It is also true that my grief for him did not take over every crevice of my life. During the day I loved the sound of my upstairs neighbor square dancing. I taped a Monday night movie about a prostitute who killed her pimp, went to jail, and then became an oral surgeon. Lynette was one of the women in my movie; her teeth were falling out. She started every sentence to me with "Shit, honey..." The week after Jay left I saw her on the street. I told her about Jay and she said "Shit, Honey a man is like the bus. You turn around and soon enough another one's coming by." I told her about the oral surgeon prostitute and she said "Shit, honey that's why I don't watch TV anymore." The sound she makes when she laughs is louder than the traffic. I went home and watched my movie again so I could hear it. In some ways my life was still good and I was glad he was gone. The coil of intimacy was wrapped around both our necks; during our phone calls it tightened and relaxed with a will of its own, despite our intentions, despite our generosity and forgiveness.