I seldom relive the few days of my life when I was in ultimate fear, which for an equally short while kept me ultimately amused. It started in a bodega, late night, on the corner of myrtle and broadway, just before half the bodegs in the area had closed, and another half had opened. I was coming home from an event, probably that weekly party I was throwing at Happy Ending, with a friend who didn’t seem to be getting the hint. He lived close by and so I took the buddy system opportunity to have an escort for the not so dangerous subway ride, and less dangerous block walk home. Little did we know that along that path we would meet a man who was not only insane, but insanely resourceful, a most dangerous combination.
I thought he looked familiar, reminding me of some friends in the industrial scene from years past, back in Boston, MA. I knew that some of them had moved to the area, and so I felt certain that we had met before. Doubt clouded my intuition as my friend and I approached the front of the line, and thus him, who was waiting for a sandwich to be complied behind the deli counter. As we watch he pulls a can out of a paper bag, and slams it down on the counter with a grin and says “here, add this”. It looks like dog food, that stuff they put in Sloppy Joes at public schools and summer camps, ground beef in some sort of sauce. He looks at us and says, “they do not sell it here, so I had to buy it next door and bring it over”. The flood gates were open. He kept rambling on, speaking at us rather that to or with, his nonsense had some sort of hypnotic effect. It was the last time I took, “you live in that house?! I’ve been wondering for years what it’s like inside!” as initiative to let anyone in. I looked at my friend, with a look that said, without mistake, do NOT leave. We all went upstairs. The stranger with his huge dog [ which later I found out he borrowed from his little brother to look more human and approchable ], my friend and I. We sat around listening to stories as the stranger crushed up lines of adderall pills on my tiny glass coffee table. It soon became bright out, but uppers effect me too greatly to just sit tight, or just clean the entire house. The three of us, and the dog left for his place to watch one insightful movie or the other for another 8hrs, into the day. Unfortunately, my friend was not as affected by the adderall, and decided to walk home soon after our group exit. I sat awkwardly on the strangers couch, mind reeling, concentrating much to hard on the movie. He offered me downers, explaining they were opiates and would allow me to sleep. I look them. I spent the next 48hrs vomiting. About a month later I found out they were some sort of generic methadone, meant to keep his younger brother off heroine.
In the following month, I would get calls and text ranging from 2 to 10 times a day about how he was walking by my house, and whether I needed anything. He would show up at places I didn’t exactly invite him to, saying he was in the area anyway. Nothing was exact, but nothing was accurate. I couldn’t call him out on anything, not even when his mother, conveniently wandering the city, meeting up with him, who was also conveniently in the city, when I was done with a walk-through I might have mentioned the week before. She seemed as confused as I was, he blamed it on her delirium, saying, “mom, you remember where I work! You’ve been there before.” The architects directory did not list him, nor his mail. The background check did. My roommate and I marveled at the 10 or so misdemeanor accounts listed in Floria, I contacted the one friend he had ever mentioned by name. He was also from Floria, but was now in Fort Greene. I inquired professionally, asking for a creative reference, of the musical persuasion, since our stranger had claimed to be in quite a few non-local bands. Negatory. I read the response between the lines, “stay away.”
As my next few responses to text messages became stern in unavailability and nondescript in location, his became angry, confused and threatening. He demanded to know why I was not telling him where I was, if not home. I became scared, looking both ways before opening and closing the doors behind me. I would see him walking around the block at all hours of the day and night. The phone calls from his number, blocked numbers, and even fake ones did not stop for days. Soon, pleading emails came in. In his head, we had become romantically involved, he had planned on proposing to me. My friends and I were aghast. For a second I thought, “maybe he took our complete lack of physical and emotional involvement during the one month were in contact to mean I was old fashioned?” but a second later I realized that would be insane. I felt sad for him, in between the rushes of fear. He was calling everyone in the room, whose number he had acquired with one lie or another. He was calling from downstairs.
After my roommate chased him out of our building, the stranger went on, stalking bodegas for someone who was less inquisitive and much, much more impressionable. Thanks to the one friend who forgot to block him on facebook, we know that a few months later he got married [the legality is uncertain] to a girl more than 10 years his junior. Their child is now over 1yr old.
On a lighter note, check out my favorite recent creep lifestyle video with man after my own heart, John Waters ::
