My First Love: The Stalker Chronicles

The Seatbelts – Words That We Couldn’t Say.

This story is long, primarily inane, and mostly teenage drama. I apologize for that, but its an important part of my life. And I wanted to lay out all the details, so I couldn’t be accused of falsely portraying myself. This is what happened; these are the mistakes I made. 

“First” – the term I use on this blog for my first love. Her lose haunted me for years, which is amusing, as we had merely childish affections toward each other. Silly to think about now, but that’s what it was. Crushed me, though not as much as Tranny. But it was worth it: I had my first major heartbreak exactly as I was starting to watch Cowboy Bebop – the only way to watch that masterwork.

Though I was haunted by that heartbreak, it was relatively unimportant compared to the rest of my problems, so I won’t especially focus on it now or later. She did, nevertheless, trigger an important set of events. First of all: I started writing poetry. Second: the heartbreak, combined with Cowboy Bebop, started me smoking cigarettes. Third: I gained more self-hatred. More on the first two in separate posts; for now, we attend to the present.

I hated myself, for years to come, because I could have been labeled as a stalker – even saw myself as one. Whether that’s the case or not, is for you to judge; the information facilitating that judgment follows. I was genuinely just trying to make things right, and now think that I kept a respectable distance – though at the time, I fucking loathed myself due to the First’s responses.

Our interactions occurred primarily in that 8-month period of working fulltime, and getting stoned and drunk. She was not involved in the drugs or the work. Our friends were dating, and we would often interact through them. Eventually, we started interacting flirtatiously. This went on for months, us hanging out at our friends’ homes, or at her house, until she finally visited my home – where I fucked everything up.

Essentially, she was playing hard-to-get throughout our entire courtship[later confirmed], which I did not know. But I sensed manipulation, and pursued it: at the end of that visit, I very sagaciously told her as she was leaving: “If you don’t kiss me, I don’t want to see you again.”. What I meant was: “I’m afraid you’re manipulating me, and want to know what your intentions are soasto determine our future interactions, because you mean allot to me.”

She didn’t really.. try to interpret my meaning.. so much as burst into tears and drive away. I called her cell, but she, through tears, told me to leave her alone – if I recall. I borrowed Granny’s car, saying that I needed to go apologize. I went first to her friend’s house, where my friend met me outside and told me “she didn’t want to talk” – the poor bastard clearly didn’t want to do that, and I suspect he was on my side [he, much later, told me that she was constantly talking about how important it was to play hard-to-get, in my absence].

So, I left. But I was still tortured by the idea that she was in pain, that I’d caused it, and needed to remedy the problem. So, I very wisely drove to her home – I’d been there a few times before. Once there, I parked the car, and stood on a corner she would pass while headed home – where I, intentionally, would be completely unmissable and recognizable from a distance.

If I recall correctly, I waited there for a long while, before returning to her friends house and knocking in the window; seemed no one was home. Some school-mates saw me, asking what I was doing, and brushed them off. After that, I drove back to the corner to wait. Musta been hours, I really don’t know; either way, it was night before I even left my home – it was winter. Two interesting things happened once I returned, while waiting on the corner. First: a police officer talked to me. Second: I walked an old woman home.

The officer asked what I was doing, which I was transparent about. He asked if I was stalking her, a question I was so surprised by that I disregarded it after replying “no”. He simply left me be. Whether he was merely patrolling, or was called by the First or her parents, I do not know.

The old woman was odd; suspiciously odd. One of those inexplicable, extremely unlikely events, that dramatically steers the course of things; or I’m just reading-in to pure coincidence. Anyway, I was on the corner, leaning against the short concrete barrier, which separated the street from the adjacent beach. Bored as shit and shivering, I tried to keep myself active.

Walking and looking around, I saw an old woman, in her thin nightgown, wandering around the god damned beach. It was pretty big beach with all sorts of dangerous areas, and it was extremely dark out there, so she could have really got hurt. I walked over to her, and it turned out she was either insane or drunk – I suspect drunk and senile.

I talked to her for a bit, making her comfortable enough to allow me to take her home. Slowly walked her home, all-the-while trying to ascertain the damn location of her home through her incoherent ramblings. Got her home. At this point, as it was late, I suspected First either went home while I was away from the corner, or wasn’t coming home.

In either case, my response was to leave. So, I got in my car. As I was driving past her place, I got out and and looked around, hoping for one last chance to apologize. Her mother saw me, and asked what I was doing, towhich I replied: “I’m trying to apologize to your daughter.”. I don’t recall her wording, but she angrily warded me off. So I left.

I tried emailing her once, and sending word through a friend later on; nothing more, as I was worried about being labeled a stalker. She sent an email saying that she would help me “get help” – without directly addressing the apology or the event forwhich I apologized. At the time, I interpreted this statement as indicating that she infact interpreted my behavior as stalkerish, that she pitied rather than loved me, and was I accordingly hurt, and did not reply.

Shortly thereafter, I went back to Alaska in pathetic attempts to escape my issues with her, and the rest of my life in general. Maybe.. 5 years later, I googled that email of hers, and found her facebook account. Having more or less confirmed the email’s functioning, and having never possessed a facebook account, I then emailed another apology hoping to finally be forgiven.

No reply came, and her facebook account suddenly became private. Did not help my self-perception of being a shameful stalker. Just wanted to make things right. But, it doesn’t matter now, nor did it really matter then: we may have been powerfully drawn to each other, but it was nothing more than two dumb kids playing at love. Fucking hurt like a bastard though.

15


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~ by Louis Naughtic on October 20, 2016.

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