12:09. I’m standing in a sheltered bus stop on west campus wait-ing for this fucking rain to let up so I can return to the hotel. The Pavilion of Thought was empty when I arrived. The show was over. I was on my way back to the hotel when I ran into Bethany in front of the Rathskeller, where she was taking pot-shots at people with her video camera (as if that hasn’t been done thousands of times before). Bethany started in about the Malison reading. She said, “Where were you? My God, you missed it. I don’t believe you.” Sometimes Bethany takes a very cocky, very inside attitude that infuriates me. She lies a lot, too. Sometimes I don’t even think she realizes she’s lying. She took this superior attitude and told me that just before tonight’s reading Malison approached her, bummed a cigarette, and passed some time with her.

Right, Bethany.

She said that Malison said he’d remembered her from the master’s class and that he’d like to read her work someday.

Right, Bethany.

Then she told me that he read a chapter-like passage from a new work in progress, and I covered my ears because whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it from Bethany. She is an abysmal storyteller and I don’t want Malison’s work chewed by her translation. She said she had the lecture on videotape but that no tape could capture the intensity of the reading. She said I can watch the tape but I probably won’t be able to understand it, not having been there in person.

This attitude of hers really makes me sick. I might not be able to understand Malison? Me? This is very ironic, especially coming from Bethany, who had never even heard of Malison before I loaned her my copy of Smithy Smithy last semester. I might not be able to understand it?