The Other Shoe
It has been one full week since I sent Mary the message detailing my plan to write about Zully. It has been more than a full week since I talked to Zully about it. Not a word from anyone. The silence is deafening.
I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.
This is a lot like the time I told my parents I was spending the night at a girlfriend's house, then went to stay with the family of my boyfriend, who was spending the night in county lock-up for amassing unpaid parking fines. How could I have known that my mother would get sick and call my girlfriend's house to ask me to pick her up? My mother never got sick! Once I knew that she knew, I had to wait several hours before confronting the situation, because I had to attend graduation exercises at the high school and do some other stuff. The waiting and worrying was much worse than the actual confrontation, ensuing argument, and punishment. I don't remember the fight: it was one of many that final year in high school. I don't remember the punishment: I was so defiant I rarely obeyed my parents at all after my eighteenth birthday.
But I sure do remember the waiting. My stomach roiled and my skin was covered in a fine sweat all afternoon. My hands shook when I tried to write. I almost wiped out on my bicycle three times--I didn't have a car of my own at the time, just occasional access to my dad's. Each time I glanced at a clock, the minute hand seemed to strike a death knell, ticking away the space between the now of safety and the then of doom. Uncertainty made me dizzy.
And that's the crux of it, isn't it? Uncertainty. Doubt. The shaky gray area of in-between. The foggy No Man's Land of not knowing, a wide expanse of emptiness so full of worry and ignorance that even the horizon is lost. There are no sign-posts, no beacons, no sun or stars to guide me. I am adrift in the imaginings of my nervous, fretting brain. The longer radio silence is maintained, the deeper I sink into paranoia, the more outlandish and ridiculous my thoughts become.
What's the worst that could happen? This is a fun game that usually defuses my anxiety: the worst case scenario.
Scenario One:
Mary is so upset by even the idea of writing about clients or employees and the possibility of sensitive information--either about clients or the Catholic Diocese--coming to public light that she terminates my permission to volunteer with Zully and the agency at all. This scenario really isn't all that bad because it only stops me from coming to their offices. I would still feel comfortable writing about my experience with them right up until the moment when I signed the Confidentiality Agreement.
Scenario Two:
Mary takes my e-mail to her bosses, who examine both it and the scene I wrote about "Rosa." These bosses contact their attorneys who send me a very official-looking letter that threatens litigation if I write anything more about any employees or clients of CCS. This still isn't too bad; it's only a threat of litigation, with a caveat to stop writing certain things. I can deal with that--and probably keep on volunteering. I'll just have to limit my writing somewhat.
Scenario Three:
Mary takes my e-mail to her bosses, who examine it and the scene about Rosa, sending all of that to their attorneys, who consequently launch a lawsuit against me for failing to adhere to the confidentiality agreement. This results in much money and time lost, a blemish on my legal record, and persona non grata status with CCS. But I have a unique nonfiction story to write because of it. Unless, of course, the lawsuit specifies that I am not allowed to ever write about any of my experiences with CCS, including the lawsuit.
This third one seems like the worst case scenario. No story, loss of time and money, no prsopects for another story. Lose, lose, lose. But is there another possible scenario?
Scenario Four:
Mary reads my email and the two pieces I sent her, one about Rosa another about Oscar. The Oscar piece has been nominated for a couple of prizes and will be included in my thesis next year. I don't like to brag, but it's pretty good. Maybe Mary is so impressed with the professional and generous nature of my writing that she decides it's in the agency's best interest to be a little flexible this time. Maybe she convinces her boss that a story about one of their workers, focused on the generosity and humanity of an outreach program, would be some much-needed good publicity for the Catholic Church. Maybe she comes up with a waiver that Zully and I sign, a waiver that exempts us from any future litigation and only requires us to take some minimal privacy-protection precautions, like changing names and being careful about identifying information. This scenario, however unlikely, is the one I like to focus on. This scenario leads to a nice, juicy piece to include in my thesis--maybe the one piece that gets the whole project published and is later excerpted for The New Yorker. And then gets me an interview on The Daily Show. And then gets me a job with a magazine or a publishing house or a small press...or even as a writer for Jon Stewart.
