SQ: Full Monty

Yesterday in my WS200 class,
as we discussed Toni Morrison's _Beloved_,
one woman toward the back of the class
kept staring at me.

And staring.

Like she was finally figuring me out. An odd
mosiac she had almost piece together:

"Can I ask you a personal question?"
She blurted into our discussion of Morrison's narrator.

"How do you feel about premarital sex?
I mean, didn't you get pregnant as a teen?"

My eyes bugged. "Let's see how we can tie
that question into the relationship between
Sethe and her mother in the book, shall we?"

I used those moments as prep time for addressing the class.
As "honestly" as I felt I could.
Suddenly, and quite smashingly, several
of my identities collided. The intersection
filled with a mix of panic and the hope of release.

*
I survived.
*

That day. Today? Chinese with a couple
of collegues; suddenly,I'm the one to blurt,
"You'll never
guess what a student asked me yesterday--"
and out with the whole story.
My secret identity of 4 years at this U--
exposed.
AGAIN.

Now? I can just puke. WTF?
How and why am I loosing control of my own story?
Is it self-mutilation or self-recovery?

I left immediately after my last class today,
didn't cancel office hours or say
a word to a single soul. I need a plane ticket.

Yeah, I know, this post will be my THIRD
revelation (if only partial in my feeble attempts
to be oh-so ambivalent).

Am I expecting different reactions???
Because, hello, only awkward silence follows.
I only hurt myself when I tell (no one really gives
a fly after the first hour,
but self-image sure does change).

Za-zing! Gasp! I think I just grabbed at something:
maybe I see my unusal tale (with its bizzare twists)
as a COMMODITY. I mean, I plan/hope to make art of it
someday--why tell all the secrets, now? to those who haven't
"paid" (either through friendship, love, etc.) so-to-speak?
Maybe the secrets are all I have to negotiate with?


Hey, maybe I don't want this to make much sense.