A Story ... Has A Sturdy Sense

Children Of Course Are Monstrously Conventional, Repelled At Once By Whatever Is Off-center, Out Of Whack, Unmanageable. And Being An Only Child I Had Been Coddled A Good Deal (also Scolded). I Was Awkward, Precocious, Timid, Full Of My Private Rituals And Aversions.

Moments Of Kindness And Reconciliation Are Worth Having, Even If The Parting Has To Come Sooner Or Later.

Now That I Think Of It, She Looked Splendid. I Wish I Had Met Her Somewhere Else. I Wish I Had Appreciated Her As She Deserved. I Wish That Everything Had Gone Differently.

Naturally My Stories Are About Women - I'm A Woman. I Don't Know What The Term Is For Men Who Write Mostly About Men. I'm Not Always Sure What Is Meant By "feminist." In The Beginning I Used To Say, Well, Of Course I'm A Feminist. But If It Means That I Follow A Kind Of Feminist Theory, Or Know Anything About It, Then I'm Not. I Think I'm A Feminist As Far As Thinking That The Experience Of Women Is Important. That Is Really The Basis Of Feminism.

As A Matter Of Fact She Does Not Know To This Day If Those Words Were Spoken, Or If He Only Caught Her, Wound His Arms Around Her, Held Her So Tightly, With Such Continual, Changing Pressures That It Seemed More Than Two Arms Were Needed, That She Was Surrounded By Him, His Body Strong And Light, Demanding And Renouncing All At Once, As If He Was Telling Her She Was Wrong To Give Up On Him, Everything Was Possible, But Then Again That She Was Not Wrong, He Meant To Stam Himself On Her And Go.