I guess I’m just… I don’t know. Stuck. Like a truck in mud after a good rain, you know? Wheels just spinning, getting nowhere. And the thing is, I know how to get trucks out of mud. It’s what I do. Construction, I mean. Heavy equipment, moving earth, building stuff. It’s honest work. Hard work. But then you get to other parts of your life and it’s like… the manual just doesn’t exist. So there’s this woman. Sarah. She’s newish in town. Came here from, I dunno, some city up north, for a job at the clinic. And yeah, everyone in town knows who everyone else is. Especially someone new. Especially someone like her. She’s… she’s got a laugh that makes you want to hear it again. You know? And smart. We met at the hardware store, actually. I was buying some plumbing bits for the old Smith place, and she was looking at paint swatches, bright yellows and blues, for her new place. Said she wanted to make it feel like home. And I just blurted out something dumb, like, “You can’t go wrong with white, easy to paint over later.” Real smooth, right? But she just laughed. That laugh. Anyway, we talked. A little. Nothing major. Just small talk. And then I saw her again at the diner, a few days later, getting coffee. And she waved. Waved! Like she remembered me. So I went over, sat down. We talked for a good long while that time. About her job, about my work, about how different it is here compared to wherever she’s from. She asked me what it’s like to build things, to see something go from nothing to standing tall. And I actually got a little excited talking about it. The smell of sawdust, the roar of the machines, the feeling of making something real. And she listened. Really listened. So she asked me out. For real. Said she was going to the county fair next weekend, wondered if I wanted to go with her. And I said yes. Of course I said yes. My gut was doing flips, like, what if this is actually… good? Like, properly good? I haven't felt that in a long time. Not since… well, not since the last time I thought something was good and then it all went to hell. Which is always how it goes, right? It always goes to hell. The fair was… it was great. We ate greasy food, rode the Ferris wheel – she was a little scared of heights, which was kinda cute, if I’m honest – and we even won a stuffed bear at the ring toss. I actually did it for her, like some big hero. She was laughing and clapping and I felt like a damn kid again, just… happy. And then we were walking back to her car, and the lights of the fairground were all twinkly behind us, and she stopped. And she kissed me. Just a quick, soft kiss. On the cheek. But it felt… electric. Like all those little lights had jumped into my skin. And she said she had a really good time. And I said I did too. And then she said, “Maybe we could do it again soon? Like, dinner at my place?” And that’s where the mud started getting deep. Dinner at her place. I could practically hear the unspoken words: *stay the night*. And that’s where my brain just… freezes. Because sometimes I can’t. Sometimes, when it’s someone I actually care about, someone I actually like, it just… doesn't work. The performance. It’s like a switch flips in my head, and suddenly I’m not in control. And it’s not every time, which is the worst part, because you never know if it’s going to happen. It’s like playing Russian roulette with your damn libido. And with someone I like? Someone I actually want to impress? The thought of that happening, of her seeing that, of her laughing or looking disgusted or just feeling sorry for me… it’s a cold dread, man. It happened before, you know? With Beth. She was a good woman. And it happened. And she just looked at me, not angry, just… disappointed. And then she said, "It's okay, sometimes that happens." But it wasn't okay. Because it happened again. And then she started making excuses to not stay over. And then she just stopped calling. And everyone knows everyone here. So then everyone kinda knows. And it’s not like there are a ton of options in a town this size. So you just… don’t try. You don’t put yourself out there. It’s easier that way. Less risk of that particular kind of humiliation. So when she asked about dinner, I just heard those words from Beth, that disappointed silence. And I said, “Oh, yeah, maybe. I’m pretty swamped with the Henderson job though, you know? Got a real deadline coming up.” And she looked… she looked a little like Beth did. Not angry, not disgusted. Just… a little confused. And then a little sad. And she just said, "Oh. Okay. Well, maybe another time then." And then she drove off. And I watched her tail lights disappear down the road, and I just stood there in the dark, the stuffed bear still clutched in my hand, feeling like I’d just thrown away the one decent thing that had happened to me in years. Because it’s better to just cut it off before it gets to that point, right? Before she finds out. Before she sees that part of me. It’s better to be the one who bails. It hurts, yeah. But not as much as the other thing. And it's better to be alone than to be laughed at. I guess. It just feels… FLAT. Like a tire on a gravel road. All the air just gone.