today i learned, from one of my classes, and from Ms. Maynard herself, that she fucked JD Salinger.
insert gestures as jaw dropping here, or otherwise.
he groomed her and ditched her. and her speaking up about it ruined her career (despite her writing 17 books).
this was before #metoo, she said. but i hate to say, even after the #metoo movement, i am pretty sure women would still get prosecuted (by other women!) for merely loving a significant figure and most of all, for being loved in return.
i should have many things to say about fucking with fame. but no.
what she said was me still (with many significant differences, no he didn’t ditch me that is). i would never say anything about it despite people prying constantly about what he’s like (it’s actually they but whatever), what it’s like, and the hows and whys but no, just no.
sure, i sprinkle it every now and then, in poems, maybe, or in short stories. but you wouldn’t know it’s me, you wouldn’t know it’s him. but no. i’m just not in for the clout.
i’m sure i won’t stop writing about him, because he is (as was) a part of my life and quoting Ms. Maynard about Salinger, he chose to be a part of my life. as many vultures believed i was after him, i wasn’t. he came for me.
it is not out of fear or respect, that i am no longer writing about him (except in a rather abstract manners). i am not protecting him/them, i’m just not into talking about them openly. at least not anymore.
but how shameless of me, an army of fandom said, to claim that i was loved so deep, so completely and utterly out of this world, that it haunts them when they listen to his music (or any residual of it now), that he’d given up being in public, even being himself.
apparently in my case, he didn’t ruin my career. instead, i ruined his.
shame on me!