I stopped at a farm stand to get some gladiolas for Maria, I love to bring her flowers and small gifts, to remind her every day how much I love her, how much she means to me and she loved the flowers and when I was heading out of the room, I saw out of the corner of my eye that she had turned to her beloved Frieda and said in a confidential voice, “Frieda, Aren’t We Lucky?”
Maria often confides in Frieda, when she is angry with me she will turn to Frieda and say “Frieda, let’s go to the studio!” and Frieda will hop up and the two of them will storm off in a huff together, Frieda casting contemptuous glances at me. I always think of “Thelma & Louise” when I think of Frieda and Maria, two outcast women who have known hard times and helped one another get through them. Frieda is always by Maria’s side, always guarding her, always watching her.
I often think of the days when Maria and I began seeing one another. Maria wanted to be independent, she wanted to know she would care for herself, she refused to move to Bedlam Farm and enter my life until she had built her own. She did not want to be dependent on me. She refused to take a penny in alimony from her divorce, she wanted her own life.
Even though I pestered her to come and live with me, to be with me, Maria wisely rented a tiny apartment on a very ugly and forlorn street in Granville, a struggling and very poor upstate New York town. There was a kitchen and a tiny bedroom and she and Frieda moved in together. Maria invited me to dinner on the first night and I remember the two of them, making their way in their new lives together, alone and broke in a hard cold winter, standing against the world, sharing a strong and mutual suspicion of men. Maria had nothing but the clothes on her back and a new and very tough job caring for emotionally disabled people. And she had Frieda, yet that seemed to be enough. The two of them had each other, protected each other, trust and confided in one another.
They had little resources, they were quite formidable. I remember Maria turning to Frieda in that little apartment while I was in the bathroom and I heard her say in a quiet voice, “what do you think, Frieda? Is he all right?” I’m not sure how Frieda responded, since she nearly took my arm off when I came to the door that night, but I do know if I had not figured out how to handle Frieda, I would not be with Maria. A wonderful training incentive.
In the most powerful way these two loved needed each other. And they still do. As close as I am with Maria, she and Frieda have a bond that is unique and impenetrable, they will always be the two desperados, Thelma & Louise, finding their voices, building their new loves together, theirs is a bond that can never be broken.
Later yesterday, while Maria was up blogging, Frieda came over and put her head on my knee. We are pretty close ourselves these days, a long way from that night in Granville, from that time. “Frieda,” I said, “aren’t I lucky?”
