Red Light, Green Light.

Boy, it’s been a while since I sat down and wrote. Now I’m holding on to this typewriter like an anchor. A hatch popped open somewhere and the big Unknown keeps sucking all the air and warmth and gravity out of my little spaceship.

Hold on, Bob.

It all started two months ago. Aunt Bosky called long distance to say she had been diagnosed with cancer.

And BAM! Right then, right there holding the phone, I thought of the composer Charles Ives. In 1927, he came running downstairs with tears in his eyes and told his wife, “I can’t compose anymore! Nothing sounds right!”

He never wrote another piece of music.

I always wondered how his wife felt, hearing the Incomprehensible. How she reacted when the Impossible came tumbling down the familiar stairs of her everyday home.

And exactly at that moment, with the phone pressed to my ear like an oracle’s shell, I knew. Hearing the Impossible was like playing Red Light/Green Light.

Someone shouts, “Red light!” and you stop. Then you wait for “Green light.” You wait, your entire body poised. The only thing that matters is what comes next.

That’s what “I have cancer” in Aunt Bosky’s voice did to me. It hit the Pause button in my soul, and I just can’t get around it.

She’s the kind of woman who doesn’t get diagnosed with anything except Life and More Life. She’s that big. When I was a kid, she held up the sky.

When a day was grand and blue, we said it was, “Bosky.” When mom’s apple pie put dad’s peach cobbler to shame, we didn’t say, “Mom’s apple pie is tastier.” We said, “Mom’s apple pie is Boskier.” Bosky was our blessing.

She settled family disputes, took in wayward sons, marched in rallies, and practiced “social justice” back when it was called “manners.”

How can cancer take root in a heart on fire? That’s like God getting sick. You have to get to the end of your innocence to accept that reality. Maybe that’s the last bit of growing up a man has to do.

So here I am, knocked flat as a cartoon character. And you know what I keep thinking about? Ives’ wife, Harmony. Can’t get her out of my mind.

​Harmony standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the Impossible.

Comments

Media Jean: When was the last time you saw your Aunt Bosky?

Chip: Couple years ago. She lives in New York and travels a lot.

Media Jean: How’s she doing?

Chip: She just started treatment. The doctor said she’ll probably lose her hair.

Media Jean: What color’s her hair?

Chip: Red.

Media Jean: That sounds like the right color for her.

Chip: It used to be bright red like crayons. Now it’s red like watercolor. It’s really pretty.

Media Jean: Wow.

Chip: But she’s not going to wait for her hair to fall out. She’s cutting it off herself and donating it to Locks of Love.

Media Jean: She’s not a sit-around-and-wait kind of person.

Chip: Nope. She takes everything head-on.

Media Jean: I’d love to meet her someday.

Chip: She’d really like you. She’d think you were totally Bosky.

Media Jean: Thanks. I think you’re pretty Bosky yourself.

​Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]