Between Two Lungs

Mae couldn't wait to go to her NA meeting that Friday. She went to 630 East 6th Street and waited eagerly for seven o'clock to arrive. When it did and the doors finally opened, she said hello to Fred and took her usual seat near the front of the room.

Others filed in and sat down. Fred gave his usual introductions. Mae watched as the lady who had nearly died of overdose took the chocolate glazed doughnut as usual. And the man who was the father of that boy who died took a coffee with two sugars and one cream as usual. Mae started noticing little routines that people started having, including herself. Routine helped to control the cravings.

"Would anyone like to come up and say a few words?" Fred asked, looking around at the crowd. Mae glanced around too, just to see if anyone wanted to go up first.

The woman who had contracted AIDS raised her hand. "I have something I'd like to say."

Fred motioned to the podium and she got up to walk over to it. Mae noticed that she looked even more frail than the last time she saw her. Her name was Mary and she usually only went to Freedom Group once every two or three weeks. She said that her other self-help groups had the same meeting times and she wanted to rotate between all of them.

"I just found out from the doctors that I don't have a lot of time left," Mary said, her voice sounding hoarse. "I've got some sort of virus that they don't know a lot about. They think I only have a few more months to live."

Mae looked into Mary's sunken gray eyes. They held a certain kind of sadness, but past that exterior, they held hope. It was a strange kind of hope though, one that Mae couldn't quite place.

"Being here with all of you has been a privilege," she continued. "I never expected to be in this situation...preparing for my own death, having my own body fail me. I was angry about it for a long time. Then I accepted it as an inevitability. It's just my time to go, I suppose." Mary looked out into the crowd and sighed, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "If I could leave you with one piece of advice, it would be this," she said. "Never give up on your chance to live."

Mae was the first one to applaud for Mary when she stepped down from the podium. A few more people went up, each sharing their stories. Another man got his yellow 'Clean and Serene for Nine Months' tag and revealed that he would be moving to Maryland at the end of March with his fiancé. He said that he couldn't wait to start his new life in Baltimore.

Finally, Mae stood up and went to the stand.

"It's been just over sixty days that I've been clean," she said. Everyone clapped as Fred handed her the green 'Clean and Serene for Sixty Days' tag. "I know that I come up to the podium and talk a lot," she smiled as other people nodded with small rings of laughter. "But I'm hoping that maybe the people that are afraid to speak up will take it as maybe an incentive to share their story. It's easy to be afraid of letting people in. But in reality, that's what saved me. So don't be afraid to speak up. It could save your life."

Mae sat back down. Some people clapped, others were deep in thought as her words started to set in.

By the end of the night, twelve people who Mae had seen but never heard went up to talk. Some of them cried, some of them laughed. It was a whole potpourri of emotions, but Mae was just glad that she could help steer someone in the right direction.

After the meeting was over, Mae went back to her apartment and pulled a piece of paper off of her desk. She scribbled the words that were still on her mind with black ink and then went over to her quote wall and pinned it among the others.

Right next to Bobby Jones' quote was Mary's: Never give up on your chance to live.

Mae smiled to herself and said, "That's some good advice."

* * * * *

A few days later, Mae received a phone call as she was working on a new charcoal drawing. Wiping the black dust from her hands onto her worn out jeans, she answered it.

"Hello?"

"I've got a surprise for you."

"Jordan?" she questioned. "You're not in New York again, are you? Because I swear, you're here more often than you are in Pittsburgh nowadays. And your hockey schedule is starting to get pretty busy."

"No, I'm still in Pittsburgh, but I still have a surprise," he replied. "Have you checked your mail yet?"

"Not yet," Mae said. "Hold on a second, I'm going to go check."

She set the phone down and scurried out of the apartment to where the mailboxes were. She unlocked hers and pulled out a few bills and one that was addressed to her in messy scrawl. She assumed it was Jordan's.

Mae ran back up the stairs and picked the phone up again. "I have a letter here. Is it from you?"

"Open it."

Mae eagerly tore the envelope open and she stared down in confusion at its contents. "A ticket to a gala in Pittsburgh? I don't get it."

"Simple," he stated. "The Pittsburgh Penguins are holding a charity gala thing and I wanted you to be my plus-one. And also, I talked to Dan Bylsma, my coach, about it and he said that you could use the gala to show off some of your artwork."

Mae couldn't keep the smile off her face. "You mean...like my own art show?"

"Like your own art show," he confirmed. "With people in suits and dresses and everything. Classy, right?"

"I-I don't know what to say," she stuttered. "Thank you so much for this, Jordan."

"Don't worry about a thing," he said. "The gala is in two weeks. I'll come by in a few days to pick you up and gather up the pieces you want to show, and you can stay in Pittsburgh for a while. It'd be a nice change of scenery."

"This is beyond amazing," she breathed, getting more and more excited by the second. "Wait, does this mean I have to wear something fancy?"

"A dress would be nice," Jordan agreed.

Mae let out a groan. "I don't own a dress. Or have money for one."

"Good thing I'm loaded!" Jordan joked. "Let's just get you to Pittsburgh first. Then we'll worry about the fashion and all the other stuff."

Mae smiled to herself. "You're too good to me, Jordan. You know that?"

"It's not that I'm too good to you," he corrected. "You just don't know how much you're worth."