11/09/04’s illustrious band:
Stalking Recap
Brought to you by Bruno.
OK, technically he probably wasn’t a stalker, since I didn’t fear for my safety. But I feared for my sanity, and for his safety if he didn’t let me alone.
The time: beginning in spring 1987, my senior year of high school
The place: South Dakota and beyond
The players: Slim, my boyfriend; Bruno, his best buddy; and me
The problem: While I was getting to know Slim and perhaps date him, I was nice to his friends, including Bruno. Bruno, starved for affection at home and abroad, latched onto me like a parasite and paid me all sorts of unwanted attention for the next six years, to the point where I felt stalked.
It started innocently enough with me politely including Bruno in the conversation if he was around when I talked with Slim. Occasionally we’d go as a group, with other friends, to ball games or movies. That was no big deal. But once established as a friend, Bruno would not let go. He began calling me to chat in the evening, waylaying me in the halls at school, and leaving notes in my locker. It was mostly innocent stuff, like favorite song lyrics, but the deposits began to grow more frequent. I started to wonder if he had a little crush on me, but I was busy being a senior and pursuing Slim, so I just nodded along.
It didn’t help that my house was a block from the school, so it was easy for friends to drop by after class or on the way to activities. It seemed especially easy for Bruno to be in the neighborhood around dinnertime, drawn at least partially by Mother Media’s reputation as a good and generous cook. But then sometimes he wouldn’t leave. My parents were too nice to kick him out before bedtime, knowing he faced loneliness at home. Following their example, I didn’t kick him out either.
This glomming-on behavior got so noticeable that another friend, Short, overcame near-crippling shyness to ask me to the senior prom so I’d have a good excuse not to go with Bruno, because he knew the question was coming. Fortunately, I had just gotten a yes from Slim, sparing Short the mortification of actually going out with a girl. I think Bruno came to the prom anyway, as a spectator, though I don’t recall for sure.
I don’t remember what Slim gave me as a graduation gift, but Bruno gave me a gold ring. It was a tiny, inexpensive Black Hills Gold ring, but a ring nonetheless. A teenage boy does not give a ring casually, nor can a teenage girl accept one lightly. I tried not to accept it at all, but he insisted that it was a friendly gift, nothing more, and he’d be insulted if I didn’t take it. So I did, but I wore it stacked with my other ring so it wouldn’t stand out. This, apparently, was all the sign he needed.
Summer came, and Bruno started showing up for dates. Not for dates with me -- for my dates with Slim. If Slim and I were going to a movie, he’d just happen to be attending the same show, and he’d sit with us. If Slim and I were planning a picnic, Bruno would turn up on the same patch of grass. If I was going to listen to Slim’s band rehearse, Bruno would be there too. Sometimes he’d even follow Slim’s car as he drove me home, wait for us to kiss goodnight, and then approach me for some one-on-one conversation before I went inside.
At this point you’re probably thinking, “It’s called a backbone. Get one.” And you’re right, I was seriously spinally deficient at that time in my life. I should have told him to bug off and stay off. But I figured I was leaving for college in a month or two, and the boys would be staying behind for their senior year. I’d be rid of him, right?
Wrong. Slim and I agreed on a cordial breakup when I left town, which left the field wide open for Bruno -- in his eyes, at least. He had a hard time calling me at school since I was seldom in my room. (I had asked Mother Media not to give him my phone number, but she was no more able to tell him to shove off than I had been.) He wrote to me, which was easy enough to ignore. As long as I stayed at school, it wasn't so bad.
But he learned the schedule of school breaks and made a habit of beating me home. That's right, he'd park outside my parents' house, and I'd have to get past him to get inside. After months away from home, Bruno's zitty face was not the first one I wanted to see when I pulled into town. I asked him to call before coming over so I could have some family time before seeing him, and he promised he would, but little changed. Sometimes he'd park on the next block and give me 10 or 15 minutes with my folks before showing up, but show up he did. Always. I started lying about when I'd be getting home, but he knew my class schedule and how long the drive took, and he got very good at calculating when I'd arrive.
It soon developed that he didn't always wait for my presence to enjoy the society of the Media family. He took to hanging around my parents' drugstore for hours on end. He also began stopping at the house to chat up Mother Media, who has never turned away a guest in her life, even the awkward smelly ones Sister-san and I paraded through the place throughout our school years. Mom and Dad, bless them, would sometimes assign me chores or errands just to give me an excuse to get away from Bruno.
And eventually I did grow a spine and tell him to bugger off. Several times. He'd leave me alone for a few weeks or months, then slink back with an apology and promises to be more considerate. I gave him the boot after he showed up at my college homecoming (a 455-mile drive each way), ostensibly to visit another mutual friend who attended there, and got mad at me for not partying with him all weekend. I dumped him again when he showed up to greet me outside the Wall Drug store where I worked a couple summers (only 110 miles each way) -- at 6:00 a.m., bearing a bouquet of roses.
This cycle continued even after I moved halfway across the country for graduate school. When he called me there and talked about moving to Maine to get work on a fishing boat so we could see more of each other, I'd had enough. I cut him off. And I read Mother Media the riot act for giving him my phone number again.
Bruno was convinced that he was the man for me and that it was only a matter of time before I came to my senses and realized it. That, I think, bothered me more than the unwelcome visits, the rambling phone calls, the inappropriate gifts, even the impositions on my family, combined. You can tell me a lot of things, but do not, I repeat do not tell me what I should think or feel. That's a one-way ticket to Bitemeville, and that's what Bruno earned for himself.
I haven't heard from my stalker in about 10 years now, and I haven't missed him. I've heard occasional news of him through www.smalltowngossip.mom, but nothing lately. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Because if he turned up in my life now . . . well, now I know kung fu, and I'm not as polite as I used to be. Call it pride or prejudice or both, but that's a chapter I intend to leave closed.
Today around the world: November 9 is Berlin Wall Opening Day in the U.S. and Germany.
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