The other night, I lay in bed, reading to my eight-year old son, Teo. Teo is a great reader to himself, as well, but nights, he still likes to curl up with either Greg or me, and listen. On this night, we were well into The Battle of the Labyrinth, book four of the Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series. This is Teo’s second time through Percy’s saga. The first time, Greg went with him. This time it’s me, along for the wild ride. Ah, the “cradle of Western civilization,” transported into the shopping malls and tourist destinations of the contemporary United States. For about two years. Teo’s been into all things Greek–gods, and demi-gods, and monsters, oh my–and he still can’t seem to get enough. He and I just started book five, The Last Olympian, and he’s counting the days until the movie’s release. (February 12, if you’re interested.) Never mind that Teo won’t be able to attend the first midnight showing. It’ll be enough for Teo that Percy is out there, several stories tall.
At any rate, this particular night, Percy, Teo, and I were wending our merry, madcap way through the chapter, “We Visit the Demon Dude Ranch,” encountering Orthus, the two-headed canine, and Eurytion, son of Ares. And look, there: the red, holy cows! of Apollo, and the half-horse, half-rooster Hippalektryons! Texas never looked so good. Teo and I were mighty relaxed, touring around.
Then I read the comparatively innocuous words, “Before Eurytion could reply, a new voice said, ‘Welcome to the Triple G Ranch,'” and it was like I’d flipped a switch inside Teo. He sat bolt upright in bed, and said, “Hello.” Teo didn’t smile or glance or blink at me, saying this; his eyes stayed fixed on the page. I don’t believe Teo even realized that he’d said a word, let alone greeted a character as if that character had, as the cliché goes, walked off the page. I don’t think Teo even thought about the fact that he was sitting up straight now, not curled up and cuddling. Teo was so deeply engaged with the character who turned out to be Geryon, so happy to see Geryon again, that Teo just had to say hello. Teo recognized Geryon from his previous trip to the dude ranch, and Teo wanted to be, if not exactly recognized by Geryon, at least, maybe, acknowledged. Teo wanted to have a nice, little chat with this monster.
For Geryon was just that–monstrous, with his villainous mustache, and three, count ’em, three bodies, and his four armpits (Teo loves that word; it gets him every time). Geryon wasn’t the kind of guy I’d want to say hi too. But this is Teo’s story. Yes, I could go on a tangent here, and ask: what about Geryon made Teo say hello? Did Teo seem some aspect of himself in those multiple torsos? Or was it the wildness and rightness of Riordan’s characterization, setting, plot? Ultimately that’s not what’s important to me–not tonight. I just love it that my son sat up and said hello. I love what Teo’s hello taught me, its sweet reminder. There are indeed those things or people we love, sometimes for mysterious, inexplicable reasons–that awaken in us a greeting upon first, or second, or umpteenth encounter—that evoke our best hellos, awakening all that is open-eyed, open-hearted, and open-minded in us.
Teo’s hello reminds me of this poem:
The minute I heard my first love song
I started looking for you
Not knowing how foolish this was.
Lovers don’t meet somewhere along the way.
They’re in each other all along.
—Rumi
Greg and I had that printed on our wedding program. And, yes, when I opened the door to Greg one cold November night, and said hello for the first time, I felt like I already knew his eyes.
This happened to me, too, the first time I held Magalena. Hello, hummingbird. And then there was Teo. Hello, turtle dove.
And as with Teo, it happens to me with certain books, as well: Housekeeping, by Marilynne Robinson, did this for me, as well as her recent book, Home. Or Eva Moved the Furniture, by Margot Livesy. George Eliot’s Middlemarch. Edith Warton’s House of Mirth. Jane Austen’s anything. Charles Dicken’s Pickwick Papers. (Yes. Really.) All those Brontes and their books. Beyond the Bedroom Wall, Larry Woiwode. Toni Morrison, hello. Mary Oliver’s poems. Rumi and Anne Carson, wonderful bedfellows, to be read, curled up in bed. Hello, hello, hello to you and so many others.
Hello, again J.D. Sailinger, even as we say good-bye:
“The only think you can do now, the only religious thing you can do, is act. Act for God, if you want to – be God’s actress, if you want to. What could be prettier? You can at least try to, if you want to–there’s nothing wrong in trying.”
– J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey
Gosh, I love that.
And then there’s music: Tom Waits, who sealed the deal that first night I met Greg. Kate Bush, my heroine. The Roches. (Without them, would I have survived college?) Nina Simone. Etta James. Bach and Handel, hi there.
And of course, there are Greg’s photographs, Anne and Jane and Tim’s paintings. There’s Giotto, Frieda Kahlo, Mark Rothko.
Couldn’t we go on and on saying hi? Shouldn’t we?
Let’s do.
Two nights ago, very, very tired, I found myself reading to Teo again. I swear I read two whole pages, while completely asleep. Is it scientifcally possible? I don’t know. But I did it. Eyes half-shut, mind half-shot, I murmured things that I’ll never remember. Some Greek God did something to some poor demi-god kid; everyday items no doubt transformed into mythical weapons . Reading, reading, in my sleep, I could feel Teo listening, listening, wide awake. I could feel his hello. That’s why I kept turning the pages.
Then out of the blue, out of my dreamy state, I said, “He walked the walk. And he came out all right.”
What? This made no sense at all. The words just emerged from a deep place called REM. Teo sat straight up in bed again, and laughed. He laughed and luaghed. “‘He walked the walk. And he came out all right’?” Teo howled. He couldn’t get over it; it was better than armpits. As I believe I’ve clarified, Teo knows these books; he’s mostly reading silently along with me, as we turn the pages. This wasn’t part of the hello Teo was expecting, but he liked it. Wide awake now, I was laughing, too. Hello, Teo and I said to each other, thanks to a great book and Teo’s good listening and my exhausted blunder.
Hello.
I’d love to know what you all say hello to, when you have time, whether you’re wide awake or not.
