GWEN LEFT CLINIC EARLY that afternoon wearing capris and a tee-shirt. She drove to Noe Valley where her best friend, Nan, had just claimed a tennis court. Their bond, forged twenty years ago while sharing seats on the bench of the Stanford women’s varsity team, had endured despite the divergent directions their lives had taken. Nan married a lawyer right after college—they did have that in common. She became a suburban matron and didn’t work outside the home again. Her daily life was unaffected by the turmoil of the 1960s that so influenced Gwen. Nan’s three children were all older than Eva, and Gwen often thought of Nan as an older sister—except on the tennis court where her speed, powerful swing, and natural blond hair made Gwen feel like Nan’s doddering old aunt.
They lost touch during Gwen’s years in medical school but reconnected when Eva was born. Nan would come to San Francisco and provide advice and support. A few years later, Nan’s youngest child was diagnosed with a kidney tumor. Gwen would drive to Menlo Park, their roles reversed.
After volleying for ten minutes, they began a set. Gwen’s first serve nicked the net.
“Let,” hollered Nan, shifting her center of gravity from one foot to the other.
Where does that energy come from, wondered Gwen.
She lost in short order by a double fault, two long returns, and another double fault. The second game started with Nan’s serve getting by her. It was one she would have been able to return a year ago. In college, she had been well-matched against Nan on the court. Not anymore.
Gwen set her hands on her hips and shouted, “You may have to play the outer lines for this to be competition.”
“It used to be about winning, Gwen. Now it’s about exercise.”
“Uh-huh,” wheezed Gwen as she rushed the baseline and returned a serve over Nan’s head as she was creeping up to the net. Nan raced back. She had to lob her return, allowing Gwen to send a forehand smash which Nan could only watch. They both laughed.
There was another bond they shared. Sophomores on the Stanford tennis team traditionally strengthened their forearms and got their art requirement out of the way at the same time by taking a studio course in carving marble. Their team mates were soon bored with the repetitive hammering, but Gwen and Nan were entranced by shaping stone blocks into human forms. They still made dates to visit local museums whenever sculpture exhibits were in town.
As they walked off the court, Nan said, “We’re on for the De Young next weekend, right?”
“Absolutely! I’m not missing a chance to see some of the Pergamon collection.”
“Hey, how’s Eva?”
“The same. At least she’s not pregnant or doing drugs. I guess I should be grateful.”
“That’s for damn sure.”
“Actually, if I can think objectively and ignore how she treats me, it does seem that for fourteen, she’s doing all right.”
Nan slung an arm around Gwen’s shoulders.
“There you go,” she said. “That’s a winning attitude.”