Don't Tell Me

Don’t Tell Me – Madonna

I am spending the second weekend in August on island time. We’ve rented a beach cottage on Sanibel, a sheller’s dream dropped down the ankles of Florida like rat poo in the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant - small and inevitable. We're here to witness the wedding of our two friends. The bride to be and I have escaped the wet woolen blanket heat to check her email for last minute wedding ceremonial hiccups. As she starts up the lobby computer, I leaf through a Harlequin romance novel I found in the tiny bookcase next to the resort’s brochures. The Boss’s Inexperienced Secretary. As I vaguely wonder how mogul and typist are ever going to get each other in the end (what with the age difference, not to mention the polarities in temperament), a voice booms from behind. ‘Are you the line for the computer?’

My ‘Nope, we’re all together’ collides with my friend’s ‘Almost done, I am trying to print out these wedding ceremonies I’m supposed to choose from’. The man’s face lights up like fireworks down a mailbox. ‘Ahhh, the young lady is getting married? Congratulations! Well, well, aren’t you just cute as a button! And you’re the proud mother?’ he says as he turns to me, all smiles. The grand iceberg of my emotional range suffers instant meltdown, translating into a look on my face that hovers somewhere between an incredulous giggle (you’ve got to be kidding me!), a sub-zero smile (what the hell mister?!), and an anxious swallow (ohmygodIlooklikeamom?!).
Oblivious to my mental defrost, the man cries out, ‘Wouldn’t you know, it’s me and the wife’s fifteenth anniversary tomorrow! And we’re still happy as a clam, ha ha!’ Before I can even recuperate from my initial shock to either ignore or congratulate the man, he continues, ‘Of course it hasn’t been easy for her, what with me having the brain tumor and all. I’m in remission, it’s about the size of a golf ball now. I don’t feel sick or anything, what it does is it messes with my emotions and feelings, you know? I don’t know whether I’m mad or sad – or the people around me for that matter, ha ha! Who’d have thought that a little ball in your head could do that. Doc says it’s located right here, over my left eye!’ He points at a spot just above his right eye, delivers a glorious smile, and stops talking.

Americans have an uncanny talent for springing intimate information on random strangers with an air of spur-of-the-moment carelessness that makes for instant awkward conversation – at least, when that stranger is me. What are you supposed to do with something that private coming from someone you really don’t know? The thing is that this random candidness, on second glance, isn’t that impromptu, or personal, at all. To the average well meaning American, spilling the beans is just another way of making small talk, and subject to the same type of rules. You’ll receive a scripted monologue on someone’s medical history, or a detailed rendition of a life defined by bad decisions, but were you to ask an engaging question, your company will react as if stung by a bee, instantly on the defensive. Why are you prying into their personal affairs? And so your cordial attempt to diffuse the embarrassment backfires hopelessly. All of a sudden, everybody feels awkward. Best case scenario is that your company will frown upon your questions, and add commentary to your all-too-liberal, disaster-prone Old World etiquette. Silly European!

The man is still flashing his expectant smile. It’s obviously my turn to speak. I don’t even know this guy’s name. What can he possibly expect me to say? Don’t ask any questions! I remind myself. I take a deep breath and decide go for firm yet non-committal. ‘Jeez, mister, a brain tumor, that sounds like quite the ordeal.’ This is horrible! I fight the impulse to run out the door and jump into the Gulf of Mexico.
– ‘Well, doesn’t that just sum it up?’ the man replies happily. ‘Of course I had the skin cancer before, on my back. The sun’s pretty murderous out here, you know. That’s why I always keep my shirt on these days. Ha ha! Especially when I’m on the boat. I’m a sailor, you know. Been boating all my life. The wife didn’t care for it at first, but she likes it all the same now. Are you ladies going to rent a boat while you’re here?’ And just like that, we’re out of awkward time and back on island time.