Awhile back, I posted a link to rejection letters received by Leah (http://leahj.blog-city.com) but was unable to get in contact with her to actually get a copy of the essay “It’s Not Easy Being Green” that she submitted. Well glory be to the powers of the interweb, for Leah stumbled upon this blog and reached out to me! So here again is her letter from TAL, and also her essay. Leah says she submitted about 5 years back and ended up finishing the piece this last year for another outlet. I for one, love this essay and think she should resubmit it to TAL. Enjoy!

Dear Leah,                     

Thank you for your recent submission to   This American Life.  I’m writing to say that the material you sent isn’t quite right for the show. 

Please know that we reject a lot of material that’s perfectly good work but that simply doesn’t fit the idiosyncratic constraints of a radio show, or the idiosyncratic needs ofThis American Life.

Apologies for this form letter.  Because we get so many unsolicited tapes and stories each week, and because our show is produced by such a small staff, we can’t respond individually to everyone who sends in material. 

Thanks for your interest in the show.

Sincerely,

Stacy Tiderington

I was 15 the first time I told a guy I loved him and heard, “I love you, too” in return.He was two years older than me, six inches shorter and drove a yellow Toyota pick-up truck with manual transmission. He would drop it into neutral two blocks frommy parent’s house and we’d cruise silently into a parking spot fifteen minutes beforecurfew… then sit in the truck and talk… or, you know, make out.

If we weren’t listening to Classic Rock on WZZQ, we had Extreme’s newest in thetape deck – Pornograffiti II.

That big song from that album was everywhere that year.

“But if you only knew

how easy it would be to show me how you feel

more than words is all you have to do to make it real.”

It played in the truck almost every trip from my house to his and back. Blaring in thegym, during weight workouts for swim team. In the art studio, where Michael and Imet and started dating.

It. Played. Everywhere.

I was Michael’s first kiss. He took me to my first formal dance. The Harvest Moon.And, as I said, my first “I love you.”

If this was a Hollywood coming of age story, he would have also been my first inbed. But it isn’t and he wasn’t. And after I said no to him at age 15, I was doomed tospend the next 15 years saying no or being turned down by men around the world.

I said no to Guillermo in the bathroom of the hostel in Argentina. The bathrooms arethe only rooms with locks.

I was turned down by a fellow college sophomore who, at 19, said, “since you’vealready waited SO LONG, you should wait for your husband.”

I said no to an Italian locksmith and the bruises he left on my arms showed that helistened to me.

I was turned down by the best man at a wedding, because sex would be too intimate,but could we titty fuck anyway.

Trading no’s went on for years. Long past virginity being a badge of honor or achoice and into a world where it became a bad habit like hitting the snooze buttonor smoking. A bad habit that I couldn’t break, no matter how hard I tried or howmany men I dated…

It also became a movie starring Steve Carrell that I refused to see. I was afraid that

when people laughed at him, they laughed at me. This was NOT the Hollywood I waslooking for in my life.

Finally, a few years ago, a man walked into my life on his way through town. He hadan accent, an open tab at a bar and a fancy hotel room. When we walked in to thewell appointed room, he pointed out that he was already live-streaming the BBC onhis laptop and that I should take it as a good sign. That I could trust him.

It was the Shipping Report.

South or southwest 4 or 5, occasionally 6 at first in Irish Sea, veeringnorthwest 3 or 4 for a time. Slight or moderate, occasionally rough in Soleand Fastnet. Occasional rain, fog patches. Moderate or good, occasionallyvery poor.

From there it is a classic first time story. A quick CVS run for condoms. Safely settingour blackberries on the bedside table. Drunk fumbling with clothes and condoms.Skipping foreplay. Being underwhelmed and far from orgasm. A few days later agirlfriend even met me to ride our bikes across the city to celebrate over Blizzards atDQ.

I listened to him snore and stared at the ceiling missing the hours of naked fun,fooling around and, yes, orgasms that come with saying no. I thought of men I’drather be with and I felt relief knowing I could finally see The Forty Year Old Virginand laugh.

In the book Random Family author Adrian Nicole Leblanc writes, “unlike good looksor real fathers or money, virginity was democratic. Even skanky girls who had it –while they had it —- possessed something tangible and clean. For boys, catching avirgin as an accomplishment. It was like winning the dice games—hope skimmingthe sidewalk, playing calculated odds. Getting a virgin, they told one another, meanta lifelong open door: girls always held a soft spot for their first.”

I hold a soft spot for my first love and wish he’d been my first. Instead of beingoffered $20 for a cab, I would have been driven home, in a yellow Toyota pick-uptruck, while we listened to More Than Words.