Camp Matigua: The Lost And Forgotten

by Allison Greer

  “So, that summer I creatively, spontaneously suggested to Carey that we go camping.

  “‘Get out the bedrolls, rent a tent, pack some food, go to a state park, be a young husband and wife in love on vacate for a couple of nights of romance. I’ll bring the candles. We’ll sing Kumbaya.’

  “With nothing more than a grunt, Carey left the kitchen, remained in the bedroom for quite some time, finally, coming out with an overly stuffed duffle bag, wearing very new, never-seen-before biker gear and said he’d be back late that night, maybe the next morning—or not. It was all very vague.

  “And, the counselor says, ‘Can this marriage be saved?’ Made in heaven, it was. Made in heaven.

  “As much as I’ve never wanted to be a pokey wife, I rushed to the bedroom. Where he’d had all that stuff stashed or when he did it, I never found out. It was all very expensive. From the information on the boxes, it was mostly mail-order sent to his office. I felt like kicking myself—how could he have been hording all that right

  under my nose without my realizing it? How could I be so stupid? Tears came to my eyes, not because I begrudged him his hobby or some good times, especially with office as unpleasant as it was—but because he had done it without a word to me . . . and him not letting me have money to buy myself a new pair of summer shorts to replace the old and frayed I brought to the marriage.

  “Well, girls, I’ll tell you . . . he was dressed to the nines. I believe that’s the expression. If my friends thought he was good-looking back in high school, they’d melt into a puddle had they seen him as he left the apartment. And, new cologne. It had to have been expensive ’cause it smelled so exquisite. And, for your information, he never wore it to bed. I guarantee you that. Nor on any camping trip with me. Usually, he wreaked of cigarette smoke, stale cigarette smoke . . . smelled like he’d taken a nose-dive into an ash tray and wallowed in it for several days . . . from wherever he’d been and threatened to hit me if I asked.

  “So, my boy shuffled off to Buffalo. No. I mean it. They were having some kind of bikers’ rodeo with food and camping and games and bands. It sounded like so much fun. I learned all this when I went to my mom and dad’s house for their uplifting encouragement and sagacious counsel. He had told them all about it with none of them saying a single thing to me. I felt quisled. I felt like I was being strangled. I went home to an empty apartment, my prepared dinner and TV wanting so much to be hanging down by the neck from my second-story bedroom window. And, I thought,

  “‘God! What am I . . . chopped liver?’ Feeling most

  unfortunately so ‘twitterpated’, so frightened, so confused and abused, I was shaking. And, so erppie.

  “I read off the boxes on the bed. Carey had purchased for himself:

  $“. . . a new $50, plus tax Advanced Falcon Motorcycle Helmet, glossy black. It didn’t seem like a lot of money to spend for a helmet until I noticed the charge for airbrushing. The company was returning a photograph of a model paper clipped to the invoice. He’d hired an artist to paint some luscious woman on the side of his helmet—and it wasn’t me. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall . . .’

  $“. . . a pair of Falcon Classic loose fit men’s leather pants for $230, plus tax along with

  $“. . . a pair of deep-pocket premium naked cowhide unisex motorcycle chaps which were still in the box, $270, plus tax

  $“. . . a pair of Falcon Classic five pocket women’s jean pants, $75, plus tax—box empty”

  {“Don’t you just love a good love story,” Mr. Bill talking.}

  $“. . . a men’s black, side-lace vest, $37, plus tax—box empty

  $“. . . a two-tone baseball bomber jacket, $100, plus . . . yadah, yadah . . . cognac-black USA

  leather—still in box. After all, it was mid-summer. Reminded me of the high school jackets my girlfriends yearned to get from their boyfriends.

  $“. . . a pair of black Predator harness flame motorcycle boots $180 . . . yadah, yadah . . . box empty.

  $“. . . and, in the trash can two long sleeves Carey had cut off of one of his good, black shirts. I thought something looked a little askew as he walked past me to the front door. His arms were bare. Even more askew, from the looks, he’d been working out.

