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“What am I afraid of? What bad can happen? Fear never helps. Maybe in some cases, like if I was being chased by a bear, being scared would give me a rush of adrenaline that would help me run super fast, but how many times have I been chased by a bear?

“It really helps to have identifiable things to be afraid of. Out here fear seems so out of place. If I was living in New York I’d have no end of things to focus fear and worry on. I’d just pick one according to what sort of mood I was in. But out here it’s a whole other story.”

THE LETTER FROM VIRGE. Whenever I think about that letter I find myself thinking, the worst part of the letter was such-and-such, but it keeps being a different such-and-such. There are so many good candidates for the worst part of that letter it’s impossible to choose.

On the back of the envelope in a barely legible scrawl was “This is a terrifyingly incomplete letter.” Maybe that was the worst thing. It set me up for a doozy. It also made it impossible to answer or deal with it. I should have sent it back unopened and told her to send me a complete one.

“Dearest Darling Mark.” Since when did she call me dearest darling?

“Some of this letter is just for you and some is for everyone. You decide what’s what.” Fat chance of that. I hadn’t been able to tell the difference between myself and the trees for the past few days, let alone the people. Besides, I was sick of things being just between us.

Open up and let the sun shine in, the truth will set you free and all. I published everything. It seemed to be the only way to deal with it. I had the feeling I was reading someone else’s mail anyway.

There was some end-of-the-world stuff. “This is the last time I’ll see California. The sunsets are all eerie colors from all the pollution.” She sounded very scared. Maybe that was what the incompleteness was. She had found out something about the end of the world that she couldn’t put in a letter.

She and Vincent hadn’t said a word to each other the whole way down. It had been very tense and unpleasant. At least I hadn’t been there for Vincent to blame.

There was some description of the land and the farm there. And then some stuff about going off pills and getting a coil and feeling much better.

Then there was the part about having slept with Vincent. I guess that was the part that was just for me. And being sorry about hurting me and crying and shaking in Vincent’s arms. It came right after the part about the new IUD coil. “Well, I guess you get a new machine you want to try it out right away.

Was I hurt? I really had to think about it. I found the idea of giving a shit about who puts whose thing in whose thing absurd and degrading. Was this some role she was making me play? If I wasn’t hurt would she feel insulted, unloved?

Did she have the clap? Did she want to live with both of us? Was she pregnant? Had she reached some new insight about sex? Was that the incomplete part? She said she wanted to come shake and cry in my arms. Was this maybe some new position or something Vincent had taught her?

There was no way I could write back to her. She was maybe going to Colorado to see her brother, who was going to jail for political Weatherman stuff. She might be heading back up to the farm immediately. She might even fly. She might be going to visit some people in Berkeley. All I could do was sit and wait for her return. Wait for her to complete the letter. Maybe a day or two, maybe a month. Wait… Suspend time and wait.

Every year about this time for as long as I had known Virginia, there had been a “new horizons breakthrough time.” Politics, drugs, sex, religion, food; a pinch of this, a dash of that. Usually nothing changed much.

OK. One more time, Virge, I’ll play. You can call your shots but I’ve got a few myself. I’m in a big hurry to get the fuck out of the oppressor business. Let’s see the new Virge. I hope you’re ready for the new Mark. Let it all hang out. This train is bound for glory. The brakeman has resigned.

Fear and pain would be everything and then nothing. The highs