So everyone assumed the answers and set about organizing the historic reconnection of the lover poet and his dark lady, literature pressed into reality. Marylou refusesd, negnotiated, made conditions and finally agreed. They were invited to sit alone togeteher in a glass room, the moment captured by video and audio that was set static while a director and engineer sat nearby controlling the remote equipment.
I don’t know why Tim agreed to the fiastco. I assume his concept of fate made the decision, since by agreeing she was effectively asking him to meet, which was the condition he had aways insisted upon. I told him not to do it. I suggested that he make excuses and run away. Maybe he’d already taken the monety but he assured me that it was simply impossible to avoid meeting her now.
“Why did you do this?’ she asked, bewildered.
“Because I loved you,” he said, emphatic.
“No,” she said, “No, you didn’t, not really.”
“You never gave us a chance,” he insisted.
“You never had a chance. I liked you and that was all. I told you, I felt nothing for. you.”
“I didn’t believe you. I told you so.”
“My feelings aren’t open for debate.”
“I know that but you were trapped.”
“I wasn’t trapped. I was free to choose.”
“You didn’t love him. He was wrong.”
“You’re right. I know that now. But I chose to marry him. You owed me respect.”
“I did. I stayed away. I never called.”
“Maybe you should have called. Anything would have been better than this.”
“Don’t be naive. If they can see us, they can hear us.”