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I'm standing stock still with my mouth hanging open.? I'm in the locker room at the gym and the television is blaring.

"The question is not should Mark McGwire have more votes for the Hall of Fame," the announcer says.? "The question is why Mark McGwire has any votes at all."

The woman next to me touches my arm.? "Are you all right?" she asks.

I shake my head and mumble something. I stuff my clothing in my bag and rush out of the gym.

They're talking about Mark again.

My Mark... well not My Mark... that other guy.

I had a dream that I married Mark when I was 6 years old.? He thought it was very funny.? He told me that he couldn't possibly marry me.? I wasn't Catholic and this 6 year old alter boy would only marry a Catholic.

My Mark was the sweet freckled faced boy who thought girls had cooties.? He was the young boy who knocked my front teeth out of my head with a baseball.? My Mark was the quiet boy with a bright smile and glasses. My Mark was always up for a joke or a crazy adventure.

My Mark liked short girls.? He said he liked short girls.? He asked short girls out on dates and to dances.? My Mark waited for hours outside my house to talk to me.? My Mark watched my house and was furious when I was dropped off by a boy.? My Mark didn't like my friends.

And my Mark told me that he couldn't take me out (in public) because I was too wild.

We fought.? I told him that I could only be what I was.? I drew the line and walked away.

Then My Mark told lies about me.? And everyone believed him.

I was a slut.? I used boys for their money.? I slept with every single boy in my school and in his school.? The warning spreads... don?t take that girl out or she'll use you like she did Mark.

He broke my heart.? I cried all summer and swore I would never ever ever speak to him again.

They are talking about Mark again.