Later that night, Collier finds herself wondering if time spent in love can be construed as lost or wasted time. Time transfigured into affection? Is that a waste? Is any small corner of love in the world useless?

The concept of "useless" time at first seems inconceivable to Collier. The affair's beginnings were not so much born out of intimacy as they were out of convenience and pragmatism. "I need a man to keep my edges off," Collier once told Kiki. "I'm not looking to be anyone's 'only', if you know what I mean." Collier was not interested in permanence or tenderness, though Kiki was having the smallest bit of trouble understanding why anyone would enter something so clearly resembling a vacuum. Then it occurred to her that perhaps Collier had the correct approach to such things, not allowing herself to be torn by longing for "more".

Or maybe it was the disappointed heart that Collier sought to avoid, not true love. After all, a broken heart in your twenties is a bittersweet melancholy and singular thing. This can even extend a bit into your thirties. But past thirty, the fractured heart of a woman can become shattered and scattered into so many pieces that when reassembled one keeps noticing the missing pieces here and there and so gives up trying to re-create the original heart until those absent bits are almost forgotten. Until you reach into your pocket or accidentally step on a fragment on the floor and are reminded that there are still dangerous remains. Sharp. Cutting. Leaving little messes behind so you will not forget that they once belonged to the whole.

Whitney Otto, Now You See Her
© 1994 by Whitney Otto. All rights reserved.

Posted 26 April 1996

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