I wish…you could read letters you wrote 46 years ago. It is very painful reading.
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And I don’t just mention it, for God’s sake, to show you I was once an Emotional Young Person Just Like Yourself.
The handpiece lay detached from its catch, waiting for Franny. It looked almost as dependent as a human being for some acknowledgment of its existence.
You can’t just walk out on the results of your own hankerings.
She was a girl who for a ringing phone dropped exactly nothing. She looked as if her phone had been ringing continually ever since she reached puberty.
I prayed for the city to be cleared of people, for the gift of being alone…which is the one New York prayer that rarely gets lost or delayed in channels, and in no time at all everything I touched turned to solid loneliness.