Wow. Post 20. I don't know if I ever expected to write 20 posts on this. I've been cut-and-pasting all the posts into a Word doc as well, and it's to 30 pages. I don't know if I'm impressed about writing this much, or basking in a fabulous waste of space. I also haven't figured out the point I'm trying to make. Is the Mist inherently bad? No. Not really. It's basically a glorified neighborhood watch with legal permission to -- shall we say -- handle the problem.
One might be tempted to ask why the police can't just handle the legal issues and why anyone would need to create extraneous organizations. Well, consider how the legal system actually operates and the horror stories that go along with it. A classic would be from The Godfather -- Bonasera's story from the beginning. His daughter was beaten by some boys that she would not let take advantage of her, but the boys got a suspended three year sentence, so he went to the Godfather for justice.
Now consider what the Mist would do in this exact situation. They have someone in the police department that would intercept an issue like that and forward it to The Mist to actually handle. The judge would never see it, and justice would be served, but not with violence. Maybe their bank account would suddenly lose its balance. Maybe their grades would plummet. Maybe their car wouldn't work properly. But they would know they were getting what they deserved for what they had done.
What they try to report it? What proof would they have? The person who sent the first report on would report the second and whatever damage was done would be repaired before the detectives got there. They would swear the father of the girl did it, but he knows nothing of the Mist or its activites, so he is off the hook, and it looks like the boys are trying to get someone in trouble.
You might be wondering, though, what the father would think that his report seemed lost in the system. Well, that's the beauty of how they work. The father's paperwork is still there, but delayed until enough fuss is raised to make them look like the bad boys they are, and force the eventual decision to be less lenient. After all, these troublemakers are falsifying police reports to get an old man in trouble knowing they would be reported, when it turns out his original report was there before theirs.
I know that reads kind of confusing, but it's technological sabotage that they specialize in. Whatever the technology is or was, they can mess with it and put it back at the drop of a hat. Even if they can't restore it, they can't prove who did it to them.
Sometimes, however, they just make people disappear. It depends on what they've done, and I don't know what happens to those who have disappeared, but people will vanish into thin air. The vanishing is so complete, that it appears that they never existed. Imagine no records whatsoever on someone who's been around for thirty years. You would expect tax records, DMV records, an email account, a birth certificate, even, but they're just gone. This is why I suspect this blog will be gone before I will. I'm surprised they haven't gotten to it yet.
Anyway, that's a long intro to this part of the story, and I want to try and keep the lengths readable if I can, so I'd best move on. All this will become apparent as we move on. A lot of it isn't known to most of the members, and this meeting I found myself in turned out to be little more than a memorial service for Tara.
He said she'd been a part of them her whole life, and recently moved into being an operative before she found herself infatuated with a mark. I can't help but wonder why he called me a mark. I thought that was a term for someone to be killed. Maybe it's inclusive of anyone being watched. He said it was believed that her mark killed her, though, which I know is untrue. It was all I could not to say something, but to do so would give me away.
They had decided not to pick me up yet, but see what my next moves would be. He said my every move would be watched, which was exceptionally strange to me, since if I were watched, I would have been intercepted before coming in here. I guess bosses lie too. If only they knew...well, I was actually glad they didn't know.
He said information about me would be disemminated among them very soon and the other members within the week. I couldn't help but wonder how many other members there were. There weren't a lot of people there. Was this people who knew her? The thought of this made me wonder about the conversation with the guard. Did he have a list? Did he know the charm, and just let me in? Was I actually being watched and they were just waiting?
Patience is in their nature and part of their way. It is not unheard of for them to allow someone to get themselves completely ensconced in something they weren't supposed to get into, and then spring the trap. I didn't know that, of course, at the time, but was thinking that I needed to leave as quickly as possible. I wasn't quite quick enough. Mack spoke up...
"And now to tell you all exactly what happened to her, and what he did, her mark, Mr. [Atari 2600]."
