Alison stared into the mirror and combed her hair. How beautiful she was! “I look awful,” she said. I bent down and tied my shoe and hit my head on the coffee table on the way up. “Ouch,” I said. “What did you say, honey?” she said. “I said we ought to buy a new couch,” I said. “I thought we just bought one,” she said. “We could buy another one so we’d have a backup in case anything happens to this one,” I said. She didn’t answer me, but continued to brush her hair. I stared down at my shoes and said, “Something is so wrong there.” “What did you say, honey?” she said. I said, “It will be wonderful to be there tonight.” “Where’s that, honey?” she said. “Wherever it is that we’re going,” I said. “We’re not going anywhere,” she said. “I meant here. It will be wonderful to be here tonight,” I said. “A little romantic night at home,” she said. What did she mean by ‘nomadic’? A little nomadic night at home. There were times when I worried about Alison. She hovered right on the borderline, about to cross over into her own private realm, where nothing she sees or hears corresponds to anything in the known world. I live with this fear daily. My shoes are on the wrong feet, or so it seems to me now.