The people you should be asking these sorts of questions are the ones who did get married, he said. They probably have more to say about the whole thing than I do.

But doesn’t it get lonely? she asked. What about all those nights alone in the dark?

Sometimes I’m lonely, he said. But I would rather be lonely than aggravated.

She had lost all sense of agenda when she saw him form the words, when he told her everything hidden. Now, each moment, she vacillated between struggling against the flow and slipping into it, letting it carry her, her eyes closed, until she reached more solid ground downstream.

It is the best of the lines, we agree, though the operators claim people who live in town never appreciate the cable cars as much as the tourists.

I do, I say. I wish I could ride them more often.

And with that, they begin the work of moving the car up the California Street hill, gliding, like magic, on a perpetual river of metal.

But no one has yet discovered how to map thin air—there are no paths to follow when one takes a brave, necessary leap. There is only the net that appears, made of many hands, some familiar, some yet-unknown.

The owners of those interwoven hands whisper, We know you will soar. They whisper, We will catch you if you need us. They whisper, We will see you very, very soon.

* To Jen Maiser, for this next beginning.

She had forgotten how to convert the late-night load to something more modest, something that could be tucked in a corner, or under a bed. That’s why the phone, ringing at that hour, startled her so.