We hugged goodbye and I harvested her warmth. Beautiful ’Gitte. In the car as I drove off, I realized that I had not mentioned my heart surgery. Then another thought struck me, is ’Gitte the woman I am meant to be with? Crazy.

February 18, 1978

No money. No friends. Haven’t heard from Katie for over a month. I try to write, then throw it all away. Drinking too much.

October 15, 2006

I have been to see John. An hour’s drive to a town near Williamstown. After receiving directions three times in the small hospital, I entered a room and found a man seated by a window. John had lost weight and his skin was pale, no longer cherubic. When he turned his numinous gaze my way, I saw that despite the changes, it was him. Later when he relaxed, he laughed and his eyes crinkled and he was the old John.

What did I expect? Thirty years. But in actual years, how old could he be? Sixty-something? He appeared much older than that. He immediately launched into a discussion of his situation. As he did, he deftly opened the can of fancy butter cookies I had brought along, then absentmindedly munched them as he talked. By the time I left, he had eaten the entire tin.

John: “I try to remember things and the information is not there. Can’t remember the names of my children. Or even whether or not I have kids at all. People come to see me. I don’t know who these people are! People. From long ago? Who knows? My kids? Relatives? To me they’re just strangers.

“Don’t know where I am. Don’t know why I’m here. Don’t know what year it is. Couldn’t tell you many things. Many many things have slipped away.

“For example, I’ve completely forgotten major historical events. Presidents! Who was the President between Carter and Reagan? Have no fucking idea. I kind of remember some wars, there was a war in Vietnam, right? And I remember some space exploration, the moon. But not Mars. Did we put men on Mars? See I know we did, but the details are just outside my reach. Can’t tell you the names of the tallest mountains. And you know what? When you can’t remember shit, it’s scary.

“I know you, buddy, know your face, but I don’t know you. There’s so much about you I’ve forgotten. Emptiness instead of stuff.”

I began with the obvious and said it was nice seeing ’Gitte again. John replied, “Don’t know her either. Don’t want to know her! Who is she? Some bitch?”

Patiently, I said, “No, not some bitch. Your wife.”

“My wife? Right. Tell me another one. Who the fuck are you again? My doctor? Where did you get your degree? And don’t tell me Harvard, that’s what they all say.” I noticed that John’s hair had been unevenly sheared to the scalp, allowing tufts to spring up between what appeared to be fresh scars.