Play Nice

A word about the original writing found on this site

Unless otherwise noted, these are my words, ideas, thoughts and feelings. If you like them great, if you don't that's fine too.

You're welcome to quote my writing, but please make sure you include a link back to the page from which you got the material.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Creative Commons License



[This is where the summary would go if I'd bothered to write one.]

« ChangesWeek 142 »
Writober 05: Holding On

Sex, for those of you not in the loop, is bad. Sex is not something a woman should enjoy or want. Sex is to be avoided unless the husband absolutely demands it from his wife.

That’s what I heard growing up. I’m sure that the only reason those words weren’t embroidered on my pillows is because my mom didn’t posses that particular skill. Surprisingly it only took a couple of years in my early twenties to undo all of that conditioning.

I’ve never been in love. I am, as the old-timers used to say, heart-whole.


My mother always claimed she’d know once I wasn’t “pure”. The first time I had sex, I waited to hear the recriminations. The slurs about how cheap I was. None came. Further proof that she wasn’t all knowing.


When I was 29, during a visit to El Salvador, a friend of my mother’s, someone she’s known since she was a child, asked me if I had a boyfriend. I sensed, however, that that wasn’t the question she wanted to ask.

I smiled, used to the curiosity. A twenty-nine year old single woman is a bit of an anomaly in El Salvador . Either I was planning to be a nun or gay. Neither of which was particularly acceptable in our circles. “No,” I replied but didn’t elaborate.

She studied me from across the desk. A clock behind me ticked softly.

“You know,” she eventually said, “sometimes you can hold on to a thing for longer than you should.”

“Mmmm,” I murmured. Turns out that she wasn’t all knowing as well.


Once in a while, when I contemplate the wholeness of my heart, I think back to that sunny afternoon in a dusty office with a clock ticking behind me.

“She’s right,” I say. “Sometimes you *can* hold on to something much, much longer than you need to.”

Published 10/19/05 in Writing • Writober • | Views: 1815 times | Print

0 Comments & Trackbacks

Post a comment





First time commenting? Please read the disclaimer. Thanks.

Remember me

Subscribe to comments?

Submit the word you see below:

Love it live.
Your comment will appear below as you type.