when class ended on wednesday night, sweet rob handed out the “master” story we’d read for next week, our last class.
“so who brought a story?” he asked.
everyone looked down at their hands and tried not to make contact with anyone else.
“i was supposed to,” Smel said. “but i didn’t. let’s just call it a bad week.” really, Smel had already brought one, so she was off the hook. the other two people who were supposed to bring stories had been MIA for weeks.
“i’ll e-mail one to the class,” i volunteered.
“good, good,” rob said.
joan, the 65-year-old woman who usually sits in the corner quietly asked me if she was missing a story.
“i’m going to e-mail one to the class,” i said.
“oh good!” she said. “i just love your stories. you’re the best one in the class. you’re my favorite author.”
then i tongue kissed her.
ok, i didn’t. but really, with that kind of pressure, i’m having a little trouble e-mailing my story to the class. joan’s a sweet old lady and the story i had planned on sharing was all about this deviant young woman who places an ad in City Pages looking for someone to take her virginity. i thought, perhaps, that might have been too much for joan. but the only other story i’ve been working on could be seen as possibly more offensive then placing an ad in the newspaper for someone to deflower you.
so what’s a writer to do? sure i could just suck it up and send out one of the sexxy stories. but it’s joan. . . you know? she’s just so sweet and grammu like, and i wouldn’t want my grammu to read either one of these stories.
so what’s a writer to do? well a writer goes back to the very first story she wrote for sweer rob’s beginning class and reworks it. it’s not all that great. but i sort of like the idea of submitting it to my classmates (a few of who have read the first version). and, i suspect, joan will like this one. afterall, she has impeccable taste.