Not What I Intended

I was thinking about writing about manipulation, but won't. It would be manipulative.

I've just offered an old story for publication. A woman in one of the classes I hosted a message board for inquired about me and asked if I could submit something to some E-Mag she's got. My guess is the instructor told her about something I'd done for his class, but I didn't want to send that one to her. Nothing against online publishing, but I'm hoping to get something published by a magazine some editor may have heard of.

After six months and some rejections, I ran into her and she reminded me that I'd never sent her anything. Today I skimmed over an old story, one that was rejected five or ten times a couple years ago, and offered that to her. I don't know if it will be okay, but I feel a bit better now that I've kept my promise.

My favorite part of the story right now, and one some of my classmates commented on, was a throwaway line or two that talked about sharing intimacies. Something that always makes me sick after a breakup is knowing / thinking that the little games and names and actions she'd done with me she's now doing with someone else. If she, say, kissed me behind my ears I'd treasure that action. Then, it would depress hell out of me when I thought of her doing that to someone else. When she did that it was special, it was unique to me and for me, and the realization that it wasn't something that was born and died with us bothers me greatly. It was a delusion to think that it was anything other than public property, part of her bag of tricks that she employed before me and after me.

I guess I always wanted to be special, to be the sole owner of something, to have something done for me alone, something I inspired in her. And something that she wouldn't do or share with others. I always tried to leave some intimacies behind, would not consider sharing with Beth things I'd told or shared with Debi. For me it was my way of keeping some things sacred, but I've learned not many people do that.

Still, it felt wonderful to think I was the sole recipient of something, even if I wasn't.