Everyone turned to look at me, and I knew I was screwed.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
The Ninteenth Post
This is getting more difficult. I was looking around for another W-Fi spot yesterday to continue this narrative, and managed to find myself followed all over town. This car stayed on my tail consistently as I drove through Tulsa, and I couldn't shake it for anything. I finally got myself onto the expressway for a bit and lost him in the traffic. But I couldn't let the idea go that they are still watching me, and apparently, outside of Broken Arrow is no safer than in it. The only thing I can do is hope I get lucky and stay somewhere where they have no contact.
I think what I'll do is start typing out the rest of this in a Word doc and then just find places to rapidly post it. I haven't gone wardriving in years, but who knew all that searching for random open wireless networks would pay off? For those of you who aren't familiar with this, wardriving is NOT what I was doing to shake my chaser earlier. Wardriving is where you go hunting for a wireless network and jump onto it with your laptop. Sure, it's a computer geek thing, but I am what I am.
I'm hanging around St. Francis Hospital at the moment using their network to post this. By the time any Mist associates read it, I'll be quite gone, and my hotel is no where near here. Ha!
To return to the narrative, and my ultimate confession of what troubles me, I was sitting on Hickory, waiting for something to happen. What I saw was a small patch of grass open like a door out of the ground. A man climbed out, like he were walking up stairs, and then he closed the door. Can you say, "Weird"?
He got into a car parked by the curb and drove away. Naturally, I followed. He went to a store in downtown Broken Arrow (one of those two story jobs where only the first story actually contains the shop). He got out of his car and went inside. I parked and followed. The store was open, after all, so it wasn't anything suspicious for me to walk in.
He walked through the store, casually looking at items here and there. I was afraid he was only shopping, but he slowly made his way to the back and disappeared through a door. I casually did the same.
Behind the door was a large meeting room with a small foyer. Several people were already there, just milling around and chatting. I tried to sneak in a few steps when I was met by someone.
"Who are you," he asked me.
I blinked. I hadn't anticipated being stopped, which I should have. I just had to wing it. "I'm new," I replied.
"Really," he said. "Show me the sign."
This could be anything, I thought, and we both knew it. I looked at him for a moment. My new excuse would give me additional excuses for blind stupidity, but then again, The Mist being as exclusive as it is, new members would likely be hand-picked by someone. I opted for my one and only idea of what this sign could be.
I took the Rubik's Cube charm out of my pocket. The door guard looked at it. He nodded.
"Very pretty," he said, "I wouldn't have figured a man to have a little thing like that. A lot of newbies just carry the cube itself around. I guess you'll acclimate real well."
So the cube was a sign. A symbol, at least for the moment, of my inclusion into this club. Well, almost.
"So who recruited you," he asked me. Another unanticipated question, as at this point, I only knew the name of three people associated with the Mist. One had killed herself recently, and I was likely known to be a reason for that. But the others...
"Mack Mulligan," I said, and waited. His eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Really," he said. "Mack actually found someone himself?" The guard shook his head. "He's been so out of sorts lately, I'm really surprised."
"Oh, I see," I said.
"So what did he see in you," the guard asked. This was frustrating. I know he was making idle conversation, but I was tired up making up answers, and all I realy wanted to do was hide in the crowd and see what happens. But since we were chatting, I knew I could give him an answer, and then hit him with my own question.
"Oh, I'm a hacker. He thought I could help with computer issues," I told him. Since I had actually helped Tara with one, that wasn't a total lie.
"That's good. We've been low on computer people for awhile," the guard said.
"Hey, is Mack here tonight," I asked, not even knowing what "here" was for. The guard raised his eyebrows, and I prepared to run.
"Oh, I figured since you knew him-"
"I really don't know him that well," I said, actually quite truthfully, "I only saw him a couple times when he got me on, but I still habe trouble recognizing him."
"No problem," the guard said, "he's here, sure enough. Right over there."
I looked over and saw the man I had followed in. He was clearly around sixty, but still very strong and confident-looking. I sat down in the room, as he took the stand. My mind raced with the possibilities of what was at Hickory. Living quarters? Main headquarters? Who else was down there? Was it an actual place or just a passageway to somewhere else?
