.o.o.b." Kelly kept her sense of humor, joking about the possibility of meeting "hot doctors" at her appointments.

Her tumor was about the size of a squished softball, and an MRI also indicated that the cancer had spread to her lymph nodes. Her doctor suggested four or five months of chemo, followed by surgery. "I want chemo to shrink this thing and destroy any rogue cells that have broken away from the warm womb in my breast," Kelly told the other girls. She had thought doctors would recommend immediate surgery. "I expected to have this 36DDD breast gone by next week, so I'm experiencing a weird sort of relief that I'll be intact for a while-although that means hauling around this d.a.m.n tumor. Stay tuned. . . ."

Kelly talked to her students, to brace them for her altered appearance. She and her students agreed that a wig might look silly on her, so she decided to wear hats. Surgery wouldn't come for another six months, Kelly told her students, "so I'm celebrating my body in its current form while I can. I'm not angry or despondent about what is happening, at least not yet. I'm grateful for the time and the ability to fight this."

The other Ames girls decided to send Kelly flowers on the days she'd be getting chemotherapy. On her first day of treatment, they sent roses. "The roses are extraordinary," Kelly told them a few days later. "Unusually large creamy blossoms tinged with pink. They are slowly opening this week, and they just keep getting more beautiful. I truly feel surrounded by your love and concern."

During her initial rounds of chemo, Kelly felt achy and light-headed, as if she had the flu. It was manageable, though she knew the effects would be c.u.mulative. She vowed to try to just take everything day by day.

Kelly was mostly upbeat, but one day she confided to the girls that she had yelled at one of her sons and felt miserable about it. "Liesl was around to pick up the pieces, and she consoled me and just kept saying, 'Sorry, sorry, sorry.' "

For her second round of chemo, the Ames girls sent Kelly a fall bouquet-yellow, white and deep red flowers. When her mother asked who had sent them, Kelly was too choked up to speak.

Her hair started coming out in handfuls, so she got a buzz cut. "I'm in good spirits, gals," she wrote in an email, "although the hair situation is bothering me more than I expected. It will take guts to walk into cla.s.s tomorrow with a new, butch look. I'm just hoping I don't have a weird, lop-sided head. My right ear does stick out more. Oh well . . ."

By spring, chemo had reduced her ma.s.s to the size of a marshmallow. Still, she knew she'd eventually need surgery, and there was also a tiny spot on her lung that would need to be monitored.

For one of her last treatments, the other Ames girls sent spring flowers in a lovely basket. "Never doubt the power of phone messages, cards or emails when someone is going through a tough time," Kelly wrote when saying thank you. "Even the briefest messages have reminded me that I am never alone. Some people find that sort of comfort in G.o.d; for me, my friends are ever-present."

Kelly's graphic design students were making posters as part of their course work, and so, partly to remind them that they can overcome their own adversities, Kelly had a color poster created with two photos of herself. The first photo had been taken at the reunion at Angela's; smiling slightly, she is wearing a tank top, has all her hair, and looks terrific. In the second photo she is in a similar tank top, she has no hair, but her smile is broader. It's a powerful image, striking and brave. The poster, t.i.tled "Soul Power," included a quote from Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor and philosopher: "If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment."

The other girls all weighed in on the poster. "You look beautiful!!!" wrote Karla, who also offered advice to Kelly to help her with muscle cramping caused by her treatments. "Christie had the same problem. I swear, I try to forget most of it, but the important stuff I should recall. Anyway, be sure to get a pota.s.sium supplement from your oncologist. It will make a difference."

Kelly thanked everyone for their kind comments about her poster, but she wrote back to them: "I certainly don't consider myself beautiful right now. I hate looking at my face in the morning; I look so naked until I put on eyeliner, pencil in eyebrows and add a little color to my cheeks. I try to focus on radiating confidence and positive energy. Maybe that actually is beauty. That is what I wanted to get out of the poster. When we got together at Angela's, I was so concerned with how I looked. I felt like my skin had too many flaws, my teeth weren't white enough, my stomach was too poochy, my hair wasn't glamorous. Now, I look at the photos we took down there and I marvel at how beautiful my eyebrows and eyelashes were. I had two b.r.e.a.s.t.s at that time that I should have adored, instead of stuffing them into a high-powered Victoria's Secret bra. I should have been thrilled I simply had healthy teeth and a mouth and throat without sores."

She ended by telling the other girls: "Enjoy yourselves right now. Take a moment today to be grateful for all your body parts. Really celebrate your body and your health. So much can change in a few months."