  “And, a great, big happy birthday to me.

  “What I understand about marriage, now, that I didn’t understand back then is:

  “Truly, God does hate divorce because it destroys one of His most basic and fundamental plans for mankind . . . protection for a woman and her children in a hostile world. But, we have to take into consideration what He planned marriage to be all along. First, He never planned Adam and Eve to eat of the forbidden fruit, which they did do. They became overconfident, prideful, grasping and decided they knew as much as God, that they could make up their own rules of engagement even though the heavenly Father had created all. When they partook, they, actually, did come to know a bit more than they had. And, that knowledge was of evil and regret and recrimination and shame. Never before had they known

  such existed. God had been guarding them from that understanding.

  “They had known only His love.

  “He in His immeasurable wisdom designed the institution of marriage—a union between one man and one woman in which the man so recognizes God’s love for him that he loves his wife as much as he loves himself, as best as he can mirror God’s love for him. And, then, they both, in turn, love their children as God loves them—always recognizing the God-head.

  “All bets are off when the spouse does not know and love Jesus Christ. This I know, now. It’s a wee bit late for Carey and me. But, not for you. Just take all to God. You’ll see—it works. But, be certain to accept the baby steps, at least in the beginning. Watch for them: pabulum before steak; walking before running. All in its season.

  *

  “When my husband returned some days later, I was still upset. For my own sanity I had to take control somehow of some part of my life, our lives together. And, I was angry at him for treating me as he was. It was obvious I was angry and I confronted him. I was out of control, granted, but nothing in my life, at that moment, was in control. I didn’t know what to do but continue to reach out to him, even in anger. Of course, he knew I would be. He expected me to say something and, when I did, he did the unexpected. He caved. He acknowledged my pain, said it was understandable. While not apologizing, he met me with a calm response and demeanor. I all but stripped my gears. His reaction was totally unexpected. I felt contrite, ashamed, conciliatory . . . and erppie with a capital ‘E’.

  “Believe it or not, he took me in his arms, held me. I could do nothing but cry into his shoulder. It was total melt-down. Being loved by him at that moment was the last thing I had on my mind. Being treated tenderly was the last thing I’d expected. I blubbered something about how I’d like to have gone with him. It would have been fun. He reminded me that I didn’t ride a cycle well. I didn’t know that for a fact, but he had told me that in the past. He said I threw the bike off balance, didn’t know how to take the turns. In my mind, I contended that he hadn’t given me much opportunity to learn.

  “‘Well, I could have followed you in the car.’

  “He made a little noise of exasperation which let me know how ridiculous that idea was to him.

  Headlines

  ‘Wife Follows Cowboy Harley Biker Husband

  to Cycle Rodeo Meet in Her Car’

  “Honestly, I didn’t know how those things worked, how the bikers celebrated, but, gee! I was willing to learn. I didn’t expect I would ever live for the bike or understand how bikers pack together. Certainly, I didn’t expect to ever know what it was like to own, ride and

  wrench my own cycle. But, I could certainly learn how to enjoy the life along side my husband if he would just let me in. I’d seen families biking together—husband, wife, children.

 
“It wasn’t something I’d ever desired or contemplated before marrying Carey, but, now that I’ve got a ring and certificate declaring he has legal right to my cherry—’scuse the lingo—I’m thinking biker-bitch . . . oops. ’scuse me, again—I may as well be the best at it I possibly can. And, if that’s where his heart is, well, he’s my husband . . . whither thou goest and all that. I’ll be the best darn biker’s wife I possibly can.

  “I found out much later that Carey had gone by my parents’ house before coming home and they’d told him how upset I was. They may have even advised him on what tack to take with me, the thought of which angers me. The thought of such makes me feel like I’m being manipulated, controlled, analyzed in a cold and calculated way . . . all just to keep me in line, doing things their way, pleasing them. She, my mother, told me Carey had complained about me . . . wouldn’t tell me over what . . . ‘betrayal of confidence’, she said . . . and that she’d told him,

  “’Is what Carlie did so bad or is it just out of character for her?’

