It was sometime in early 1953 when I got out. I'd given Mary my number; she was still stuck in that goddamn institution. I told her that when she got out and went home to New York, that she should give me a buzz. I'd be glad to talk to her. I went home and moved back in with my parents for a little bit, just long enough for me to find a job.

I never graduated from high school. I never went back to school at all. That made it sort of difficult to find a real, decent paying job. Of all places, I finally found myself at one of the movie theatres near my parents' house. The first movie I remember there was "It Came From Outer Space", a horrible 3D flick that everyone seemed to love. That job wasn't so bad. I didn't like the movies much, but I had an easier time dealing with people now, and I was given lots of hours to work. I eventually made enough that I could move myself into a tiny apartment a few blocks away from my parents.

It was sometime shortly after James Dean's car accident that I moved. I remember that because I remember thinking about what a goddamn phony he was. Always trying to be so cool, until he smashed up his Spyder and died. I'm not saying I'm glad he died, I'm just saying that I probably wouldn't have thought twice about it if he hadn't been so phony.

I got a second job shortly after moving in, working at one of the local diners. I didn't have a car, so my range of work places was limited. For the next few years I bounced around from job to job, trying to have at least two at all times. Those years went by slow, and lonely. There were a few girls here and there, no one I ever cared much for though. Every once in a while I'd think of Mary, and if she was out or not yet. I'd wonder why she didn't call me, if she was out. Or when she'd get out and if she'd call me when she did. I wondered if she had called my parents' place, and they'd neglected to let me know, or to give her my new number.

My parents wanted nothing to do with me. They didn't want me in their house, they thought I was a bad influence on Phoebe or something. I was an embarrassment to the family or something, so after I moved out I didn't hear much from them. I didn't really care much, either. I resented them for sending me to that place when I didn't need to go, and I resented them for continuing to treat me like some goddamn loony.

Then I'd think of Jane. It'd been so long since I'd seen her that I nearly forgot about her. I bumped into her one day on the street; she was dressed like Marilyn Monroe and looked absolutely stunning; it damn near killed me. We talked for a few minutes, and she told me she was seeing old Stradlater again. I had a short flashback of the day we got in a fight, Stradlater and I. When I'd punched him, and he'd given me a bloody nose. So I decided to politely excuse myself from Jane's presence. It bothered me for a long time that she'd changed so much, that she'd reduced herself to his level. But like I said earlier, I can't save people from falling over the edge. They have to do it themselves, and if they fall over, there's nothing I can do to get them back up.

I remember in 1960 finally getting that call from Mary. She'd got out about two years prior to that, but never managed to get home until then.

"So," I'd said to her, "why don't you stop by? We can catch up."

"Alright, that sounds good," she responded. I was glad that she still sounded like her typical friendly self. The Zoo hadn't broken her, that stupid institution hadn't broken her. She hadn't changed that I could tell, and I smiled at that.

She took a cab and came over to my apartment. She looked almost exactly the same as she had when I left that stupid place. She wore a knee length skirt and a turtleneck sweater. She looked nice.

We say around and chatted for a while, catching up on things. I told her about what I'd been doing since I got out of the institution. She told me about her continued time in the institution, and about her two years stuck out in California. Mary and I talked for a long time that night, and before we knew it, it was almost two in the morning. I insisted she spend the night, as I was concerned about her heading home by herself so late at night. She complied with only a little convincing necessary.

She started out on my bed while I slept on the couch, but due to the lack of ability to sleep she begged me to come to the bedroom with her to talk more. So I sat in one of my uncomfortable wooden chairs while she lie in the bed. We talked for a while, and then I watched her sleep for a while; she looked so content and pleasant. It was strange, it reminded me of when I used to watch Phoebe sleep when she was little. Eventually, after God only knows how long, Mary's eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at me, shifting in the bed and lifting up the covers. I smiled back and climbed into bed.

The next morning, when I woke in the bed beside Mary, I was totally and completely disgusted with myself. I could almost literally feel my self-respect, and my respect for Mary, plummeting into the abyss. My mind raced with all kinds of thoughts as I desperately tried to remember the events of that night. But I remembered that nothing happened. I'd just climbed into the bed with her and gone to sleep.

She told me she needed to be getting home, and got herself dressed. We stood by my doorway in an awkward silence for a moment just before she left.

"Well, I had a really great night," she said, "It was real fun."

"Me too," I told her.

I noticed she was wringing her hands again. I noticed her doing it the day before, too. It was her new habit I guess. I sort of figured that she did it when she was nervous or felt dirty. Sort of like a substitute for washing her hands like mad. I just hoped that she was nervous and didn't feel dirty for spending the night with me.

"Well, look, I'll call you later tonight, okay? Will you be home?"

I nodded. "I don't have anything better to do."

She gave me a quick kiss before slipping out the door and leaving me standing there by myself. All afternoon and all night I kept thinking about how she wasn't going to call, that she hated me and everything. I thought about that all day until the phone finally rang and it was her. I don't think I've ever felt more relieved in my life.

We talked for a long time that night, getting to know each other better and all. We talked on the phone a lot over the next few weeks. We started seeing each other more often and everything, and after a couple years we got an apartment together. Since we were both working, we could afford a nicer place than the shithole I was previously at. It wasn't too far from my old place, but it was nice. A couple years before Woodstock, I asked her to marry me.