Of course, he didn’t come. Did I really expect him to? Yes, I suppose so, at least at the beginning, when I first said that I might go. And then I worried about it. It’s been thirty years, after all. A lifetime has passed. Then as time got nearer, I didn’t want him to. Leave it be. He always unsettled me, even back then. A restless being, uncontained, reckless, careless. I went. And he didn’t come. And I was glad. I wanted to be with the work, alone. Not have it talked through. No. It was better that way. Alone.
