Three Unwise Men
When I was about ten years old I started getting phone calls from a young man. He said three things that I remember. He told me he was going to kill me. He told me that he knew where I live and that he watched me through my window at night. He asked me invasive and explicit questions about my sexual inexperience. The police did their job.
When I was in my mid- to late-teens I had a conversation with a homeless man while I was working. I'm not afraid of homeless people. I couldn't understand much of what he said. He was mentally handicapped and probably drunk. He started coming in regularly and speaking at me. I think I understood maybe one word in fifty of everything he said. He talked at me for hours at a time, and sometimes he asked me questions. I just smiled. Maybe I nodded.
He started coming in multiple times a day. He memorized my schedule and always came during my shifts. I asked him to let me work. He lost his temper, screamed, shook his fists, mumbled something. I understood him. "I wasted four days on you," he shouted, his face turning a sunburnt red.
When we told him he was no longer welcome in the building he began waiting outside. He would come around the corner and shout at me as I ran to my car when I left. He began leaving things for me. I didn't receive any of it. There were obscene letters, money, gifts. They were all intercepted by my superiors until they needed to convince me to prosecute him.
While he was in jail awaiting mental evaluation I received a phonecall from a service. They helped inmates get in touch with family and loved ones. They had been told I was engaged to him. I informed them that he was in jail for stalking me, and they apologized and promised that I wouldn't be bothered again.
A few weeks later a friend of mine appeared where I work. She said she'd had an interesting week; that her boyfriend was in jail but that coincidentally, he was in the same cell as my husband. She was very surprised to learn that I'd never been married.
I felt that it was my fault he was in jail, that it was because I had tried to be pleasant and pretty, so I stopped trying. I figured it was better for everybody.
The secretary for the District Attorney called me while I was up at college and told me they were sending me a subpoena to testify against him. I begged her not to. I almost cried on the phone. I still felt responsible for what happened. I wrote a letter instead. I was a coward.
While I was living in Germany my little sister made friends with the nice little old man up the street. She's in therapy and he's in prison for twenty-five more years, but she had the courage to testify against him.
I tried again to make friends just last year, and now I have to block a boy's phone number because he won't listen when I tell him to stop bothering me.
This is what I have to say now: I'm older, and my days as a temptress are long gone, but if I have informed someone that their attentions are unwanted and they still continue, I reserve the right to be mean. I will plumb previously untouched depths. I will involve the police. I will deal with any superfluous guilt for being cruel in order to spare myself danger or misery later.
To be fair, this is a courtesy I beg from any person with whom I have contact: please be honest. If my attentions are unwanted, say so. I am not as stupid as I look and I will figure it out sooner or later. As a conscientious human being I'll do what I can, within reason, to make the people around me as content as possible. If that means taking reasonable steps to be out of their way, I can do that. I don't offend easily, but I don't read minds either.
I like being nice. I enjoy making new friends. Someday we are going to live unafraid that our next handshake and conversation are a mistake. Meanwhile, we continue to be friendly anyway with faith that if it causes problems there are people we can turn to who will protect us, and with faith that in the back of the closet underneath the dusty sheets is a little cruelty kept just in case.
When I was in my mid- to late-teens I had a conversation with a homeless man while I was working. I'm not afraid of homeless people. I couldn't understand much of what he said. He was mentally handicapped and probably drunk. He started coming in regularly and speaking at me. I think I understood maybe one word in fifty of everything he said. He talked at me for hours at a time, and sometimes he asked me questions. I just smiled. Maybe I nodded.
He started coming in multiple times a day. He memorized my schedule and always came during my shifts. I asked him to let me work. He lost his temper, screamed, shook his fists, mumbled something. I understood him. "I wasted four days on you," he shouted, his face turning a sunburnt red.
When we told him he was no longer welcome in the building he began waiting outside. He would come around the corner and shout at me as I ran to my car when I left. He began leaving things for me. I didn't receive any of it. There were obscene letters, money, gifts. They were all intercepted by my superiors until they needed to convince me to prosecute him.
While he was in jail awaiting mental evaluation I received a phonecall from a service. They helped inmates get in touch with family and loved ones. They had been told I was engaged to him. I informed them that he was in jail for stalking me, and they apologized and promised that I wouldn't be bothered again.
A few weeks later a friend of mine appeared where I work. She said she'd had an interesting week; that her boyfriend was in jail but that coincidentally, he was in the same cell as my husband. She was very surprised to learn that I'd never been married.
I felt that it was my fault he was in jail, that it was because I had tried to be pleasant and pretty, so I stopped trying. I figured it was better for everybody.
The secretary for the District Attorney called me while I was up at college and told me they were sending me a subpoena to testify against him. I begged her not to. I almost cried on the phone. I still felt responsible for what happened. I wrote a letter instead. I was a coward.
While I was living in Germany my little sister made friends with the nice little old man up the street. She's in therapy and he's in prison for twenty-five more years, but she had the courage to testify against him.
I tried again to make friends just last year, and now I have to block a boy's phone number because he won't listen when I tell him to stop bothering me.
This is what I have to say now: I'm older, and my days as a temptress are long gone, but if I have informed someone that their attentions are unwanted and they still continue, I reserve the right to be mean. I will plumb previously untouched depths. I will involve the police. I will deal with any superfluous guilt for being cruel in order to spare myself danger or misery later.
To be fair, this is a courtesy I beg from any person with whom I have contact: please be honest. If my attentions are unwanted, say so. I am not as stupid as I look and I will figure it out sooner or later. As a conscientious human being I'll do what I can, within reason, to make the people around me as content as possible. If that means taking reasonable steps to be out of their way, I can do that. I don't offend easily, but I don't read minds either.
I like being nice. I enjoy making new friends. Someday we are going to live unafraid that our next handshake and conversation are a mistake. Meanwhile, we continue to be friendly anyway with faith that if it causes problems there are people we can turn to who will protect us, and with faith that in the back of the closet underneath the dusty sheets is a little cruelty kept just in case.
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