  “And, I’m thinking, ‘Thanks a bunch, Mom, for the moral support.’

  “I was so relieved that he hadn’t threatened to attack me, hadn’t blustered at me that, when he said he

  was going out for a while after he took a shower, I felt euphoric and so grateful that he was coming back home, to sleep.

  “I fixed a meal but he didn’t have time to eat. My impression was that he’d be gone for an hour or so then back. I waited up. One hour, two . . . I took a bath, put on my nightgown. No Carey. I watched the Johnny Carson Show—no Carey. I watched the Tom Snider Show—no Carey. I watched the Late Movie, the Late, Late Movie, took my makeup off and went to bed.

  “The car awakened me when it crunched the rock driveway but I pretended to be asleep when he got into bed wreaking of stale tobacco. I didn’t want him to touch me, didn’t want to even roll over in the night and touch him. He disgusted me. I despised him.

  “I wondered about my mother . . . whether I ever understood anything about my life with them.

  “Knowing Carey would never leave his bed, I took my pillow and blanket and began sleeping on the den sofa.

  “I hear the marriage counselor saying, ‘Now, what’s wrong with this picture?’

  “And, a participant responding, ‘Clearly, it’s the wife’s fault: she’s the one that abandoned the marriage bed.’

  “And, I’m thinking, ‘Where is Boaz when I need him and would I even be worthy of him should he

  appear?’

  “Another big problem, ok, ‘failure’, if you prefer, was I never got my supplementary life going. I could have picked up doing things with my gal pals, again . . . those few who were still in town, who had the time in their busy lives to give me. When I considered doing something like that, I wondered if doing it would, actually, be some form of rebellion against Carey since he’d told me he didn’t like them, didn’t want to ever see them, again. It’s for certain there would have been le diable à quatre. Yes, he would have made something out of it. And, I guess my parents would tell him.

  “I could have gone to church by myself . . . Mom and Dad were never big to going to church . . . if I thought it appropriate for a wife to attend without her husband. And, I feared over what the good church people would think . . . my being there alone.

  “I know, now—Christ is my husband and, yes, going to church to serve Him was where I should have been. Let Carey come along, if he so chose. At least, I’d be where I was supposed to be . . . but I didn’t understand God’s ways then like I do, now.

  The few times I did go, they put me in with the young, single people. Teaching the class was a married couple about my age—successful, I must assume, as both a married couple and Sunday School teachers. I guess I should have shopped around; maybe other churches didn’t work it like that.

  “When Carey came to me, kissing me so softly, massaging my shoulders—a bit too deeply, I overlooked the roughness since he never before massaged me . . . and asked what I thought about the two of us going on that camping trip. It was October and quite chilly. He thought a couple of nights in the hill country would be to his liking. My thought was, at least, he was trying to make a go of it and I should cooperate. The thought of divorce scared me to the bone. I had no way to support myself. My relationship with my parents was fragile. I didn’t see how I could go back to living with them, again. Everybody would think the less of me for not making my marriage work, especially me. It would be just one more thing ole Carlie had failed at, one more thing I couldn’t pull off.

  “I had stopped having the morning sickness that lasted all day long. It had stopped after three months, almost to the day. God sure got that one right! I could still wear my jeans, although the zipper had to be pinned, so I wore big, blousy over-shirts. I was feeling good, fine for a pregnant woman and was looking forward to our night under the stars. Carey made certain the weather would be clear and he took a few days out of his vacation. We arrived at our campsite, commenced erecting the tent in the clearing, collected wood, made a fire, set up the grill with a pot for the pork-n-beans, corn-on-the-cob in foil, and skillet for the beef patties.

  “It was, actually, quite lovely working along side him. There were times when I felt in my heart,

  “‘Oh, God! We might just make it, after all!’