I didn't know yet, but I was determined to find out, but first, there was this meeting, and guess what the first topic was.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mack began, "today, we mourn the passing of Miss Tara Faye Johnson..."
And it was all I could do to maintain my composure.
I think what I'll do is start typing out the rest of this in a Word doc and then just find places to rapidly post it. I haven't gone wardriving in years, but who knew all that searching for random open wireless networks would pay off? For those of you who aren't familiar with this, wardriving is NOT what I was doing to shake my chaser earlier. Wardriving is where you go hunting for a wireless network and jump onto it with your laptop. Sure, it's a computer geek thing, but I am what I am.
I'm hanging around St. Francis Hospital at the moment using their network to post this. By the time any Mist associates read it, I'll be quite gone, and my hotel is no where near here. Ha!
To return to the narrative, and my ultimate confession of what troubles me, I was sitting on Hickory, waiting for something to happen. What I saw was a small patch of grass open like a door out of the ground. A man climbed out, like he were walking up stairs, and then he closed the door. Can you say, "Weird"?
He got into a car parked by the curb and drove away. Naturally, I followed. He went to a store in downtown Broken Arrow (one of those two story jobs where only the first story actually contains the shop). He got out of his car and went inside. I parked and followed. The store was open, after all, so it wasn't anything suspicious for me to walk in.
He walked through the store, casually looking at items here and there. I was afraid he was only shopping, but he slowly made his way to the back and disappeared through a door. I casually did the same.
Behind the door was a large meeting room with a small foyer. Several people were already there, just milling around and chatting. I tried to sneak in a few steps when I was met by someone.
"Who are you," he asked me.
I blinked. I hadn't anticipated being stopped, which I should have. I just had to wing it. "I'm new," I replied.
"Really," he said. "Show me the sign."
This could be anything, I thought, and we both knew it. I looked at him for a moment. My new excuse would give me additional excuses for blind stupidity, but then again, The Mist being as exclusive as it is, new members would likely be hand-picked by someone. I opted for my one and only idea of what this sign could be.
I took the Rubik's Cube charm out of my pocket. The door guard looked at it. He nodded.
"Very pretty," he said, "I wouldn't have figured a man to have a little thing like that. A lot of newbies just carry the cube itself around. I guess you'll acclimate real well."
So the cube was a sign. A symbol, at least for the moment, of my inclusion into this club. Well, almost.
"So who recruited you," he asked me. Another unanticipated question, as at this point, I only knew the name of three people associated with the Mist. One had killed herself recently, and I was likely known to be a reason for that. But the others...
"Mack Mulligan," I said, and waited. His eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Really," he said. "Mack actually found someone himself?" The guard shook his head. "He's been so out of sorts lately, I'm really surprised."
"Oh, I see," I said.
"So what did he see in you," the guard asked. This was frustrating. I know he was making idle conversation, but I was tired up making up answers, and all I realy wanted to do was hide in the crowd and see what happens. But since we were chatting, I knew I could give him an answer, and then hit him with my own question.
"Oh, I'm a hacker. He thought I could help with computer issues," I told him. Since I had actually helped Tara with one, that wasn't a total lie.
"That's good. We've been low on computer people for awhile," the guard said.
"Hey, is Mack here tonight," I asked, not even knowing what "here" was for. The guard raised his eyebrows, and I prepared to run.
"Oh, I figured since you knew him-"
"I really don't know him that well," I said, actually quite truthfully, "I only saw him a couple times when he got me on, but I still habe trouble recognizing him."
"No problem," the guard said, "he's here, sure enough. Right over there."
I looked over and saw the man I had followed in. He was clearly around sixty, but still very strong and confident-looking. I sat down in the room, as he took the stand. My mind raced with the possibilities of what was at Hickory. Living quarters? Main headquarters? Who else was down there? Was it an actual place or just a passageway to somewhere else?
I didn't know yet, but I was determined to find out, but first, there was this meeting, and guess what the first topic was.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mack began, "today, we mourn the passing of Miss Tara Faye Johnson..."
