THE STALKER EXPLAINS HIS METHODOLOGY & HIS IMPETUS
BY SCOTT BRYAN WILSON
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The first time in my life I ever met Big Scott Johnson was several years ago, when I moved back into town, after, well I won’t get into that, all lies, and anyway I found a church home, all wonderful people, and Big Scott Johnson was in the Singles & Divorcees Sunday School class, he was divorced and I was single, and the Sunday School teacher pointed out that I was a visitor to their church and so afterwards Big Scott came up to me and shook my hand and holy moses he had the worst breath that I’ve ever smelled in my life. I don’t even remember what happened after that first whiff, there’s like this black period, this blank space of time, and I woke up a couple seconds later in the bathroom with my head shoved under the faucet, apparently I was trying to wash the stench off my face, like my body’s instinctual response when faced with that trauma was just like some animal to go stick my head in the river, and I guess it’s a good thing that there was no water fountain around or I guess I’d of stuck my head in that. Big Scott and a couple other guys from class came in to see what the heck was wrong with me, and I was embarrassed but I told them that I have this medical condition, a scalp condition, and sometimes I have to spray hot water on my head or I’ll have to go to the hospital. I feel bad about lying, but I’m still paying the price today because even on these little campouts I take this scalp shampoo that cost me almost thirty-five dollars, I bring it along just to keep up the façade and really it’s just embarrassing. Luckily I had scalding water all over my head and face and my suit was getting wet so he didn’t try and get too close and when I stood up I was lightheaded and reeling but it wasn’t from kneeling over. None of the other guys seemed to notice his problem, but maybe they’ve learned to avoid inhaling when he exhales . . . I don’t even know how to put it, it wasn’t just that he’d not brushed his teeth or he had coffee-breath or ate dog food or something, this was some sort of serious, deep-rooted problem. He has something wrong with his insides, that’s the only explanation. Something dead and lodged in his belly, rotting, oh moses it was awful. I say ‘has’ because I’ve never allowed myself to get close enough to him again where I might be forced to get a whiff. Or I do, but I practiced holding my breath at home, standing in front of the mirror, I can hold my breath for almost two minutes without looking like I’m holding my breath. Problem is I can’t really talk while I’m doing it, but it’s worked well enough so far. Point is, I’ve never allowed myself to smell it again, so honestly I have no idea if that was just a one-time thing, not characteristic at all, but I’m willing to die without having found out, because honestly, you wouldn’t think you could have nightmares about a smell, but I’m here to tell you that you can. Nightmares with no visuals, not even swirling colors or grays, just nightmares of a smell. Can you imagine being scared of the way something smells? Not just scared, but terrified? And since you’re asleep there’s no way to get away from it . . . I became something of an insomniac after that, I was scared to go to bed for fear of having one of those nightmares, living in this horrible fear. I mean it was the same sort of thing that I experienced when my fiancee dumped me all those years ago, where I was so depressed, and I mean most depressed people start sleeping a lot, sixteen, seventeen hours a day, but not me . . . I avoided sleep because when I was lying in bed before falling asleep, the only thing I could think about was her, reliving either those beautiful moments (which turn to awful moments after you’re dumped) or reliving the actual dumping or reliving moments where there were signs and I should’ve seen it coming, and then of course when I actually fell asleep, I’d have those awful dreams about her, either dreams where I knew it was a dream but it still hurt, or dreams that I didn’t know were dreams, and where we got back together and I’d wake up, reaching out for her, only to . . . well you know. She wasn’t there, and then the stabbing in my chest started all over again. It’s somehow worse that she told me that if she wanted to marry anybody, she’d want to marry me, she just didn’t want to marry anybody, I mean, and then I hear like two years later that she’s going out with some stupid country rock star or something, I mean do you want to marry him? I thought, ahh, you see my predicament. I didn’t realize that that was just a line she was using on me to get out of things. A lie. Anyway, all of this isn’t really the point. Point is, I’m steeling myself up here to put myself out there once again, I feel like it’s been long enough, I’m not getting any younger, and man oh man do I have a serious crush. I feel like I’m twenty years younger, I mean I’ve just been this jaded old guy for so long but this woman . . . oh man I caught a glimpse of her in the supermarket, I had a cart full of frozen foods so I was sort of embarrassed because that just screams lonely but no matter because no way could I have worked up the nerve to go and talk to her, but what I did do was follow her home, I know I know, sleazy move, but what else do I have to live for? Camping trips with ten-year-olds? Please. I mean I like sort of the fatherly atmosphere and getting to spend some time with these boys, they’re all heathens and rascals, but basically they’re all good boys. I ordered a bottle of pheromones from the back of this magazine. What it does is like you put them on like cologne and when a woman gets a whiff she can’t help but be animally attracted to you. I haven’t tried them out because I’m afraid the wrong women will smell them and then I’ll be having this other woman banging on my door when I’m trying to entertain my real, true love. I followed her home and wrote down her address and tag number and then got Big Scott to make use of one of his connections with an old buddy in the sheriff’s department and get all the pertinent info on her: name, age, fingerprints, arrest record, if any, basically just basic stuff like that. So after I got that sorted out, I packed a lunch and stopped and picked up a snack and a couple magazines (Large Lovers, Dead Celebrities, and a couple kung-fu magazines . . . I wanted a variety of things to keep me interested). I knew that parking in her neighborhood wouldn’t be good, because my car would be unfamiliar, and I knew someone would call the cops. She lives in sort of a richie neighborhood, and I have a feeling that her husband . . . I mean I have a feeling that she’s only married for the money and not for love, he’s probably old, and