Time is as complaisant here as is matter; Sam has long ago dropped the habit of keeping track of his own passing days. Nor has he troubled to count how many have passed since he began working on this project, but it's been more than he expected.

The initial connection is the tricky part; to thread his needle of contact into such an exruciatingly narrow window of occurrence, and to bypass all the alarms and awareness of the great bubble whose skin it's intended to pierce.

( I see you standing on the other side; I don't know how the river got so wide )

Sam hasn't bothered celebrating his birthday in years. Half his friends don't even know when it is. Jess does, but after the almost-fight the first spring she knows better than to call attention to it. Sam has learned something by then of the art of compromise, and is never anything but pleased when she buys unbirthday presents a day or so later.

( Just to wind up where you are )