At the tropical drink stand I bought a papaya juice and borrowed a pencil stub from the counterman to write: Dearest Nance, sorry I missed you, leaving town tomorrow, must say a regretful no to Sally’s offer. I thank you and her so much. I’m always terrified I’ll lose the enclosed when I’m on the road. Will you keep it safe for me until I’m next in town? It was so good to see you after all these years. Always, Ray.

From my billfold, within a flap right next to Sidney Bechet’s broken reed, I extracted and carefully unfolded a little drawing Linney had once made with my fountain pen of a crescent moon and stars. Sometimes, when I said, “Thanks, Linney,” I would pat my wallet in my breast pocket, knowing her drawing was there. I hadn’t looked at it in over a year. I looked at it now, folded it back up, and put it, along with my note, into the souvenir envelope. I licked the flap and sealed it. I wrote Nancy’s name on the front, gave the counterman a tip along with his pencil, and walked back to the pretty girl at the kiosk.

After that, I killed the necessary time strolling about, feeling like the Red Death as the masque approached midnight. Everywhere I went, people were turning away and leaving. I listened to an inverse symphony of music being shut off in midphrase, belly-laughing automatons being unplugged, wood slats rolling as the broad shutters of arcade games were pulled down and padlocked. The brightly colored lights went out like a fireworks display being apologetically retracted. I walked until the fair was so empty that my very presence would cause someone to wonder what I was doing there, then took myself to the East Bay ferry slip, where there were still some people milling about.

I sat on a green wooden bench and watched a man carrying one little girl in his right arm and leading a slightly older one by his left hand. He shouldn’t have kept them out so late. I followed them with my eyes as they slowly made their way up the metal ramp onto the ferry.

It would have been nice to know if I’d had one or two daughters in my lifetime, but life was apparently not going to give me that knowledge, and I’d accepted that. I was at least grateful that I’d now been given the chance to do something, dangerous as it might be, rather than simply allowing events to buffet me about in their wake. For too many years, I’d done little more than get through each day. This night was going to be mine.

The fog was rolling in. I could actually see it slither along the ground around me. I could make swirls in it with my hand.