The Truth the Dead Know, and Don't

Whatever minor charm I have, I often intentionally, stubbornly shut off in the face of any scenario that, in my mind, ASKS for me to turn on charm, even when the situation only requires simple human friendliness.

One scene during my college years that I still feel bad about to this day:

1980s: Late night, after club hours, and my dorm-room party friend had delivered us (me and her) to the home of a Middle Eastern guy (grad student) and his friends. (In the '80s in college, I was around a lot of Middle Eastern grad and doctoral students --- they were all thoughtful and intelligent and polite...and very interested in American girls. I liked talking to them, but I wasn't particularly interested in dating or having sex with them. I was still a closeted lesbian and a virgin. My "dorm-room party friend," though, was constantly sleeping with these innocent guys. Since she was my primary partying companion, she often led me into similar situations.)

We all sat in this young man's backyard in a circle, drinking and talking. Then someone brought a puppy out to play... I don't know why, but... I remember initially thinking, like any normal person would: "That puppy is SO cute! I want to pet it!" But instead, I decided mentally to do a stupid "experiment": "I really like that puppy and think it's cute, but what if I give it no reaction at all --- what if I just give it mental good vibes that I like it but don't make any motion to pet it whatsoever..."

Predictably, the puppy ran happily around the circle, stopping to be petted by all of the normal affectionate people... I sat there like a stone, and when the puppy briefly stopped at me, I only stared at it, WILLING my "good feelings" but not making any physical motion toward it... The puppy stared briefly back at me, then ran on to others who were eager to pet a cute puppy.

A man next to me in the circle said quietly, "He doesn't like you." I had no answer for that. I felt ashamed for how I'd acted, for intentionally removing myself from good feelings for no reason.

Later, in 1993, I wrote a poem about what had happened, addressed to Sylvia Plath, and including an incident with my first girlfriend:

The Truth the Dead Know, and Don't

Sylvia, it's not just the truth, the core
that counts, though you knew it was so, and I know.

It's like the time I sat, part of a circle,
with a puppy in the middle, leaping to greet all who called it.
I sat quiet and still, waiting
for it to come to me, for our minds to meet,
although I made no move, trying to prove
my worth in puppy eyes, which would see inside me,
to where I loved it best. A test. And it did not come,
but jumped and ran to each in the circle, one by one,
but not me. And a friend turned and said sadly:
"He doesn't like you."
Where my haughtiness got me:
alone in lieu of dog's blessing, which I wanted
but could not beg.

Or you, what you said, you and Ted
opening the door together, but them
"stepping across me like a mat, straight into his heart."
I know that hate. I know
your pretty face, and smile, and good thoughts,
and I see the happy hope-bud shyly peek and
seek to bloom --- new friends! --- and just as quickly
sicken at the sight of each grin to him and not you,
each fatuous lapping at the steaming dish of fame
promised by the presence of your hunk of man,
the hunk of words defining him.

And I know, too, the two rainbows she and I
saw that day --- driving, driving on the day
that branches fell and I sat pale with fear
as water swelled the streets and my ears
pounded with sounds of rain washing and
my own blood rushing, clutching her thigh as I
muttered "drive, drive," a dash from death.
We pretended to head to the store instead, guided
by the goodness of the sky we chose to see.
And once home, strangely safe: Our neighbor,
until then only a nod over the fence, now
with her notebook and pen in hand, knowing
my love from her last show...oh, their smiles
glowing and false as the two
shimmering strips outshining the sky.

Maybe truth is the last refuge for the uncharming,
uncharmed, unlike the ones smooth enough
to find their own worth
in the wag of a puppy's tail, another's smile, anything a mirror.

As for me and you, no proof will do ---
Only the one Truth --- hard and cool and grand ---
and it towers past time, banishing rainbows,
ignoring their last stand.