I have a gentleman friend. His name is Charles. No, we do not date or go out or anything like that. He is about 30 years older than me and is in a wheelchair and has macular degeneration, so his world is now very limited. But it was not always like that and that is why he is my gentleman friend. We meet on Sundays at church and he tells me over coffee about his world travels. What stories he tells!
Yesterday I found out he had never married. This surprised me. Oh, he said, I had a girlfriend once and we had a pretty good time together, we went camping and hiking the Appalachian trail and we even talked about getting married. But--I had another love and she was jealous so that ended that. Another love? Yes, he said, books. She was jealous of the time he spent with his beloved books and he could not give them up, so they parted. After that there was never anyone else. But Charles is not bitter, only slightly wistful.
I used to read so much, he says. I used to go everywhere. Now I can't see. But he can remember. I want to tell him, oh, if only you were 30 years younger, I would not be like that girlfriend who felt threatened by your love of books. But if he were 30 years younger, he would be riding the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. He would be drinking in a London pub, or exploring Macchu Picchu. He would be in Moscow joking with the Intourist guide about how to lose a fellow American traveler who was complaining loudly about the food. "Please," he told the guide, "find some way for her to get lost. We don't want her back." He would be in all those places and we would never meet.
But for a few minutes each Sunday we go to these places together until it is time for him to return to the retirement community where he lives.
Yesterday I found out he had never married. This surprised me. Oh, he said, I had a girlfriend once and we had a pretty good time together, we went camping and hiking the Appalachian trail and we even talked about getting married. But--I had another love and she was jealous so that ended that. Another love? Yes, he said, books. She was jealous of the time he spent with his beloved books and he could not give them up, so they parted. After that there was never anyone else. But Charles is not bitter, only slightly wistful.
I used to read so much, he says. I used to go everywhere. Now I can't see. But he can remember. I want to tell him, oh, if only you were 30 years younger, I would not be like that girlfriend who felt threatened by your love of books. But if he were 30 years younger, he would be riding the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. He would be drinking in a London pub, or exploring Macchu Picchu. He would be in Moscow joking with the Intourist guide about how to lose a fellow American traveler who was complaining loudly about the food. "Please," he told the guide, "find some way for her to get lost. We don't want her back." He would be in all those places and we would never meet.
But for a few minutes each Sunday we go to these places together until it is time for him to return to the retirement community where he lives.
