Shane is leaving.
Of course I blame myself. I haven’t been there, and – well, you know how his life is. He doesn’t have many friends and I suppose there’s been no one to talk to, and he’s incredibly high-strung and any sort of conversation with him is incredibly difficult to maneuver, except for me, mostly. He blurts out nonsensical statements and one has to very quickly pick out the kernel of meaning before he has time to blurt out another nonsensical string of words. It’s a popular belief that he’s a genius, but his work doesn’t involve ‘relating to others’ so it’s always whispered in the same breath that he can’t, you know, hold a regular conversation. Or drive anywhere without getting lost.
And then anyone who feels slightly off-put by his high-level work feels a little better, because it really must be so hard to get lost on your way to the grocery store when you’ve lived in the same town for a decade.
None of this is the point, though. The point is that he’s leaving, and can’t quite express why, and his pathological wife just stares and digs her nails into her skin, or starts pulling out her hair, and there isn’t much to get from her – not in the way of truth, or explanation.
And it’s my fault.