I kept the date in mind. It was never any problem creating a split with Lydia. I was naturally a loner, content just to live with a woman, eat with her, sleep with her, walk down the street with her. I didn’t want conversation, or to go anywhere except the racetrack or the boxing matches. I didn’t understand t.v. I felt foolish paying money to go into a movie theatre and sit with other people to share their emotions. Parties sickened me. I hated the game-playing, the dirty play, the flirting, the amateur drunks, the bores. But parties, dancing, small talk energized Lydia. She considered herself a sexpot. But she was a little too obvious. So our arguments often grew out of my wish for no-people-at-all versus her wish for as-many-people-as– often-as-possible.

A couple of days before Mindy’s arrival I started it. We were on the bed together.
“Lydia, for Christ’s sake, why are you so stupid? Don’t you realize I’m a loner? A recluse? I have to be that way to write.” “How can you learn anything about people if you don’t meet them?”

“I already know all about them.”

“Even when we go out to eat in a restaurant, you keep your head down, you don’t look at anybody.”

“Why make myself sick?”

“I observe people,” she said. “I study them.”

“Shit!”

“You’re afraid of people!”

“I hate them.”

“How can you be a writer? You don’t observe!”

“O.K., I don’t look at people, but I earn the rent with my writing. It beats tending sheep.”

“You’re not going to last. You’ll never make it. You’re doing it all wrong.”

“That’s why I’m making it.”

“Making it? Who the hell knows who you are? Are you famous like Mailer? Like Capote?”

“They can’t write.”

“But you can! Only you, Chinaski, can write!”

“Yes, that’s how I feel.”

“Are you famous? If you went to New York City, would anybody know you?”

“Listen I don’t care about that. I just want to go on writing. I don’t need trumpets.”

“You’d take all the trumpets you could get.”

“Maybe.”

“You like to pretend you’re already famous.”

“I have always acted the same way, even before I wrote.”

“You’re the most unknown famous man I ever met.”

“I’m just not ambitious.”

“You are but you’re lazy. You want it for nothing. When do you write anyhow? When do you do it? You’re always in bed or drunk or at the racetrack.”

“I don’t know. It’s not important.” “What’s important then?”

“You tell me,” I said.

“Well, I’ll tell you what’s important!” Lydia said. “We haven’t had a party for a long time. I haven’t seen any people for a long time! I LIKE people! My sisters LOVE parties. They’ll drive a thousand miles to go to a party! That’s how we were raised in Utah! There’s nothing wrong with parties. It’s just people LETTING GO and having a good time! You’ve got this crazy idea in your head. You think having fun leads to fucking! Jesus Christ, people are decent! You just don’t know how to have a good time!”

“I don’t like people,” I said.

Lydia leaped off of the bed. “Jesus, you make me sick!”

“All right, then, I’ll give you some room.”

I swung my legs off the bed and began putting my shoes on.

“Some room?” Lydia asked. “What do you mean by 'some room’?”

“I mean, I am getting the hell out of here!”

“O.K., but listen to this: if you walk out the door now you won’t see me again!”

“Fair enough,” I said.

I stood up, walked to the door, opened it, closed it and walked down to the Volks. I started the engine and drove off. I had made some room for Mindy.