Like I said, anything is possible at this point, so why not think big? I've got to fill this silence with something.
I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.
This is a lot like the time I told my parents I was spending the night at a girlfriend's house, then went to stay with the family of my boyfriend, who was spending the night in county lock-up for amassing unpaid parking fines. How could I have known that my mother would get sick and call my girlfriend's house to ask me to pick her up? My mother never got sick! Once I knew that she knew, I had to wait several hours before confronting the situation, because I had to attend graduation exercises at the high school and do some other stuff. The waiting and worrying was much worse than the actual confrontation, ensuing argument, and punishment. I don't remember the fight: it was one of many that final year in high school. I don't remember the punishment: I was so defiant I rarely obeyed my parents at all after my eighteenth birthday.
But I sure do remember the waiting. My stomach roiled and my skin was covered in a fine sweat all afternoon. My hands shook when I tried to write. I almost wiped out on my bicycle three times--I didn't have a car of my own at the time, just occasional access to my dad's. Each time I glanced at a clock, the minute hand seemed to strike a death knell, ticking away the space between the now of safety and the then of doom. Uncertainty made me dizzy.
And that's the crux of it, isn't it? Uncertainty. Doubt. The shaky gray area of in-between. The foggy No Man's Land of not knowing, a wide expanse of emptiness so full of worry and ignorance that even the horizon is lost. There are no sign-posts, no beacons, no sun or stars to guide me. I am adrift in the imaginings of my nervous, fretting brain. The longer radio silence is maintained, the deeper I sink into paranoia, the more outlandish and ridiculous my thoughts become.
What's the worst that could happen? This is a fun game that usually defuses my anxiety: the worst case scenario.
Scenario One:
Mary is so upset by even the idea of writing about clients or employees and the possibility of sensitive information--either about clients or the Catholic Diocese--coming to public light that she terminates my permission to volunteer with Zully and the agency at all. This scenario really isn't all that bad because it only stops me from coming to their offices. I would still feel comfortable writing about my experience with them right up until the moment when I signed the Confidentiality Agreement.
Scenario Two:
Mary takes my e-mail to her bosses, who examine both it and the scene I wrote about "Rosa." These bosses contact their attorneys who send me a very official-looking letter that threatens litigation if I write anything more about any employees or clients of CCS. This still isn't too bad; it's only a threat of litigation, with a caveat to stop writing certain things. I can deal with that--and probably keep on volunteering. I'll just have to limit my writing somewhat.
Scenario Three:
Mary takes my e-mail to her bosses, who examine it and the scene about Rosa, sending all of that to their attorneys, who consequently launch a lawsuit against me for failing to adhere to the confidentiality agreement. This results in much money and time lost, a blemish on my legal record, and persona non grata status with CCS. But I have a unique nonfiction story to write because of it. Unless, of course, the lawsuit specifies that I am not allowed to ever write about any of my experiences with CCS, including the lawsuit.
This third one seems like the worst case scenario. No story, loss of time and money, no prsopects for another story. Lose, lose, lose. But is there another possible scenario?
Scenario Four:
Mary reads my email and the two pieces I sent her, one about Rosa another about Oscar. The Oscar piece has been nominated for a couple of prizes and will be included in my thesis next year. I don't like to brag, but it's pretty good. Maybe Mary is so impressed with the professional and generous nature of my writing that she decides it's in the agency's best interest to be a little flexible this time. Maybe she convinces her boss that a story about one of their workers, focused on the generosity and humanity of an outreach program, would be some much-needed good publicity for the Catholic Church. Maybe she comes up with a waiver that Zully and I sign, a waiver that exempts us from any future litigation and only requires us to take some minimal privacy-protection precautions, like changing names and being careful about identifying information. This scenario, however unlikely, is the one I like to focus on. This scenario leads to a nice, juicy piece to include in my thesis--maybe the one piece that gets the whole project published and is later excerpted for The New Yorker. And then gets me an interview on The Daily Show. And then gets me a job with a magazine or a publishing house or a small press...or even as a writer for Jon Stewart.
Like I said, anything is possible at this point, so why not think big? I've got to fill this silence with something.
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