“Yes. I’m trying to become one.”
Gretchen and her big blue eyes and cotton candy hair and impeccable posture were about as far from a crone as it was possible to get. I thought about asking her to sit down. I wantedher to stay regardless of whether there was going to be any horizontal hugging, but I feared that calling attention to the fact that we were still standing in the kitchenette might puncture this détente and she might bolt. So I stayed put and asked, “Why?”
“So I can be powerful and self-actualized and a little bit scary and totally self-sufficient except for my friends whom I periodically invite over for drinks I make in my cauldron.”
I barked a laugh. This woman wasn’t just funny, she was an honest-to-God comedian. But at the same time, I understood that she meant what she was saying even if she was saying it in a jokey way. “This is that reset you were talking about.”
“Yes. The reset is that I become a crone.”
“How does one become a crone?” And why was I so interested? Why was I taking us off the infinitely more urgent topic of potential horizontal hugging?
“I don’t really know. That’s the problem. I’m not sure you can just declare yourself a crone. You probably need a certain amount of life experience to become one.”
“Maybe you need to lure some children to your house and eat them? Meet a quota of death and destruction before they give you your crone card?”
She laughed and took another sip of her bourbon.
I liked making her laugh, trying to match her wit, so I made another attempt. “I have another question: Don’t crones generally live in the forest? Because, no offense, I’m not sure the forest is your most natural setting. Crones shouldn’t be afraid of bears. They should enchant them and turn them into a bear army to do their bidding.”
I got the laugh I’d been going for. “That was the idea of coming here this summer. It was meant to be a bookend ofsorts—the end of one phase of life and the start of another. Go to the woods and become a crone. But realistically, I can’t live in the forest forever. I’m going to be a city crone. A suburban crone. This summer was just meant to jump-start things.”
As I was trying to think how to get us from crones back to the prospect of horizontal hugging—though I did realize it was my fault we’d gotten on this topic to begin with—she raised her eyebrows and asked, “So do you want to do some horizontal hugging or not?” The twinkle was back in her eye.
I told myself this was a terrible idea. I believed her when she said she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, or to date, but I also believed her when she said she was on her way to becoming a crone. I believed she had the power to fuck me up. So while I was glad we’d made peace, become friends, even, it was best to chalk up our ill-advised interlude as a visceral response to fear. Leave the kissing in the woods. In the fairy tales.
Which was why it made no sense that I opened my mouth and said, “Yes.”
Her eyes lit up, which was hugely flattering, and I rushed to add a disclaimer. “As long as it doesn’t…” I was struggling to articulate my reservations even to myself. “Mess anything up.” I gestured to her and said, “The reset, the crone project.” I gestured at myself. “The… whatever.” Whatever the hell it was I was trying to do.
“Oh, for sure,” she said. “Look, here’s my logic. I know I just said we should set aside logic, but let’s have one little session of overthinking this. Here we are in the woods. Not lost-in-the-woods woods like yesterday, but in this place that seems out of time. Contextless, like you said. I had planned to have one last hurrah before I gave up dating, and it… didn’t work out. I would like that last hurrah. If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” Which was putting it mildly.
“And really, what do you have to lose?” she went on, though I was persuaded. “I mean, think about what you have togain. Maybe I’ll blow your mind so much that I’ll become your muse and you’ll suddenly be able to write all those songs you haven’t been writing.” She made an exaggerated silly face, and I snickered. “Are you laughing at me? You’re not supposed to laugh at your muse!”
“Are you a crone or a muse? I think you have to pick one or the other. Also, you don’t need to convince me. I’m in for one last hurrah. For you, I mean. I personally hope to live many more years filled with many more hurrahs.” It was hard to imagine that now, as the hurrah at hand was taking up all the available space in my brain. “We just need to sort out the logistics. I don’t think we should rely on the IUD. I’m clean—God, I hope I’m clean—but my ex was cheating on me, and though I had one round of testing, they told me to come back in six months, and I haven’t had time yet, so…” Ugh. “Sorry, this isn’t very sexy.”
“It’s OK. This is logic time, still. And actually, itissexy.”
“It is?” She was an odd one.
“Yeah. Like, being concerned about my health. It’s very considerate.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want your last hurrah to end with antibiotic-resistant gonorrhea.”
She snorted, and I gave myself a mental high five even as I asked myself why I was suddenly so fixated on getting her to laugh.
“Do you have any condoms?” she asked.
“I do not. Alas.”
“What kind of rock star doesn’t travel with condoms?”
“I do, usually.” In the post-Karlie period, anyway. I hadn’t used them a ton, but it was good to be prepared. Which I very regrettably was not at this moment. “I swapped my big travel bag, which I took on tour, with a small duffel since I didn’t need as much stuff for this trip. I threw in toothpaste and deodorant, and I guess I didn’t think about condoms—or bug spray or footwear, for that matter. So basically I came here woefully underprepared, and now I have generic orange Crocs and no condoms. Do you have any?”
“No.” She paused. “I have the IUD, but I don’t even usually tell guys about that, because I don’t have casual sex without condoms.”
She had an edge to her tone, as if she were challenging me, but I found her policy unremarkable, and I certainly wasn’t going to push the issue. “What kind of crone doesn’t travel with condoms?” I teased, and I could see her relax. I, however, was not relaxed. Was I going to have to run to the camp store on the highly unlikely hope that it would stock condoms at this camp for teenagers?