I mean if I thought she was happily married I would never interfere, or send secret admirer cards or anything like that. So what I did was climb up a tree (I teach the boys the best way to do this, how to scale trees where you can’t even reach the limbs, I’m sort of an expert) across the street from her house and settled in for a long night. I was hoping I might get a couple shades-pulled silhouettes of a slinky outline, but no luck. Point is, I was still in the tree when she left for work the next morning, and the only thing I was after was a time that she left for work, so that I could follow her and find out where she works (for some reason her employment info wasn’t in the police database, but Big Scott still made me cough up the thirty bucks). And so . . . I started in with some anonymous flower arrangements sent to her office (I decided to woo her there rather than at her home . . . husband and all), a few small gifts here and there, a few secret admirer cards, stuff like that. I started calling as well, but I could never get her on the phone, part of the problem is that I unfortunately do not know how to pronounce her first name, and I am sure that the person who answers the phone would express her opinion that I should not call any more if I were to ask for her and pronounce it incorrectly, or think I was some frickin telemarketer or something. So I started calling and asking for her by last name but I guess she’s got some creditors or something and the woman would never let me talk to her, and now when the woman hears my voice she just hangs up. Really I keep calling back just in case my love answers the phone. One time I decided to set up a stakeout at the gas station across the street, I figured I’d cut a hose on my car, or gouge open one of the battery cables, something relatively harmless but that would take a few minutes to fix, so I could have an excuse to sit at the gas station across the street and wait to see if she would come out or check the mail or whatever. I even mailed a card and timed it so that it would arrive on the day I was to pull off this feat, so that I could watch her open it and see her expression, if in fact she checked the mail, which I had a hunch that she would because if someone was sending secret admirer letters to my job if I had a job then I would always make sure and check the mail to A keep down gossip but also to B get the letters that much faster. So I started my car and then reached in and cut a couple hoses and then drove to the gas station, by the time I got there my steering was making awful noises and something smelled really strong, and so I pulled in and told the proprietor what I needed, but he was really just arguing with some colored guy about a monkey or something, and point here is that he told me that he doesn’t work on cars, he’ll just do an oil change or change tires but no real work-type work, so I had to call a tow truck because I couldn’t even turn the steering wheel because all the fluid was drained out and unfortunately the tow truck came really quick and it cost me a lot to fix and they found all this other stuff wrong as well and basically speaking I didn’t see her for one second. But, that’s all in the past, I feel like those days were really just amateurish, feeling-things-out-type days, and really, I’m much more professional now, and this guy in my Sunday School class drives a limo and so he’s giving me a discount because he knows me, I mean it’s always good to know people, to really be connected in so many ways, and so basically what’s gonna happen here is that on Friday, the day the fair starts, I’m gonna pull up in a limo, not in a tux or anything, but just in a limo, dressed neatly, but not formally, and with this big bouquet of flowers and some champagne and my pheromones and she’ll have received a postcard by then telling her that I’m planning on revealing myself to her that day and that I will be there in a limo at five sharp, which is when she gets off work, just one of the many bits of information I’ve been able to pick up along the way. Granted, no smart woman would ever get in a limo with a guy that she didn’t know, a stranger, in essence, but you know what? I don’t think that she thinks we’re strangers. I have the strongest feeling, and I firmly believe that the Lord has been guiding me through all this, I firmly believe that this woman is my soulmate, that she’s the one for me, that she’s the woman that God’s set aside for me, and that just through the letters, that just through the letters and postcards that she feels the same way, because I know that the Lord is talking to her much the same way that He’s talking to me, that He’s telling her, guiding her instinct, she may not know that it’s the Lord’s hand on her shoulder, but she somehow just knows that it’s right, that somehow she just has to go through with this. That when she gets a postcard telling her when the limo’s gonna arrive, that she’s gonna get escorted in a limo to a nice dinner and then to the fair, that’s she’s just gonna know that it’s right, and she may not be able to articulate how she feels this, why she feels this, but it’ll be there. I’m gonna tell my buddy to keep the lights in the back of the limo way down, and with the tinted windows, it’s gonna be real dark, so when she comes out, and crawls in the limo (I can see it now, all her friends gathering around outside her job to not only wish her the best and cheer her on, but to get a glimpse of me as well, because doubtless there’s been dozens, hundreds of conversations about me, speculations, but when I don’t get out of the limo or make myself known then they’re gonna be disappointed, but the mystery will increase), she won’t be able to immediately see who I am, it’ll take at least a minute for her eyes to adjust from the blazing sun to the darkness, and she might be just a tiny bit scared, but in a good way, and she’ll be a bit nervous, and my shadowy figure will pour her a glass of champagne, there’ll be a toast (not sure to what, yet, still thinking that one over, still have a couple days to come up with something good and then analyze it from all angles), and then I’ll introduce myself, tell her my name. My buddy assures me that the little window that separates the driver from the back of the limo will be fixed by the time Friday comes around, right now it’s stuck down. And we’ll drink, and the silence might be sort of awkward but sort of that good awkward, where it’s awkward and both people know it but both people also still want to be there, and then I’ll tell her the story about the first time I smelled Big Scott Johnson’s breath, because what a great story that’ll be to break the ice. [Forever after at http://eyeshot.net/sbwstalker.html]
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