The original entry

I was taking a trip to Red Hook for visit a songstress platonic lover of mine, whom I had not see for years owing to the fact that I got it in my head that Red Hook was at least two hours from me.

So -- funny story -- while you are personifying Fate then, I live in Red Hook now. I have for close to a decade. It is, without hesitation, the best place I have ever lived. I can walk into town whenever I wish (and I run there at least five times a week, weather permitting), where there is a noodle shop, three Mexican places, a coffeehouse, a natural food store, a New Age shop, and so much more. It is green and kind. I feel safe. The high school kids I pass on my runs are universally charming.

Your "platonic lover" Sarah, however? She moved away before I moved in and, to my knowledge, never returned.

You also had a distinctly not-platonic lover who attended Bard. You also did not live in Red Hook during her tenure, though that would have made much in your life far easier.

I don't know what that means for your story, but it is worth considering. Red Hook -- though I set my novels here for the most part -- did not want you until it could have you completely.

So I was driving up there, first time ever. Rather enthralled with the mere idea that I would soon be in the presence of Sarah. So, I drove. On Route 9, just after I passed into Rhinebeck, my car ceased to accelerate. I had no experience with what to do, so I pulled over. My car absolutely refused to move.

I remember not only the panic of your car no longer working -- though it was a car specifically purchased because it was not going to last a long time (first-time drivers are not, as a rule, the best at it) -- but your bafflement that you were not able to get there. You were so close. Now, I could walk that distance with little hesitation, but it was insurmountable at the time.

Sarah, it should be noted, did not bridge that distance, some three miles. She could have met you at a church in the middle and given you a hug. Sarah could have asked one of her housemates to drive to rescue you. But, for her own reasons, she did not.

I do not recall to what degree Sarah invited you to visit.

I was stranded in a strange place with no help. Then I looked to my right and found that my car had died... right in front of a car repair shop. They confirmed that the car would go no further because the timing belt had met its fatal time. So, someone/something didn't want me to get to Sarah, but it also didn't want me completely screwed. Thus, Fate.

Maybe it was me. Perhaps I didn't want you to get to Sarah because I understood how deeply a mistake it would have been to ever be other than platonic with her.

You and Sarah never kiss properly, though she did once write a song on the topic of having not kissed you. Too frequently, she calls you wine-woozy and more than flirts -- vacillating between wanting to live with you in Maine while you raised seals and threatening to devour you in bed to see how far she could push it before you flinched. You would have, with little provocation, done most things she could have want of you.

You would not be friends now. You would be less friends than you are, which is not a strong friendship. It would have harmed you because Sarah wasn't going to be the experience you genuinely wanted or could handle. I don't know that it would have hurt her in turn, but it may have. I might have regretted her pain more than yours.

Had you let Sarah destroy you all at once, others may not have done it far more slowly. It is a matter of how quickly to rip off a Band-Aid.

But I think I am growing increasing happy with my lack of plurality.

That's wonderful. Become the person you truly are on your own. Be independent. You enjoy yourself without even thinking about ever wanting to date anyone--

I'm just waiting, patiently, for someone who is my romantic equal.

Damn it, Younger Thomm, why are you like this? You do not need to be with someone else to have value or purpose. You spent so long wanting to be the perfect boyfriend that you rarely took the time to be someone whom you liked being around. Sex is (mostly) fun and lovely -- kissing perhaps more so -- but you could handle more months without it. Even more months without romantic love. You were at that point not lacking in genuinely platonic love.

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Thomm Quackenbush is an author and teacher in the Hudson Valley. He has published four novels in his Night's Dream series (We Shadows, Danse Macabre, Artificial Gods, and Flies to Wanton Boys). He has sold jewelry in Victorian England, confused children as a mad scientist, filed away more books than anyone has ever read, and tried to inspire the learning disabled and gifted. He is capable of crossing one eye, raising one eyebrow, and once accidentally groped a ghost. When not writing, he can be found biking, hiking the Adirondacks, grazing on snacks at art openings, and keeping a straight face when listening to people tell him they are in touch with 164 species of interstellar beings. He likes when you comment.