"She has what the doctors refer to as 'non-ossuary translucence.'"
    I translated that mentally. "You can see through everything but her bones?"
    "Very good."
    "College. S'okay, you should see some of the people I work with," I told him, which earned a chuckle, though it didn't last long.
    "Maybe there are places that would be happy to have us, but...."
    "I think you might want to give it a look, at least."
    "I tried. I mean, you don't want to end up hiding from the world in Maine."
    "Not forever, anyway," I murmured, since that's pretty much what I came to the place for myself.
    "But... I completely shot my previous career. I can't be trusted to do that anymore."
    "What was it?"
    Sigh. "I don't want to get into it. Just... gone."
    "It's okay."
    "Let me just say you needed two hands, and one of them couldn't spaz out unexpectedly, or people died."
    That could be a lot of things, but the subject was clearly painful. "Well, I don't know, isn't Maine fielding a team at some point?"
    He laughed a bit harshly. "Against who? Who's gonna take over the world in Maine?"
    "You'd be surprised. Even if it's just helping out on a slightly more normal scale, I'm sure there's plenty to do." I shrugged. "Just a thought." I was having a hard time fathoming his evident surrender, to tell the truth. I mean, yes, his situation is unpleasant, and there's a cruel irony in his achieving just enough of what he truly wanted to make the gap an ever-present torment. But there's a lot of people out there with actual serious disabilities that take them more in stride. Maybe he just needs more time to adjust, I don't know. I do feel sympathy for him.
    "Yeah, yeah. And maybe, eventually. So who do you fly planes for?" he changed the subject.
    "Private outfit."
    "Individual charter stuff?"
    "Yeah. Filling in. This that and the other thing, anything, anywhere." Once in a while I miss it, to tell the truth. Life was one heck of a lot simpler then.
    "As long as it's legal?"
    "I didn't ask," I grinned. "That's my boss's job." Not sure why I threw that in, to tell the truth; Bill would've jumped without a parachute before he took an illegal cargo. It amused me, and what the heck, as long as I was being someone else for the week....
    "I'm sure there might be some police officers in the country who'd like to meet you, too."
    "Entirely possible." Though not in the sense that he intended, of course.
    There was a brief silence; the conversational vein seemed to have been exhausted.
    "Well, I gotta get back," he said eventually.
    "Nice talking to you."
    "I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip. It's good to... have my expectations proven wrong." He smiled cautiously.
    "Happy to do so."
    "You enjoy your stay."
    "Thanks. Good coffee," I added.
    He went off, presumably headed home, and I continued on my way, thinking. Nothing much happened the rest of the day that was out of the ordinary. My usual walking, thinking, not thinking, poking through tide pools, watching the patient waves beating away at the granite shore, the seagulls squabbling with one another. Saw what might have been a whale surfacing, far out to sea, but I'm not sure.
    I haven't been able to think of anything I can do about his situation, unfortunately; as far as I can tell he mainly needs to stop feeling sorry for himself before anything can happen (yeah, I know, I should be talking). The fact that I keep trying to think of something seems to indicate that maybe my little time-out is having an effect. There's a part of my brain that wants to get back to work, to be doing things. Making a difference, somewhere.

(Ten minutes later) I'm getting physically and mentally restless, yes. But on my walk I found that I don't feel like I'm making much, if any, progress on the things that drove me up here in the first place. They're too... big.
    I mean, things could be worse, I'm keenly aware of that fact. And it's not as if I want to be feeling like this all the time. But every time I look at the question of who I am, I wind up tangled in all the other questions that seem to be a part of it. I can't answer any of them, don't even have any idea where to start. I feel just as trapped and confused as ever. No closer to having an idea of where the future might take me, if there is one, if it matters. If I should even bother thinking about it. How can it mean anything? How can anything I do or think matter at all? Sometimes I think I was better off not knowing, having my little illusory world where I could use the pronoun "I" without hesitating. I was certainly a lot happier. Now I know it's all a big joke.
    Ha, ha.
    I hate crying.
    See what I mean? This happens every time. There's nothing to grab onto to start unraveling this, no end marked "Start Here." It's like drowning.

May 26, 1987

Apparently I managed to sleep despite myself, and woke up in a reasonably good mood. It's weird how that happens; I've almost stopped trying to understand it. This morning, feeling somewhat quixotic, I made sure to pass by the pier at the same time as I did yesterday, saw the same patterns taking shape, as no doubt they do every day.
    "You're getting to be a regular around here," Marshall remarked.
    "Only for a few more days."
    He paused for a moment, studying me, weighing something. "Nothing freaks you out?"
    "Most things don't freak me out." Wondering what that was a prelude to.
    "We very seldom get company for dinner," he said carefully.
    I smiled at him. "I'd be delighted. Which house?" Good grief, if that was all it took to brighten things for him, or them... and anyway, I was getting tired of eating out by myself. Besides, I figured maybe I could use the distraction.
    "You didn't guess?" He pointed out to an old, isolated Victorian overlooking a rocky little cove. It looked like it should have lightning playing around the spires.
    "No, actually, I hadn't guessed, so thank you for pointing it out." Thinking, Sheesh, what kind of assumptions does he think most people walk around making? "The last person I knew who lived in a house like that looked an awful lot like a vampire."
    His eyebrows went up, but he just said, "Tell me over dinner."

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