Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure I understood Spiral Jetty at all. Vic, on the other hand, was thinking hard about the jetty. She wasn’t talking, but I could tell by looking at her that she was having Thoughts. She had that stubborn faith that it meant something—another thing I loved about her: She believed everything meant something. Though of

I had isolated myself from that, in my house in the country, where I had thought I would be safe. But I wasn’t safe, just isolated. I believed my cohort, my fellowship, the formerly weird, the troubled, the angsty, the fucked-up was nowhere to be seen here on my island. People on my island were life’s winners. Most had cruised through college and

If you’re not a good cook by the time you’re our age it’s a serious character defect, and it means something bad, something ungenerous, about your personality. Sorry to break the news. Anyway, we could cook just fine, but somehow we’d forgotten how to eat. Food was wearisome. We’d been dealing with food, planning it buying it growing it storing it

Vic’s brain never shut off, and her standards were sky-high, and this was what made her great, and it also wasn’t the easiest way to live. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “I know.” Her tears came to me from a star somewhere, or however iPhones talk to each other.

My two social modes these days seemed to be total fatigue or a wild, drunken abandon that ended with me in trouble. This had come out of nowhere, along with the sleepy despair of the last few months. Every once in a while I got drunk—in the passive voice, almost: It felt like it took hold of me, even though I was the fool doing the drinking.

At night we went out to hear bands and drink beers—the only things we had in common were punk rock and swimming in the ocean. Both activities that didn’t involve talking, you might note. In between bands, we’d argue.

The guitarist and I had a funny rapport, the kind of rapport that turns into you-know-what. The L-word.

Secret 5 I ran into an old friend at a backyard BBQ. He matter-of-factly informed me he was having a midlife crisis and the thought of an affair had crossed his mind. But he was pretty busy. Also, he said, waving his hand comically up and down in front of his aging body, as if to display it, “Who’d have us?”

There would be, when the time came, no need for seduction. I was sure that I myself would prove to be sufficient, when the time came, just like Elizabeth Bennet, who certainly had no need to seduce.