I know more, I think, of the reality of violence than that girl. (I can't call her a woman now; I think she was irresponsible, and I hope she will grow from it.) And though I know I could kill, I would, probably because of what I know, have trouble killing anyone, even someone guilty, worthless, tried and convicted. I have a bruised knuckle from sword practice Friday night, and with the memory of my talk with Patty still fresh, I can easily conjure the image of a bloody hand, hacked from an are my a live blade. My practice of Aikido deals in enough force that when I imagine a man dead from body blows and internal hemorrhaging, he most easily has the face of a friend. And everyone is someone's friend. So I saw a bleeding arsonist in some dank alley, shot and dying, keeping company with the several others who might not be burning if they had been warned in the few seconds it took to shoot him.

I know this is overblown, but it is what I thought then. I think I offered a silent prayer for some kind of accommodation between the girl/woman and her hatred for an arsonist. I didn't notice the scenery for several blocks.

I went into another bookstore, Kramerbooks, which is trendy and fun to browse, and about three feet inside the door I picked up an oversized paperback along the lines of Our Bodies, Our Selves, only for teenagers. It was about going through puberty--both emotional and physical--and I stood there thumbing it for about twenty minutes, torn in different directions. The book was good, but I really didn't want to buy it or any other. Besides, I started to feel really guilty after I've read the first fifty pages or so of something while standing in a bookstore. After all, the store has to make money on something or I won't be able to stop in and browse. Anyway, I wanted to go to the baths. So I closed the book and went back to the car.

On the drive down, my mind wandered back over swords and arsonists, and knowing yourself, and why I was headed where I was, and you Barry, of course. I remember you saying that loving Hank had let you understand sexual monogamy, and that you thought it was usually a positive value. I felt then, as when you said it, as now, that you are right. I am too self-honest not to admit then that I was headed to a sexual encounter with probably approaching certainty. But I also knew that I wanted to go somewhere, be horny or not, and be accepted as either, and know that everyone around understood at least that. I awarded myself whatever part I needed of you tolerance and understanding. I put all philosophy behind me as I climbed the stairs.

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