___ ___ ___ ____ __ _____ __ ____ __ / __\ /__ \ /__ \ / __// | / /__ \ / / / / |/ | / /_/ // \ \// \ \/ /_ / /||/ // \ \/ / / / /| /| | / __ // / // / / __// / | // / / / / / / |/ | | / / / //___/ //___/ / /__/ / / //___/ / /__/ / / | | /_/ /_/______/______/____/_/ /_/______/\_____/_/ TEXTFILES ---------------------------------------------------------------------- #104 : Monday 15th September 2003 : http://addendumtextfiles.org ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Lines: A Stalker’s Love Story, By BMC ¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯ 1 “I feel a little embarrassed about this, but I’d like to meet you.” “Why? You don’t know me.” “Yeah, but I’d like to get to know you. I think you’re cool.” “Then why are you embarrassed about it? What’s wrong with you?” “Nothing. Well, nothing. I just think you’re perfect, and it makes me nervous to talk to you.” “You think I’m perfect? And there’s nothing wrong with you? I think you need a dose of reality.” “You mean you’re not perfect?” “I mean you’re not going to meet me. And yeah, I’m not perfect either.” 2 I’ve been living in exile from Holly’s place for a while now, sleeping on plastic sheets in a hostel room with three guys I don’t like. I keep all of my possessions in a locked plywood closet and I haven’t had a haircut in five months. Now that I’m by myself, poor, with no friends and nothing to do, I’ve pared my life down to two goals. First, I need to finish the school year. That should be easy, since I don’t have anything to do but read textbooks. Second, and this is the important one, I need a girl to share things with. One specific girl, actually. Back when I was dating Holly I spent most of my time wishing we weren’t together, and all that time I never realized how lonely it would be to spend all of my time alone. It’s weird, but life doesn’t even seem to have a point without anyone else. I end up spending my nights going over and over in my head all of the different ways one person could reject me. 3 “Are you thirsty?” “What are you talking about?” “Umm, I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for a cup of coffee or something.” “No, I don’t really like coffee.” “Oh. Well neither do I. Do you want to maybe go for some tea instead?” “Sure.” “What? No way, I totally thought you were going to say no.” “Really? Why?” “Because you said no to coffee. Coffee is a word most people use to describe a drink of any kind.” “Yeah, but if you meant a drink of any kind, why wouldn’t you just say that? Or call it a drink instead of a coffee?” “I don’t know. Coffee just makes sense, doesn’t it? I always thought you’d have to be pretty stupid not to get it that’s all.” “What? Now you’re saying that I’m stupid?” “No no. I’m just saying that your mind is closed to a lot of possibilities.” “Oh yeah? Well fuck you, jerk! Go have coffee by yourself then!” “No, no. I wasn’t serious. I was just joking. Sorry.” “Listen, asshole. You blew it, ok? Now go out for coffee with your open-minded little friends, ok?” “I don’t have any friends.” “Yeah, I wonder why!” 4 Me and Holly dated in high school and were voted most likely to get married. So when we applied to universities, it seemed natural that we’d try to move to the same city together. Holly had ideas of her own. Like when we were on the plane, on our way here, she pulled out a knife to core her apple. Not one of those plastic airplane knives either, but a real-life stainless steel jackknife. When I spotted it out of the corner of my eye I started to panic. “What the hell are you doing with that!?” I said. “That’s totally illegal! They’re going to think you’re hijacking the plane!” She didn’t show the least bit of concern. “Ah, I put it in the metal tray at the security gate. They never said anything about it, so who cares?” “They must have made a mistake!” I said. “Put it away! You’re freaking me out!” She said, “Give it a rest, I’m almost done.” She took her time cutting the rest of the apple, knowing it was driving me crazy. Then, before she folded the blade in, she made a quick lunging motion toward me. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, she’d put the knife away and was laughing to herself. 