And it was all I could do to maintain my composure.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
The Eighteenth Post
This is more like the sequel to the Seventeenth Post, since I never got to finish it, but since that was yesterday, we'll call this eighteen. Let me cover why it ended so abruptly. You'll note that I commented that at any time, someone could come up behind me. Well, someone did. Thank God for speed keys. I hit Control-P to publish the entry just in case and closed my laptop.
This person politely asked that I accompany him out of the store. I politely declined. He began to insist. I ran out the fire exit. He chased me across the parking lot, where I couldn't help but note a couple other individuals who were waiting at the main entrance give chase as well.
I had two things in my favor at this point. First, my car has automatic door locks, so I was able to get it open before I got there. Second, I was so far out in the lot that no one was around me, so I could jump in, start, shift to drive, and go. No, they weren't dumb enough to get in front of me.
The downside is that now they know what my car looks like, and probably have the license plate. I would be willing to wager they've reported it stolen by now. After all, that will put my car on the radar, and once I'm in police custody, I'm sure it's no big deal for them to spring me. Can't make a commotion in the police station, and they wouldn't believe this story anyway.
So at this point, I'm not in Broken Arrow. I think I'll not say where I am for the moment. Granted, it'll be a case of me being gone before anyone gets here, but I don't want my current location known even generally. It took me so long to reply back because the hotel I ended up in didn't have internet, and I didn't know the Wi-fi hotspots in this area. But I found one, and I'm determined to go on. After all, I have a story to finish.
Tracking my parents was no easy task, but finding their names was actually very easy. I looked through my personal documentation and found my birth certificate. This is a piece of paper one totes round forever and never even glances at it, but on that day I looked and there they were: Mack and Cynthia Mulligan. Maybe it was too easy, but it was a start.
So I went to the next logical place: the phone book. I'm from Broken Arrow. Tara said my parents lived here as well, so it shouldn't be too difficult. And under Mulligan, we find...nothing. Unlisted. I checked Tulsa, and while there are Mulligans, no Mack or Cynthia. I expanded my search to Jenks and Bixby, but still nothing. I got on the Internet, and searched all of Oklahoma, but I still came up empty... and I pretty much expected that. If they have been in this organization since before I was born, then they're going to be quite secretive.
Then again, it's been almost 30 years. How long could one stay in such a position? Quite some time, I eventually learned, but for now, it was a question of where to go. What would my adoptive parents know? Anything? How would I approach it? Maybe I could find out the name of the agency. Maybe they could help.
This latter part was doubtful at best. First, movies have taught me that adoption records are quite secret, and they don't tend to reveal them to anyone. Add to this that they are a part of a secret, networking organization, so the adoption may have been done off the books entirely. There would be records on the part of my quite innocent adoptive parents, but likely nothing noted on my birth parents. Add even to that that the names on my birth certificate could have been pseudonyms. Who knows?
Since I found a couple Mulligans in the book, I decided to take an easy course of action, and call a few of them. I said I was looking for Mack and Cindy, I hadn't seen them in years, and wondered if they'd heard of them. Not so lucky. I completely struck out. Oh well.
I went to the adoption agency, and as expected, they refused to help. I could try my adopted parents to see, but right now, I don't want them to know where I am any more than anyone else, and I don't them involved in this mess I'm in. I knew as soon as I called, my father would be telling me to come home so they could help. No, that wasn't an option.
I had already gone through Tara's address book, and every paper she had left behind. There was nothing. Nothing that showed anything about The Mist. Then I remembered where I'd dropped her off that first date -- behind ELH. She walked down Hickory. Since Tara was one of them, maybe her parents (or whoever) would be able to tell me something.
I went back over everything she owned and realized I should just check her driver's license. Sure enough, the DMV has her on Hickory. I left immediately to see what was there -- maybe do my own stakeout. When I got there, I found...nothing.
The address didn't exist. It was on her dirver's license, but it doesn't exist. There was a house with the numbers on either side, but not the one I was looking for. I sat in my car for several minutes, trying to figure out what to do. I knew I'd seen Tara come down this road before. It's on her license. Something has to be here somewhere.
So I did the only logical thing for me to do: I sat in the car and watched the location until something happened -- and it did.
