Stalking: The Great Leveler
Every now and then I make attempts at rational, healthy, normal behavior. You see, I'm scared to death of talking to strangers. Once I get started, there's no shutting me up, but the initial contact is almost unbearable. Half the time I don't even go where I want to go or do what I want to do because I don't want to show up by myself. One rare fall evening I threw caution to the wind and decided that just because no one I knew wanted to go to the same shows as I, didn't mean I should sit home and sulk. I was going to march myself right down to see some bands play and I was going to like it even if it killed me.
It was a little painful standing around outside by myself while everyone else was all sitting around in cute little groups. Like anyone could even care or was thinking ill of me. I kept anxiously waiting for someone I knew to show up so I could pal around, but no such luck. I was wishing the show would just start already so I could just go inside and blend in when I was approached by two flashy young women. I was kind of hoping strangers would talk to me, but this overdressed, young pair wasn't what I had in mind. We all know that beggars can't be choosers, and yet I didn't want to feel more conspicuous than I already did. A horrible headache coming on and I feared it getting much worse. It turned out that they had just moved here from Kansas City and wanted to "meet guys and drink beer". Sheesh, do I come off as some sort of ale-swilling whore or something? (o.k. I am a cheap lush, but I didn't want to be one that evening) Well, they were very nice, but it weirded me out and I couldn't really help them. Or rather, I didn't want to help them. What I wanted was for them to go away. Luckily, the band started playing and I abruptly took off. I immediately felt like the world's most unfriendly heel. I was all alone and so were they and I couldn't even deal with their company. I'd treated them just the way I didn't want to be treated by everyone else there. This was bad. The truth is I'd rather have no friends than be theirs.
After a spell I went back outside to discover an old co-worker of mine at a table so I butted in on her and her male friend. Within minutes I was feeling my usual self and spouting off H.T. trivia and recounting crude stories. Out of nowhere this guy next to us chimed in "I know someone who slept with him." I was like, "you mean someone who slept with the E.T. kid?!" and he was all "yeah". Hot damn! I was bonding with a total stranger and getting an inside scoop all at the same time. This was more like it.
Who knows how much truth was in what he said, but it amused me. According to him the lucky lady was a friend of his old girlfriend, Darcy, and that it happened approximately four years ago in Ashland, OR. Now that's gross and completely believable because Ashland is this quaint little college town known for its Shakespearean Festival. I could just see The Hankster getting his jollies in a place like that. There's nothing sexier than that thespian vibe.
Eventually, my friend took off and I was left alone with the H.T. rumor-spreader and his friend. They were sort of an odd pair and of the variety I usually steer clear of. The pal was a dread-locked, hippy type who was into photographing surfers, he didn't say a whole lot. The guy I was interested in was sort of attractive in a baggy, freckly, liberal arts kind of way. You know like he'd think Sonic Youth was cutting edge and get hardons for Natalie Merchant. All I know was that he wasn't my type, but he was appealing in a way. The two didn't seem to know each other very well and of course I didn't know them at all, but I was determined to figure them out. Especially since I sensed this guy had some horrible secret he was harboring. He was guarded, but I could tell that he didn't want to leave. I always think that everyone is full of juicy stories and it's my duty to get them to spill the beans. Unfortunately my voyeuristic tendencies usually get me no further than being the listening ear for people-I-could-really-care-less-about's boring "problems".
Well, they just weren't getting my obsession with child stars or rather they just weren't identifying with obsessions in general and it was infuriating me (though I did extricate a confession about Natalie Portman later. I should've guessed-all male pedos love her). I tried scenarios, "Remember when you were young. Didn't you ever get a senseless crush on some girl?" After a silence, Matt (the H.T. guy) sheepishly admitted that he was currently obsessed with a 14 year old grocery checker and had been for 1 year and 2 months to be exact. Yes!! I'd struck gold-pure, sweet stalker fodder with a "baby" in the equation to make it all that much more intriguing.
I forget that most people aren't as eager and willing to share personal stories of tortuous desire as I am. He was reluctant to say any more than that, but hinted that if someone bought him a beer he'd give the details. I was bursting at the seams and would be the first to agree that tea and coffee aren't conducive to stalker talk. I don't need an excuse to drink and it'd surely be worth $2.50 to get the goods on his underage soulmate. Migraine or no migraine I was all ears for this one.
I'd started out the evening alone and wary and now I was in the company of two strangers (we still didn't know each other's names at this point) heading to a nearby bar. During the first round of beers Matt still seemed tight-lipped and I couldn't figure it out. I was pulling my aw-come-on-your-story-can't-be-worse-than-mine routine. People love feeling like you're more fucked-up than they are. Of course I know that they're the kook-this is an important distinction. It wasn't until Clint (the hippy) had to leave that we got down to the nitty-gritty. I guess that he was a family friend he had to show 'round town and he didn't want to subject him to his pedophilic side.
