Next a short story of mine was published with the character's name as Dave in one sentence, followed by Doug in the next line. Embarrassing to say the least. It almost happened in another story that's due to be published but fortunately my sister caught the mistake. Impatience is winning out and wreaking havoc.
It's the end of the year and I'm pondering a couple of other decisions. I had a short story that with a couple of tweaks could have been published in a well-known literary magazine. I didn't make the changes. Now I wonder, was I mad or just lazy? The same thing happened with an essay. They both were published but in lesser known journals.
As I face other questions with big repercussions my advice to myself and everyone else is in the title. With that in mind it'll be a new year with good decisions and better editing!
Here's a story that was out awhile ago.
Dr. Lee
It wasn´t my
favorite class, a survey of Chinese history with its endless dynasties of too
similar names. We´d finally moved into
modern times and were now stuck in the early 20th century. Dr. Lee was Korean, a delicate man with wire
rimmed glasses. He taught all the Asian
history courses, no doubt because of his ethnicity.
I
counted up credits and found I could graduate faster in history than anything
else so I was filling semesters with requirements. There were two tracks: one was for potential
Social Studies teachers and the other, was
filled with boys and seminars on war.
I don´t even know how I found myself in it, probably my advisor thought
it would keep my options open though, for what, I had no idea.
There
were only two bright spots in the whole business. The history of Brazil was filled with
Brazilians students aiming for an easy A and they talked, making it come
alive. I read Jorge Amado, and imagined
Bahia, with coconut custard and tropical drinks, far from the chill of the
Northeast and the winter that had just begun and would never end. The other was a fatherly professor of
American history who claimed the Singer sewing machine was the most perfect
creation ever made. He lamented those transformed into decorator tables. I could relate since my aunt sewed all her
clothing on one with its metal foot pedal that kept up a smooth rhythm.
The
rest of the professors did what I´d been told never to do, which was to read
from a paper. It was how they generally
filled the fifty or eighty minute blocks.
Dr. Lee was one of them. I got to
the room right on time and settled in.
It was November and I had the routine down, sitting towards the back,
but not too far. I had a glimpse of the
outdoors from the window at the top of the basement room. A fat guy came and sat near me, smiling. Once
he followed me out of class telling me the desperately sad story of his mother
going blind from her job as an x-ray technician. I managed to avoid him without being
rude.
In
the beginning there were about thirty of us, now down to ten. Some of the students no longer bothered with
notes. They sat staring into space or an
occasional beep of something electronic alerted us to their presence. I felt a
little sorry for Dr. Lee, tiny in front of the room, facing us all.
He
arrived right on time with his regulation black briefcase. He popped it open and sifted through sheaves
of papers. What would it be today? It looked like he was making a decision. I hoped for the spice of the opium wars. He stood at the podium, reminding us of a
test. Then he began to read from his
notes. ¨1900, it was a reactionary
movement. Meant to eliminate the
expanding control of the foreigners. The Boxer Rebellion.¨
I shifted position, the chair digging into my
back. My foot knocked over a half filled
cup of machine coffee I hadn´t spotted on the floor. I lost the thread of Dr. Lee as I watched the
coffee spread and finally stop in a brown puddle several feet from my
desk.
¨In
1900…¨ Dr. Lee paused. He started
again. ¨In 1900.¨ He stopped.
I
snapped to alertness. Had we offended
Dr. Lee? I once was in a class where the
professor threw a girl out for no apparent reason and since then had never felt
completely at ease.
Silence
grew and expanded.
¨I
can´t.¨ He sat down.
More
silence. Students shot each other looks.
After what seemed like ages, one of the students in the front row tried
to encourage either him or us, ¨We need to know what happens. In 1900.¨
Dr.
Lee was beyond explanations, knowing perfectly well 1900 was irrelevant to
us. Silence made it hard to
breathe. He shook his head, all eyes on
him. ¨I don´t know what´s happened.¨ He
sounded as surprised as all of us.
Another
voice, ¨Go on, please.¨
¨It´s
not just this.¨ He dismissed the centuries of China. ¨It´s everything.¨
My
palms started to sweat. We were
sophomores, not prepared for this display of humanity.
¨You
need to take a break.¨ Suddenly suggestions came from all parts of the room.
¨You´ll
feel better tomorrow; get some rest.¨
¨Go
out with your friends, have a beer.¨
¨Are
you married?¨ Dr. Lee shook his head.
¨You need to meet someone.¨
I
put in my two cents worth. ¨Take a
vacation. That´ll help.¨
Silence
again. Then he picked up his briefcase,
nodded at us all, and left the room.
There
was a buzz in the room. Then we got up
and left without a word.
Tuesday
Dr. Lee was no longer there. A graduate
student took his place. He didn´t come back in the spring semester either. Rumors were he´d gone to Korea. I needed to believe he´d gone home or that he
was vacationing somewhere far away. If
not, we had failed him.