This person politely asked that I accompany him out of the store. I politely declined. He began to insist. I ran out the fire exit. He chased me across the parking lot, where I couldn't help but note a couple other individuals who were waiting at the main entrance give chase as well.
I had two things in my favor at this point. First, my car has automatic door locks, so I was able to get it open before I got there. Second, I was so far out in the lot that no one was around me, so I could jump in, start, shift to drive, and go. No, they weren't dumb enough to get in front of me.
The downside is that now they know what my car looks like, and probably have the license plate. I would be willing to wager they've reported it stolen by now. After all, that will put my car on the radar, and once I'm in police custody, I'm sure it's no big deal for them to spring me. Can't make a commotion in the police station, and they wouldn't believe this story anyway.
So at this point, I'm not in Broken Arrow. I think I'll not say where I am for the moment. Granted, it'll be a case of me being gone before anyone gets here, but I don't want my current location known even generally. It took me so long to reply back because the hotel I ended up in didn't have internet, and I didn't know the Wi-fi hotspots in this area. But I found one, and I'm determined to go on. After all, I have a story to finish.
Tracking my parents was no easy task, but finding their names was actually very easy. I looked through my personal documentation and found my birth certificate. This is a piece of paper one totes round forever and never even glances at it, but on that day I looked and there they were: Mack and Cynthia Mulligan. Maybe it was too easy, but it was a start.
So I went to the next logical place: the phone book. I'm from Broken Arrow. Tara said my parents lived here as well, so it shouldn't be too difficult. And under Mulligan, we find...nothing. Unlisted. I checked Tulsa, and while there are Mulligans, no Mack or Cynthia. I expanded my search to Jenks and Bixby, but still nothing. I got on the Internet, and searched all of Oklahoma, but I still came up empty... and I pretty much expected that. If they have been in this organization since before I was born, then they're going to be quite secretive.
Then again, it's been almost 30 years. How long could one stay in such a position? Quite some time, I eventually learned, but for now, it was a question of where to go. What would my adoptive parents know? Anything? How would I approach it? Maybe I could find out the name of the agency. Maybe they could help.
This latter part was doubtful at best. First, movies have taught me that adoption records are quite secret, and they don't tend to reveal them to anyone. Add to this that they are a part of a secret, networking organization, so the adoption may have been done off the books entirely. There would be records on the part of my quite innocent adoptive parents, but likely nothing noted on my birth parents. Add even to that that the names on my birth certificate could have been pseudonyms. Who knows?
Since I found a couple Mulligans in the book, I decided to take an easy course of action, and call a few of them. I said I was looking for Mack and Cindy, I hadn't seen them in years, and wondered if they'd heard of them. Not so lucky. I completely struck out. Oh well.
I went to the adoption agency, and as expected, they refused to help. I could try my adopted parents to see, but right now, I don't want them to know where I am any more than anyone else, and I don't them involved in this mess I'm in. I knew as soon as I called, my father would be telling me to come home so they could help. No, that wasn't an option.
I had already gone through Tara's address book, and every paper she had left behind. There was nothing. Nothing that showed anything about The Mist. Then I remembered where I'd dropped her off that first date -- behind ELH. She walked down Hickory. Since Tara was one of them, maybe her parents (or whoever) would be able to tell me something.
I went back over everything she owned and realized I should just check her driver's license. Sure enough, the DMV has her on Hickory. I left immediately to see what was there -- maybe do my own stakeout. When I got there, I found...nothing.
The address didn't exist. It was on her dirver's license, but it doesn't exist. There was a house with the numbers on either side, but not the one I was looking for. I sat in my car for several minutes, trying to figure out what to do. I knew I'd seen Tara come down this road before. It's on her license. Something has to be here somewhere.
So I did the only logical thing for me to do: I sat in the car and watched the location until something happened -- and it did.
Friday, December 28, 2007
The Seventeenth Post
I didn't sleep at all last night. I couldn't. I was already a bit paranoid after my room at the other hotel was ransacked, but even after moving, I couldn't settle my head. It's just as well. Before long, I heard faint voices outside my room door. I check the time and it was 2am, so they probably assumed I was asleep.
