What did I do, except watch his stories and say nothing? What did I do except speak to him with no clear idea of what I wanted, a little nervous that maybe what I had represented wasn’t what it was, not sure it was something that could become, sure of nothing except for the excitement that shot up in me, sudden and thrilling, when I realized what was happening. I will forever feel responsible for not only the needs but actions and perceptions of others. Last night I took the Myers-Briggs and got INFP, “The Mediator”: I like thinking of myself that way, as something arranged, predetermined, an affinity, a personality not tied to socialization and failures and traumas. I kept watching his stories for clues (passive, curious) even though it seemed like something was maybe wrong. And that maybe what he wanted was an inquiry, even though I didn’t feel like an inquiry was an appropriate thing to provide or to offer. Perhaps it is wrong to imagine that it is something I did—maybe I had already been dismissed by then; perhaps he had decided what I wanted or was (or his idea of what I wanted or was) wasn’t worth it, or that what was happening wasn’t what was happening. And I’m okay with that, but not, somehow, totally okay with the idea that something could have been done that I didn’t do—even if there was nothing I didn’t do that I would have done, nothing I would have liked myself for doing anyway—or that I did something that was understood as something else.

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