On Quests, Part 2
From The Green Knight (2021), Dev Patel as Gawain and Alicia Vikander as the Lady of the Castle.
“Writing has always been a way to reconcile my lived experiences with the narratives available to describe it (or lack thereof).” –Melissa Febos, Girlhood
That week with Bobbie, we talked about everything. Mornings after Jeff left for work and evenings after dinner, Bobbie and I would take her dog, Gertie Bell, on long walks steeped in conversation. Wednesday, we drove down to Fire Island, part of the barrier chain guarding Long Island’s south shore. We walked along the beach and then picnicked at one of the sanctioned swimming areas. All told, we walked, and talked, over nine miles that day. Thursday morning, we bustled around the kitchen, making lunch for the social studies teachers’ book club Bobbie belongs to; I contributed a Spanish tortilla and helped her make panzanella and another salad. Bobbie had let me know beforehand what book they were reading so I could participate in the discussion.
Friday morning, we swam at the beach near her house and then ran errands in preparation for Family Day, an event hosted by the Huntington Beach Community Association, in which Jeff plays an active role. Bobbie and Jeff’s oldest son, Ben, and his wife and their two children arrived that evening. Saturday was Family Day – neighbors gathering at the beach for fellowship, friendly athletic contests, and lunch. Jeff recruited me to help grill burgers and dogs, and asked me to pair up with Bobbie for the final event, the egg toss competition, while he sought out another partner.
Our long talks included topics we’d covered in our letters, because talking about them in person is different – our hopes and fears for our children and grandchildren, chapters from the stories of our marriages. Bobbie expressed some of the frustrations anyone who’s been married for three or four decades feels when the dynamics of the relationship get predictable because each person takes the other for granted. I vouched for Jeff – he is reliable and generous, I proposed, a good man, a good father and grandfather, a good husband. Bobbie agreed all that was true.
After taking my leave early Sunday morning,[1] as I drove down the Jersey Turnpike and the Eastern Shore toward Virginia Beach, I thought about those five days with Bobbie – what a gift it was to renew our friendship. I was amazed that everything about her that I loved in 1972 is still there in 2021. But I also had this odd feeling of pride in how I’d handled myself (or how we’d handled ourselves). After our first walk around the neighborhood, we’d held each other in a long sweet embrace. And as we would walk and talk, we often brushed shoulders and arms as I’d leaned in to listen better. But that was the extent of our physical intimacy. We instead expressed those feelings by simply being attentive to each other’s needs and moods. I have no doubt Jeff picked up on our mutual affection but, as a kindness, allowed space for it without comment.
In The Green Knight, Gawain, exhausted by his journey and stripped of his horse and all his possessions except the battleaxe the Green Knight had given him, arrives at a castle and collapses in its doorway. We next see him sleeping in a comfortable bed, tended to by the lord of the castle. The lord tells him he will go out every day to hunt and bring home meat to give Gawain strength so he can complete his quest. While he’s out hunting, the lady of the castle attempts to seduce Gawain, testing his chivalry and moral virtue. Her advances repeatedly rebuffed, she instead gives him her green sash, a charm to protect him from harm. I’m not suggesting a perfect analogy between the Arthurian legend and my story – Bobbie certainly never tried to seduce me – but the similarities are uncanny.
When I talked with Bobbie again on my way back to Iowa, she mentioned that Jeff had resumed going on those long walks with her and Gertie. Perhaps seeing Bobbie the way I saw her had given him a renewed appreciation of her. Perhaps my attention to Bobbie had made her glow in a way that enhanced her beauty. Perhaps my visit had helped them find a little more happiness in their life. Oh, I was pleased with my supposed achievement, probably too pleased, but at least I had a legend to explain it all.
That last homeward hour on I-80, which I could nearly drive blindfolded, I catalogued memories of the journey. The hospitality and generosity of Jon and Kathy. The time spent with them and other friends I’d grown up with, folks I’d looked up to when I was a lost high school freshman trying to figure out who I wanted to become. Camping with Emma, Oscar, and Linus in the Virginia sand dunes, among Live Oaks and Scrub Pines. Hiking with them through freshwater swamps filled with turtles, Bald Cypress knees jutting up from tannin-brown waters, the air thick with Spanish Moss, impressive dragonflies, and the plunking, ricocheting calls of bullfrogs. And those perambulatory tête-à-têtes with Bobbie. The culinary duet we performed the morning before the book club meeting. The way I was welcomed into her and Jeff’s family, as if a place had been saved for me all along.
I now sense that, more than ever, I’m on a cusp, my momentum propelling me forward, keen to embrace a feeling not felt since my wife died almost three years ago, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again – that feeling at the beginning of love, that feeling of “When will I see you again?” Could it be that my love for Bobbie makes me more receptive to love from other sources? Is this some kind of reward for “my gallantry”? I know life doesn’t work that way, and honestly, being ready for love – in a world riven with woe – that alone is enough.
8 September 2021
Footnote
[1] Bearing Bobbie’s parting gifts of a half-dozen books, garden produce, and a fresh-baked loaf of blueberry bread.