5 “You remind me of a girl I used to date.” “I’m not sure what you mean.” “I used to date this girl, and she was beautiful like you. So beautiful that I never let her out of my sight.” “So I’m like this girl, you say?” “Well you’re not exactly like her. But you kind of represent her. You might as well be her. I’m in love with you.” “You don’t even know me.” “I know enough about you to be in love with you. And you’re in love with me too.” “You’re insane.” “Mad about you, maybe!” “Yeah. Maybe not!” 6 Over the school year, the sidewalk from Holly’s apartment to the university became a tunnel. The snowbanks were seven feet on both sides, and all I could see was snow, overcast sky, and the occasional tree that overhung the path. I walked in a senseless state to school and back the same way everyday. In the tunnel, I forgot that other people existed. Winter wasn’t going anywhere, I realized, as I sat in class and watched the snow melt off my boots in a grey puddle at my feet. My sociology professor pressed a button on his stereo and stood at attention while the International played through the speakers. “Stand up, all victims of oppression, for the tyrants fear your might. Don’t cling so hard to your possessions, for you have nothing if you have no rights.” He was a kook, I admit, but he was also the most entertaining professor I’d ever had. The class was exciting – Conflict Theory: the study of the way that groups and individuals have differing ideals and goals that conflict with one another. I’d half hoped that this class would allow me to discover a way to purge the world of conflict once and for all, but failing that, I’d have been happy to straighten out the conflict in my own life. As much as this class was already the best thing in my life, one thing made it better. A pretty girl with orange hair. 7 “That’s a very pretty sweater you’ve got on.” “Yeah, I saw you staring at my chest, you fucking pervert.” “Erh. Heh. Sorry.” “Fuck you!” 8 This orange-haired girl, this beautiful girl who looks like she’s made of paper. Her skin so pale, her body straight and textured like the fibers of a page. She wore a Throwing Muses shirt, and I thought right away that this could be the kind of girl to hitchhike to Boston to see them live. Alternatively, she could have bought the shirt in the local record store, but I had a feeling that local stores were somehow too good for her. There was an aura to her, something tranquil and mystifying. She stood up in class one day when we were talking about C. Wright Mills, who believed that if someone isn’t experiencing conflict on the macro level, they will experience conflict on the micro level instead. The girl told the professor and all of the students about a philosopher named Lao Tzu who said that there was a middle path, a way of living that was harmonious and bypassed conflict and struggle. Right there I was converted to a new way of life. Not to following the tenets of Taoism, but following the girl wherever she went. 9 “Hi I’m a loser I have a crush on you can you kill me now?” “You want me to kill you?” “Yes. No. I want to touch you. You’re so beautiful.” “Why do you want to touch me?” “I want to see if something so beautiful can be real.” “You’re scaring me.” “This isn’t working, is it?” “Are you trying to scare me?” “No.” “Well then it isn’t working.” “I’m sorry. Please don’t tell anyone.” 10 Holly was the kind of girl who always carried a knife in her back pocket, and she was always using it. This was a trait I’d admired until the day she slashed me to ribbons. I remember her going for the knife and me ending up in the hospital, but maybe that wasn’t exactly it. Looking at my skin, I don’t see any scars. There were words involved. She said I was lazy and I bled. She said I was a slob and I bled. She said I never had enough ambition, and by the time she was finished, I was torn up, caked with the ruddy stuff from shirt to socks. In a final motion, she cut the ties that bound our relationship and sent me packing. 11 “Do you really eat that junk?” “Pardon me?” “That food. It’s terrible for you. Potato chips? Give me a break. Bits of potato deep-fried in grease. There’s not much worse you can get, except maybe for congealed grease on a stick. Do you eat that too?” “Who are you? Why are you talking to me like this?” “Listen. How about after class we go out and I’ll buy you some real food.” “What? No!” “Why not?” “I have another class after this.” “Oh, that’s it? Well then just skip it. I’ll buy you anything you like. A Greek salad, maybe. Feta cheese, black olives.” “No, I don’t want a salad.” “Well then do you want to eat something else?” “No.” “Well then do you maybe want to go for lunch some other time?” “No.” “Well do you want to go out for some other meal maybe?” “No, okay?” “Okay.” 12 I am in the dark, thinking of the girl. As I lie in bed I trace the contours of her face, going over the lines again and again. I fix her in my memory; my consciousness becomes a patchwork of sociology lectures and orange hair. Leonardo da Vinci spent time in bed each night memorizing his drawings and diagrams. I think I am becoming da Vinci. I trace her name across my stomach with my fingernail. I trace hundreds of names, over and over, knowing that one will be hers. I make lists of all the things I’ve heard her say and categorize them all. Number six is that she feels sorry for the colour orange. 