I quietly moved to the door and wedged a chair under the knob. I figured the hotel owner was part of The Mist's network and ratted me out. That's why it's so hard to get away from these people. You never know who's in and who's not. This also means I'm marked if my picture has been put out to the network.
I grabbed my things and looked through the crack in the curtain. The parking lot was quiet. Of course, they weren't going to make a big dramatic scene just for me. The Mist doesn't work that way. No "sting" operations or anything. Just do it quietly when no one is looking. I glanced back at the door. A key was inserted in the lock. In moments, they would figure out I'd wedged the door, and the fuss might begin.
I opened the window and climbed out. There was some advantage to being on the first floor after all, since there was no drop. I didn't stick around to see what happened with the door. I'm not stupid. I ran straight to my car and took off. I parked in the far end of the Wal-Mart parking lot and tried to rest. I knew all alone in a 24 hour lot, I would at least not be recognized or noticed.
Needless to say, I didn't sleep well.
When I woke up, I came right into the McDonald's here in the Wal-Mart, and that's where I am now, trying to choke down breakfast. I'm in the back corner at this point, with my back to the entrance. Anyone could be part of their network. At any moment, someone could walk up behind me, and that would be it.
It may be high time to head over to Tulsa or Jenks or something to get away from their network entirely. I don't know whether they have a Mist in place in those cities, but Tara said they were primarily local and secret, so it's hard to say whether they communicate with each other or not.
Nevertheless, I think it's getting too
I quietly moved to the door and wedged a chair under the knob. I figured the hotel owner was part of The Mist's network and ratted me out. That's why it's so hard to get away from these people. You never know who's in and who's not. This also means I'm marked if my picture has been put out to the network.
I grabbed my things and looked through the crack in the curtain. The parking lot was quiet. Of course, they weren't going to make a big dramatic scene just for me. The Mist doesn't work that way. No "sting" operations or anything. Just do it quietly when no one is looking. I glanced back at the door. A key was inserted in the lock. In moments, they would figure out I'd wedged the door, and the fuss might begin.
I opened the window and climbed out. There was some advantage to being on the first floor after all, since there was no drop. I didn't stick around to see what happened with the door. I'm not stupid. I ran straight to my car and took off. I parked in the far end of the Wal-Mart parking lot and tried to rest. I knew all alone in a 24 hour lot, I would at least not be recognized or noticed.
Needless to say, I didn't sleep well.
When I woke up, I came right into the McDonald's here in the Wal-Mart, and that's where I am now, trying to choke down breakfast. I'm in the back corner at this point, with my back to the entrance. Anyone could be part of their network. At any moment, someone could walk up behind me, and that would be it.
It may be high time to head over to Tulsa or Jenks or something to get away from their network entirely. I don't know whether they have a Mist in place in those cities, but Tara said they were primarily local and secret, so it's hard to say whether they communicate with each other or not.
Nevertheless, I think it's getting too
Thursday, December 27, 2007
The Sixteenth Post
I changed hotels. I had to. When I went back after being at the library, I saw that someone had gone through it. Fortunately, I had nothing there except clothes, but that was enough to send me packing. The only thing of value I possess at this point is my laptop, and it goes with me everywhere. My new room isn't Wi-fi, but it has a free ethernet hi-speed connection, and that's enough for now. The main point is that they don't know where I am.
I don't know what I'm going to do if they find me. I don't know why they're going to do. Can they delete the blog? What kind of power do they have? I imagine the legal strings would be extensive. Maybe they'll hold me against my will and force me to delete it. I won't do it. I'll leave it up forever if I can. Maybe someone else can continue this work. I don't know what kind of work it is, but with the privilege of free speech, how can we be silenced over something as meager as a secret organization that keeps cities safer?
Perhaps it's the ideology of absolute power. After all, these people work under the radar and are protected so that even if they are caught, they were never there. I know that Tara killed herself. She took sleeping pills after I was asleep according to her note. She insisted it wasn't my fault, but she never said what she died over. I would have thought it didn't matter anymore. When you're gone, you're gone, but she let that secret die with her.
