I said, "Scram."
"Suppose a girl did?" She looked at me intently.
It was an idea that had never crossed my mind. I thought it over. "Scram," I repeated. "There's pain enough in life—even in loving—without asking for more."
Gwen's eyebrows went up. "It's another thing I can't feel, either." She gestured with her hand, pushing the idea away from herself.
She'd finished her highball long since. She made another, now—a stronger one. I didn't want any more Coca-Cola at the moment—any more anything. Any more her, even.
And that shocked me.
What had the sensation come from?
From her most recent confession?
No. It was familiar—undistressing in that connotation—a known, acknowledged, assimilated phenomenon, like any other biological datum of birds, bees, flowers, our earth. Nothing surprising at all.
It went back to the question "Why?": To Loneliness, Beauty and Fun and all that.