13 “Can I tell you something about Leonardo da Vinci?” “What are you talking about?” “I’m Leonardo da Vinci.” “You’re Leonardo da Vinci?” “I mean, because I spend all night lying awake thinking of you.” “Is there something wrong with you?” “I didn’t mean to, all I meant was—” “Listen, you’d better leave me alone.” “I’m sorry.” 14 I’m with her in my dream. My fingers move through her orange hair. I am with her. I am the biggest part of her story. Our bodies touch, her exhale is my inhale. My hands grasp her shoulders, her long fingers wrap around my arms. I wake up screaming I wish I were dead. My bunkmates ask me if I’m ok. I say “Yes!” There is no need to pretend any longer. We are destined to be together. In the spring we will go for long walks by the river, talking for hours, touching each other, having picnics, and gazing into each other’s eyes. In the summer we will stretch out under the warm sun, baking in the city streets, bare feet hot on fresh blacktop. In winter, we will survive together, confined in lovers’ microcosm. No matter how insignificant the act, our relationship will give everything meaning. She is the element. Love is true. 15 At the end of class I approach her. Not a daydream this time, but the real thing. I have to say something real, substantial, and yet restrained. I wipe the sweat off my cold fists, take a deep breath, and corner her on the way out of the classroom door. We make eye contact, her eyes beautiful, startled. It takes me a moment to work up the nerve to break the stare with words, any words now. “Excuse me. I really liked what you said about Lao Tzu and I’d really like to talk to you about it some more.” “Taoism? Well not now, but maybe some other time, ok?” “Sure. Do you have another class right now?” “Yeah, I have a philosophy class.” “Oh yeah, that’s right.” “That’s right? What do you mean?” “Nothing. This is so weird.” “Weird? How?” “Well I don’t want to freak you out, but I spend all night lying awake thinking of you.” “I don’t believe you.” “It’s true. Every night.” “I really have to go.” “Philosophy class. Right. How about sometime next week?” “Maybe. I really have to go now.” “Bye.” 16 As long as you’ve got yourself you’ve got something. That’s what I’m trying to tell myself, anyway. Later that night I recreate the scenario over and over again, taking my failure, reliving it as success, inventing possibilities. “It took a lot of nerve to approach you, so can I at least ask you your name?” “Ask away.” “What’s your name?” “Carol.” “My name's Smith. Listen Carol, do you want to go out on a date with me?” “I’ve got a boyfriend, sorry.” “That’s interesting. I was thinking maybe I could be your boyfriend instead. Then your boyfriend wouldn’t mind, because your boyfriend would be me.” “That’s funny. Are you serious?” “Let’s just put it this way. Yes.” “Ha! Ok. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m going to give you my phone number. But no promises, ok?” “Can you promise me that you’re giving me your real number?” “Yeah. One promise then.” “I can live with that. Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.” “I’m looking forward to it.” “Ok— wait! Would you like to fall in love with me right now?” “Yes, I would. I was wondering when you’d ask!” “You’re so beautiful. So, so beautiful.” “Make love to me.” “Yes, yes.” “Pull my panties down just like that. Yes!” “Just like that.” “Brush your hands against my knees.” “Your knees are parting at my touch.” “Hold me in your arms.” “I can feel you.” “Oh, you’re in me, you’re in me!” “I’m in you. Me. You.” “I love you! I love you!” “I love you! I love you!” “I love you.” “I love you too.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclamer - This content of this issue of Addendum is copyrighted the respective author whose name or handle should appear at the top of this page. You may copy this textfile but please keep it in its original configuration. Please note that the views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of addendum as a whole. Thankyou. ----------------------------------------------------------------------