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We like to think that our lives are within our control, but they may not be completely so. We are necessarily influenced by those who have come before us.
When Bob thought about the state of the country these days, he sometimes had the image of a huge tractor trailer rumbling down the highway and the wheels, one by one, falling off.
It may be that not enough is said about this sort of thing, older people and how much they might appreciate the touch of another human being.
As he got out of his car and walked toward her, the sight of her standing there made something gold-colored flicker inside him; it was joy.
“I hate getting older,” Bob said. “I think that adds to my terror. But honestly? The way the world is going…I wonder if that’s just because I’m old, or if we really are in a mess.” “Oh, we’re in a mess.”
“My point is that every person on this earth is so complicated. Bob, we’re all so complicated, and we match up for a moment—or maybe a lifetime—with somebody because we feel that we are connected to them. And we are. But we’re not in a certain way, because nobody can go into the crevices of another’s mind,
“I’m so good at being lonely, though. I’m just so good at it.”
And who—who who who in this whole entire world—does not want to be heard?
To be in love when the outcome is uncertain is an exquisite kind of agony.
People suffer. They live, they have hope, they even have love, and they still suffer. Everyone does. Those who think they’ve not suffered are lying to themselves.
“It’s quite a world we live in, isn’t it. For years I thought: I will miss all this when I die. But the way the world is these days, I sometimes think I’ll be damned glad to be dead.” She sat quietly looking ahead through the windshield. “I’ll still miss it, though,” she said.