In no time he was pouring his heart out about this blue-haired, home-schooled, Nirvana-lovin' 14 year old by the name of Leah (names have not been changed to protect the innocent-that's just the way I am). She worked at a family-run grocery store in his old neighborhood, which made it all the worse because though he was on good terms with her entire family, their presence made it all the more difficult to move in on his prey.
I get a kick out of young pups, myself, but I have no delusions. I don't think that this is always the healthiest of fixations, but with me it's fairly harmless. I was none too sure where Matt was going with this one. As a rule, adult males into young girls make me nauseous. Maybe it's a double standard for me to think poorly of him or maybe it's just that the whole older guy/younger girl thing is just so clichˇ and I was a little sickened. Sickened maybe, but interested nonetheless. There didn't appear to be any grotesque element to the situation (darn). He struck me as rational, objective, and for the most part, nice (he didn't even let me pay for his drink). He was definitely more love-lorn than pervy.
As corny as it sound now, the whole thing seemed innocent and almost sweet in a way. In his mind it was love, they are truly connected, and it was mutual. I can see where you could believe the first two, but it's that reciprocal business that gets tricky. The example given as to how he knew it was mutual was that when he's gone for long periods, she notices and comments on it. O.k. this doesn't constitute "connectedness" but I've done enough pining to know how easy it is to interpret in this manner. Truth and reality have no place in the mind of an obsesser. This became more apparent when he said that he thinks about her every day and that marriage has crossed his mind.
Marriage?! I wasn't sure about that one. I mean I obsess, but romantic notions of marriage with one of my subjects hasn't crossed my mind in at least ten years. It went a little further. Not only was he obsessed with Leah, but he measured all girlfriends and potential dates against her and they always came up short. Isn't the usual determiner as to whether you have a problem (at least with traditional addictions) is if it interferes with your daily life? Maybe he was a tad dysfunctional, but I've got my own issues so I could deal.
It was his next statement that made me a little nervous. (Actually, now that I think about it other things made me uneasy too. 1). He kept doing this thing where he'd kind of pull at his chin like he had a beard and going "hmm" trying to be a mock dirty old man. It was gross, but maybe that's just because I'm wary of facial hair, especially of the imaginary variety. 2). He recounted being mesmerized by a female across the street looking at roses and the intense way she was studying them. It was hard to tell if it was a child or an adult because of her ambiguous mannerisms. Well, she turned out to be like ten years old. It wasn't an overtly sexual story, but it did make me wonder). He was thinking about buying a house. Great, what a responsible, long-term thinking young man. But he wanted to buy one in her neighborhood so he could be near to her for the next five years ('til she reached an acceptable age in his mind).
This was when I had to break the horrifying news to him that he was a stalker. I don't think he was pleased. I tried to explain the differences between a scaredy-cat and scary stalker then shared examples of my own. I think he got the importance of thoughts versus actions. Most importantly, he was glad to have his fixation off his chest. None of his friends knew about his possible aberration. He got to air his dirty laundry and I got some cheap voyeuristic thrills.
I'm much better at giving advice than heeding it. I gave him the oh-so-logical "get to know them as a person" line. I strongly discouraged any ridiculous, embarrassing confessions, no I-love-yous, and marriage proposals. He decided he'd go into the store the next day and simply talk to her. It was agreed that anything more than that would be inappropriate (if only I had a seemingly sane mentor of my own). I wish I knew what happened. All I know about Matt was that he was a 25 yr. old unemployed public defendant who was leaving for Spain for a couple of months. All he knew about me was that I was nosy and obsessed with the E.T. kid. Oh, and that I did a zine and that I wouldn't write about him. What he didn't know is that I'm also a liar. He had a bike, but was kind enough to offer to walk me to my car. At this point it felt the end of a first date (like I'd know what that feels like). I'm serious. The vibe in the air made me ill (or maybe that was my migraine acting up) so I high-tailed it out of there.
All in all I was pretty pleased. I'd started out the evening solo and anxiety-ridden. Getting the H.T. sex tid-bit would've been enough to call the excursion fruitful, but instead I got the full baby-loving works. Not bad. A couple of weeks ago I saw Matt at the same bar where we had our discussion, but I didn't approach him (not that that's out of character for me, I frequently ignore people I know when I run into them). I just wasn't in the right frame of mind. There was no teen bride on his arm, but he didn't appear terribly tortured either. Maybe I'd rather not know the truth. Speculation is always so much more enjoyable than reality.
[stalking] [goodies] [Lone Star Thomas] [project me]
phone home