She sends intensely brief emails that say something along the lines of ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. It’s all I can do after seeing such an email to keep my bearings, steady my heart rate, curb my hyperventilating. Others can’t understand my reaction. They stand outside this intoxication, chatting with neighbors. Who knows what ‘others’ are up to? Why, they themselves are often bewildered. It’s not as though a missing piece of underwear implies a testy round of negotiations with a hostile entity, or a well-dressed extra-terrestrial for that matter.

It’s both that she never comes over, and is ever present in the new brevity of her electronic pronouncements. “Well,” Albert says, “showing up may be overrated.” Albert is who I have a beer with. I’m sure you can see why.

Who’s Albert? my wife wants to know.

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