Any of the times I’d love to relive—what made them magical was the combination of people who were there. The incredible time I had in 1992–1993, which would be my first choice if I had to go back and relive a time—that was the result of me being right there, right then, with those people. And if I went back to relive that, I’d be a different person. And that alone would make it less wonderful—the first time around, it was all openness and possibility, while the second time around, I’d know how it was all going to end.
And I think that would shift it from a wonderful time to a horror scenario: he’s going to decide that we’re all bad for his immortal soul, and stop speaking to us. She’s going to attempt suicide in a few years after she has a miscarriage; she won’t succeed, but she’ll avoid us from then on. Their relationship is going to fall apart, and she’s going to marry the first man she finds who’ll have her, and become a miserable old shrew before she’s 25. He’s going to give up his dreams and become a high school history teacher because it’s safe. She’s going to get into her first-choice graduate school, and flare out, eventually earning a Masters’ degree as consolation.
Old men should be mad, indeed.