  “I know myself well enough, now, to know that I make men into my own image. By that I mean they become what I want them to be, not necessarily what they, actually, are. And, when they’re not what I thought they were, it really throws me. Maybe we’re all that way, but, anyhow, now, I no longer trust my judgment when it comes to character analysis. With my high school friends, I may not have known them precisely, like how they’d react in certain circumstances, but I knew them well enough to know I could trust them on all things that we held in common. I knew them well enough—and they knew me—to know they wouldn’t go out of their way to hurt me. I wonder, now, what they must have thought when I acquiesced to Carey’s persuasion that we not associate with them. And, my greatest desire is that I didn’t hurt them much, maybe that they had their own lives so going that they hardly noticed me—or the absence of same.

  “So, I pray to God that He forgive me for all the pain I wrought upon others and that He bless those I’ve hurt three times over whatever pain I caused. That’s the best I know to do.

  “It was a beautiful little spot amongst the trees and the food smelled so good cooking on the grill. I do truly love pork-n-beans with a juicy, hamburger patty. For the most part, Carey did it all. Seemed not to mind in the least. It was a relief both to have someone else do the cooking for a change and to think Carey might, actually, be enjoying the time with me.

  {“How sad is when a wife feels grateful that her

  husband might be having a nice time in her company!”}

  “Oh, well . . . I’ll not delve too deeply into that thought.

  “I know, Margaret, you probably don’t have the slightest understanding of what I’m talking about—you and Clarence had such a wonderful relationship, such kind regard for one another. You took him for granted, didn’t you? That wonderful man. But, evidently, not too much, ’cause he always wanted to be with you as much as possible, rushed home at all hours of the day and night to be near you.

  “Oh . . . how cold it got. Summer would have been so much better for me—I’m very cold natured. Carey’s just the opposite. After we cleared up, put away the food and dishes, I began adding wood to the fire. Flames and embers mounted to the stars above as did the heat. I put on all the clothing I had brought and still shivered. Carey wasn’t much for sitting, talking around the fire and I couldn’t get close enough to its heavenly flames.

  “He unrolled his bedroll inside the tent, crawled in and soon fell fast asleep. I could hear him lightly snoring. And, soon I felt very drowsy myself, got into my bedroll and, finally, managed to go to
sleep in spite of my extreme discomfort only to awake sometime around 11:30 or so by something scampering up one side of the tent, over the top and down the other side, repeating itself over and over. This went on for what seemed like an eternity. I listened for whatever it was to go up, over and down. Then, I waited, listened for it to return in like manner. Next morning I found we’d set our tent up in a

  squirrel’s customary nightly sojourn. Either that or he was a contrary, little critter that delighted in thwarting my slumber.

  “I knew intimately every rock under my back. As before, however, I managed to slip into a fitful sleep. Soon, the cold was, again, more than I could bear. I got up, depressed to see the fire almost out, began putting more wood on, got it roaring. However, the heat disappeared into the vacuous aether and I shook and shivered. It was a long, miserable night. I was very happy to, at Carey’s suggestion, cut short our time in the woods and go home the next morning.

  “We never went camping, again. Later, I was retelling about that night with my husband in the woods to one of my dear, high school classmates and her husband, thinking we’d all have a good laugh about how very cold it was, how I nearly froze, how I spent the night pitching wood on the fire. You know what that lovely man said to me, Meggie? He said,

  “‘Now, wait. Let me understand . . . you were freezing . . . Your husband was where? . . . right there? . . . and, he did nothing?! How many men would have gladly tucked you into their arms and held you tight—all night long. What’s wrong with him?’

  “I had never thought about it like that, that many husbands would have cheerfully, heartily, exuberantly—

  warmly—taken their cold wives, cuddled them into their bedrolls and gladly shared their heat with them. They may have laughed together, told jokes, shared events of their days—at work, at the store, whatever. Why was I alone, Meggie? Why didn’t it occur to Carey that he could have made me comfortable? There I was pregnant with his first child. Why didn’t he snuggle?”