–the rejectionist, Wednesday March 23, 2011
Last week Wednesday, the second day of the new quarter, some of the students in my evening class were beginning to turn particularly animated in response to the conversation we were having about noticing the small moments in our lives that hold our attention. Twice in several minutes the one with hair the exact color of Permanent Alizarin Crimson on the Winsor & Newton Colour Chart and a face as small and smooth as a sliver of soap started staying fucking-this and fucking-that. Not aggressively. Freely. The way we used to say far fucking out or outafuckingsight. Something–probably the looks from the other students, watching how I was going to react–caused me to ask her to watch her language. Her eyes widened. She turned very quiet. As everyone was leaving, she came to me and told me that she hadn’t meant to offend me. “You didn’t offend me,” I told her. “Just think about where you are. Think about saving it for when you really need it.” The next day she was even quieter.
I want to introduce her to the rejectionist. I wonder if I will.