The summer nights were ending. They weren’t yet ending but the fact that they would end clearly suggested they were ending. The process of ending had begun when the summer had. Nothing of any consequence had been done with any of the nights, still they didn’t want them to end. What ending meant to both of them was years in the future—into a death beyond space and into a thought experiment so without merit that the very thinking of it seemed to race them more speedily towards it. And it was it. And this mid August, barely mid-August, really early-mid August evening, meant “summer will end” and “summer will end” meant life will end—though even that they didn’t do much with.
Marjorie said, “I think Mark M is really dishonest.”
Bill said, “Why do you say ‘Mark M’ when we don’t know any other Marks anyway?”
Marjorie said she didn’t know and how him saying that was kind of a dishonest reply in a way. “The dishonesty called evasion, though the kind of ‘dishonest’ I am thinking about is a lot more damaging and a lot less obvious.”
Bill said how he thought Marjorie’s need of honesty or fear of dishonesty was a little childish, like she couldn’t stand the fact that she couldn’t know other people in any real meaningful way anyway and dishonesty is just a big flag showing as much, a big sign saying, SEE YOU ARE TOTALLY ALONE.
This made Marjorie feel hot and she got up from the table and went to sit in the half-full kiddie pool.