I had been living in Brooklyn for a month. My good friend Francis, who had already hooked me up with a decent place to live, also had some artistic friends in the city who could help me out with getting a job. He gave me Inger’s home and work numbers, and her email address. I called her up eventually.
“God, I’m so sick of helping people. I’m just fucking tired of it, you know? But Fran & Mickey [Francis' wife] said you were a good kid, so it’s probably the last favor I’ll do for them.”
That was one of the first things she said to me. So, I was a little uncomfortable. Inger was able to get a few of her & Fran's friends, to meet us at a bar downtown. I was to bring my portfolio and sketchbook. I met her just after 5 on a Friday at her company. She took one look at me and froze for a second. And so did I. “If she and Fran had a kid…”
So we walked over to the bar and I was introduced to everyone. Cary, a very cool cartoonist & illustrator, was the first one to ask how I met Francis. I explained to him about the printing company I worked at upstate, where I met Francis, and the Kids in the Hall & South Park quotes. Cary’s response was, “Ohhhhhhh, you’re that guy. I get it now. I was wondering how Fran would meet a 21-year-old upstate. I mean, you’re a bit out of his age range.” All these people are in their early thirties.
After an hour of talking, Inger understood exactly why Francis told her that I was a younger version of her. We both have similar relationships with our fathers, and while she was at Pratt, Inger used to dress a lot like I do now (all black clothes). As our ranks thinned, and as she became a little drunk (well, only three or four beers, but she barely weighs 100 pounds), we found ourselves holding hands, like we’d known each other for ages. Inger exclaimed "You're so touchy, too!" I'm very physically affectionate to those who are open to it. She began to talk about her problems with family. It wasn’t long before she was crying in my arms, kissing me on the cheek, and thanking me for listening. “I don’t even know why I’m trusting you with all of this…I just met you two hours ago. I’ve never met anyone that I’ve been able to open up to like this.” She looked into my eyes, and it felt like she was begging for an answer.
After a moment, I told her, “Some time ago, one of my more thoughtful teachers [who was also a psychologist] suggested that maybe it was my purpose to bear witness, and to help whenever I could. Maybe it’s true. I mean, look at us. Look at our friends. Maybe it was fate that I met Francis. I know I certainly wouldn’t be here without him. If I had never met him, I would still be trapped in Bumblefuck, losing my mind. Francis helped me, and he made it possible for me to help you now, even though he doesn’t know you need it.”
After she had recovered, she told me that there was a spare computer in her office, and that I could come in whenever I wanted to use it in my quest for employment, and to practice with programs. Inger would give me some practice assignments to put in my portfolio, and helped me write my resume.
We had come in on a Saturday. She had to work on a project that needed to be done by Monday, and Inger didn’t have the time to work on it the previous night. When she came to the door to let me in the office, I could see that she was a wreck. I asked her what was wrong. One of her friends had done something particularly nasty. I held her for hours as she cried, her tears soaking through my shirt. “God, I’m sorry, I’m getting you wet,” she said between sobs. “Inger, I don’t care. Just let it all out. I’m here for you, remember?” She held me so tightly, I could feel her abs flex against mine, wrought with fear. All I could do was pull her closer. I didn’t want to…no, I wouldn’t let her feel alone. Not in the shape she was in. At one point, I almost cried. Seeing her in so much pain was taking its toll on me. I suggested that we go get lunch. We walked along, holding hands, to the South Street Seaport. We each got a slice of pizza and a soda, and sat on a bench looking out at the river, our arms around each other. That was when she told me about Mickey calling her up. “She said, ‘I saw Jeff; when the hell did you and Francis have a kid?’”
That became a running gag. At a birthday party later that year, Fran & Inger were sitting across the table from me. I pulled out my camera to get a shot of them. Cary commented, “It’s only fitting that Jeff gets a picture of his parents.” Some people looked at Cary like he was nuts. He said, “What? Look at Fran & Inger, then look at Jeff.” They looked at the couple, then at me. “Holy shit!” was the most common response.
A couple weeks ago, Inger wasn't feeling well. Headaches, dizziness, puking, fever, trouble standing up; your basic flu symptoms. Inger's about 5'9" tall, and maybe 100 pounds soaking wet. With that kind of build, the flu is going to knock you down a few pegs. What was odd, though, was she didn't get better after a week. Her fiancée Michael, with whom she bought a house with last year, was getting worried. He drove her to the hospital to find out what was wrong. The doctors ran some tests, and found there was too much pressure on her brain. So they cut her open and drained some fluids, and got a bit of a surprise:
A sizeable tumor. Phase 3 Astrocytoma, to be precise. They took out half of it, but not enough to leave her a vegetable. She was in a coma for a few days. Right now, she's being treated at a very reputable hospital in the city. She's on chemotherapy, steroids, and blood thinners to prevent clots forming in her brain…although she's probably off those by now.
She's kind of weak on her right side, so they gave her a cane. Of course, she tries to beat people with it, but she's too weak to do any damage…for now.
I just found out all this stuff, and still in a bit of shock. I've been getting most of my information through Cary, who's one of her best friends. Because of a bad relationship with her parents, they're trying to give Michael Power of Attorney over her in case something happens.
I can never get in touch with her, but letting her rest is probably best. Cary will be up in mid-October. Hopefully I can squeeze in a visit then.
While everyone else in our circle of friends is being optimistic, I have to stick with my pessimistic nature. I actually PRAYED for Inger. If you know me, you know how much she means to me. She taught me it's possible to be massively fucked up and still find happiness. She is very dear to me, and I can't help but worry.
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