438
JOYCE CAROL OATES
down, and inside us our spirits have
died, nothing
is
left but our two bodies
and everything they remember.
"Yes, I want you to get married. It's
time," she says. "I want you to be mar–
ried and happy."
"You were married and you weren't
happy," I tell her.
"We're talking about you and not
about me," she says.
"It's the same thing," I tell her.
1969
At last the seconds run out - the
show is over. Smiles. Congratulations.
Monroe Mason shakes hands with
Vince.
He shakes hands with me. In a man's
handshake there
is
a certain pressure, a
question, which a woman senses but
does not acknowledge,
if
the space
in
her that needs love
is
filled. I do not
acknowledge this pressure. Vince
is
on
the telephone, I go to the women's
lounge, I wonder if I should leave the
studio without saying goodbye to
him.
. . . Too much chatter up here.
The
restraint of being on the air, of extreme
tension, makes everyone chatter after–
ward. Words. We caress each other,
we fight each other, with words. In
the years of my mother's silence I think
I became mute, because she could not
hear me. My words went nowhere. I
had no secrets left, I owned nothing–
what did I have in my life that was
my own? Even the Fear became public.
I told my girl friends about it, I joked
about it, I laughed at myself. The Fear.
