Monday, June 06, 2005
Opening Pandora's Box #11
This story starts here.
Having heard the front door open, my mother, Mrs. Fugue, came down the stairs from her bedroom. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. But the look in her face was malice. “So,” she spoke louder than she’d intended as she approached me where I sat in the living room. “Is it true?” Sitting in the principal’s office, Mrs. Fugue had been terrified to ask this question, afraid of an affirmative answer. She wanted privacy for the truth, so she would have the ability to deny the rumors publicly.
The question sounded more like an accusation. I was terrified, both by my own embarrassment of the details and of my parents' potential response.
My mother anxiously waited for me to deny the rumors. My mother's guttural terror of the truth eclipsed from around the edges of her mask of anger.
I looked over at my father, the panic escaping into my face for but a brief moment before I looked away. I stared out the window behind my parents as I declared defensively, “I didn’t have sex.” Those were the only words I could force out of my mouth. I justified this answer, knowing that I was still technically a virgin.
“So are you saying that the rumors aren’t true? Nothing happened with this boy?” I was saddened by the sense of hope that slipped out of my mother’s voice with the question. And yet I felt the need to talk to someone about what happened with Steve. I clung to the hope that my parents could get to a place where they could help me out of this maze of confusing feelings that I'd gotten myself into. And I had never been very good at lying.
I remained silent.
Mrs. Fugue felt her heart sink into her stomach and begin to bound in her chest uncontrollably. She was petrified. She felt powerless; she had failed at her task of keeping her daughter safe from harm. “Go to your room,” she commanded, letting her disappointment and fear come out in her angry tone. “I need to talk to your father.”
As I turned to leave the room, a search light scanned through my mother's mind, ‘My daughter couldn’t have thought to do this on her own. Who else is to blame?’
(to be continued)
Having heard the front door open, my mother, Mrs. Fugue, came down the stairs from her bedroom. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. But the look in her face was malice. “So,” she spoke louder than she’d intended as she approached me where I sat in the living room. “Is it true?” Sitting in the principal’s office, Mrs. Fugue had been terrified to ask this question, afraid of an affirmative answer. She wanted privacy for the truth, so she would have the ability to deny the rumors publicly.
The question sounded more like an accusation. I was terrified, both by my own embarrassment of the details and of my parents' potential response.
My mother anxiously waited for me to deny the rumors. My mother's guttural terror of the truth eclipsed from around the edges of her mask of anger.
I looked over at my father, the panic escaping into my face for but a brief moment before I looked away. I stared out the window behind my parents as I declared defensively, “I didn’t have sex.” Those were the only words I could force out of my mouth. I justified this answer, knowing that I was still technically a virgin.
“So are you saying that the rumors aren’t true? Nothing happened with this boy?” I was saddened by the sense of hope that slipped out of my mother’s voice with the question. And yet I felt the need to talk to someone about what happened with Steve. I clung to the hope that my parents could get to a place where they could help me out of this maze of confusing feelings that I'd gotten myself into. And I had never been very good at lying.
I remained silent.
Mrs. Fugue felt her heart sink into her stomach and begin to bound in her chest uncontrollably. She was petrified. She felt powerless; she had failed at her task of keeping her daughter safe from harm. “Go to your room,” she commanded, letting her disappointment and fear come out in her angry tone. “I need to talk to your father.”
As I turned to leave the room, a search light scanned through my mother's mind, ‘My daughter couldn’t have thought to do this on her own. Who else is to blame?’
(to be continued)
Comments:
ah. the shifting of blame. the story gets more interesting. how many parts do you think this will take?
transience - I'm not sure how long I'll go with this story. It could probably go on ad-nauseum. But hopefully I'll know when it's time to quit. Anxious for me to get back to the sex parts? ;-)
Lorena - Awww. Thanks for your kind words.
Jax - I agree that sex is not harm. But my mother picked the mistaken message up that it was in her childhood and then has tried to pass it on to me. Probably why I felt the need to move to San Francisco - one of the most sex-positive places in the U.S. I have to shed the shame. I *love* your analogy to life being fatal. ;-)
Lorena - Awww. Thanks for your kind words.
Jax - I agree that sex is not harm. But my mother picked the mistaken message up that it was in her childhood and then has tried to pass it on to me. Probably why I felt the need to move to San Francisco - one of the most sex-positive places in the U.S. I have to shed the shame. I *love* your analogy to life being fatal. ;-)
In answer to your question about what I think regarding the writing style, I personally prefer an Ann Rule/ "true crime" style of writing in which everything is fact. I like a memoir that doesn't combine fiction or assumptions. I would prefer if I were going to hear others (eg. family/friends) thoughts that it would be thru asking/interviewing them. With my interest in psychology, I like to hear the most true story possible. It waters it down for me when additonal stuff is added. With that said, I've been experimenting with composite characters in my memoir to reduce the number of characters. I don't like that in other books but it's just easier, less confusing. What do you think of that idea (for me, I mean)?
Boy! Whatever happened to "if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all?" Either this story sucks or I'm being overly sensitive. Hmmm... I may need to take a break and reevaluate where to go next with this blog.
JennyNYC - I don't think I've ever read any Ann Rule. The true crimes I've read have all been in the third person; in that way, they've been quite different from memoir. Although it may not make for as "clean" a story, trying to describe my parents' thoughts has been an incredibly valuable experience for me in attempting to understand them. But now this idea of transcribed interviews is intriguing. Hmmmmm... As for composite characters, if you can pull it off, great, but good luck! I've had trouble even leaving out "characters" that i didn't think were significant to the story line and then later regretted not mentioning, because I needed them at a later point. Have you experimented with combining characters at all yet? I'd be curious to hear how it goes.
JennyNYC - I don't think I've ever read any Ann Rule. The true crimes I've read have all been in the third person; in that way, they've been quite different from memoir. Although it may not make for as "clean" a story, trying to describe my parents' thoughts has been an incredibly valuable experience for me in attempting to understand them. But now this idea of transcribed interviews is intriguing. Hmmmmm... As for composite characters, if you can pull it off, great, but good luck! I've had trouble even leaving out "characters" that i didn't think were significant to the story line and then later regretted not mentioning, because I needed them at a later point. Have you experimented with combining characters at all yet? I'd be curious to hear how it goes.
Yes, I have. It's going well, though I disapprove because of the factaul/psychology issue. As you know, my memoir currently is excerpts from my diaries over the years of high school, so instead of mentioning a bunch of different friends I changed it into a smaller group. Otherwise it's the same. I will still need to pull it together though, with recollection. I plan to imitate your autobio, inserting origninal writing and tieing it together with narrative (factual narrative). I liked that style in your autobiography. My suggestions for you are:
1) interview family and ask what they were thinking. It will be therapeutic in the end.
2) I like the idea of you combining some passages from your current older life with younger, going back and forth. Your blog inadvertantly does that, and it is pleasing to read, rather artsy :)
1) interview family and ask what they were thinking. It will be therapeutic in the end.
2) I like the idea of you combining some passages from your current older life with younger, going back and forth. Your blog inadvertantly does that, and it is pleasing to read, rather artsy :)
JennyNYC - So I took your suggestion and went with it. I had an impromptu interview with each of them. You're right. I learned a lot; and it was very therapeutic for all three of us, I think. I was worried that I would react emotionally, but I kept my interviewer hat on and that helped. Writing is such a great thing for me. I don't know why I've been getting so much flack for it lately.
Thanks for the comment alert. Keep 'em coming if it's not in response to your most recent post. That's SO COOL that you did some interviewing. I admire your courage!
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