I stared at that Rubik's Cube charm for hours before I did anything else. This is what she had during our Olive Garden date. An item that she did not have at the conclusion of the evening. I can only assume the gentleman she spoke to in the midst of our dinner was handed this item and he possessed it for a time. I don't know when she got it back, or what it was used for, even. She had to know I would remember this trinket. She had to. She left it for me to find right next to her note.
Her note contained very little information. She explained nothing. It was more or less a token suicide note explaining to the authorities that she couldn't live anymore and that she died of her own volition. She actually used the word "volition." I knew she didn't write the note for me, with the exception of not blaming me.
Really, for The Mist, it was the perfect death. She died in her sleep of an overdose. A note was left explaining her choice. I was right there to let the police know about it. How convenient, right?
There's no paranoia this time. I did call the police. They came out and took her and the note. I was questioned briefly and I told them that she was severely depressed and I thought when she ate last night, she was getting better. No strings. No problems. I was free to live my life alone again. But Tara left another note.
I didn't find this one immediately. I don't know when she wrote either note, but this one was in the pocket of a shirt I wore fairly often. I had dressed for work and discovered it before leaving. While she didn't tell any more information, it was comforting to know she thought enough of me to write directly to me privately in a note I did not have to turn over to the police.
"Dear Atari (no, she didn't call me Atari),
I know you have a million questions, and I wish I could give you all the answers. You know how we ended up together, and that it wasn't a coincidence. You know who I work for. But I won't tell you what you so desperately want to know. I've tried, and I can't do that to you. Whatever I've put you through this last month, I want you to be able to live your life with a clear mind and conscience, so you can't know this. Please don't pursue it.
I had no greater happiness in my life than the time I spent with you. Never think that you caused my death in any way. It's just that circumstances changed, and I found out something that I could no longer live with.
There's so much I wish I could say, but before I write anything you will regret, I will leave you with this: if it were within my power, I would have spent the rest of my life with you. I never met anyone who fit with me as well as you did, and I never would have again. I wish you the best in your life as it moves forward, and I want you to move forward. I know it will take you time to get past what I've done today, but I pray you will do so quickly, because you have a long and happy life ahead of you.
I left my charm for you as something to remember me by. I know that is one of those things you have questions about, but only think of it as what I showed you on our second date. It is a symbol of a happy moment. It is a symbol of what we were.
Be happy. I love you.
Tara"
She said don't pursue this, but I can't do that. They did something to her, and she died for it. She did not deserve to die. She told me the path I need to take to find out the answers to all the questions. There are people who know. The people I've never pursued before.
I'm going to find my parents.
I don't know what I'm going to do if they find me. I don't know why they're going to do. Can they delete the blog? What kind of power do they have? I imagine the legal strings would be extensive. Maybe they'll hold me against my will and force me to delete it. I won't do it. I'll leave it up forever if I can. Maybe someone else can continue this work. I don't know what kind of work it is, but with the privilege of free speech, how can we be silenced over something as meager as a secret organization that keeps cities safer?
Perhaps it's the ideology of absolute power. After all, these people work under the radar and are protected so that even if they are caught, they were never there. I know that Tara killed herself. She took sleeping pills after I was asleep according to her note. She insisted it wasn't my fault, but she never said what she died over. I would have thought it didn't matter anymore. When you're gone, you're gone, but she let that secret die with her.
I stared at that Rubik's Cube charm for hours before I did anything else. This is what she had during our Olive Garden date. An item that she did not have at the conclusion of the evening. I can only assume the gentleman she spoke to in the midst of our dinner was handed this item and he possessed it for a time. I don't know when she got it back, or what it was used for, even. She had to know I would remember this trinket. She had to. She left it for me to find right next to her note.
Her note contained very little information. She explained nothing. It was more or less a token suicide note explaining to the authorities that she couldn't live anymore and that she died of her own volition. She actually used the word "volition." I knew she didn't write the note for me, with the exception of not blaming me.
Really, for The Mist, it was the perfect death. She died in her sleep of an overdose. A note was left explaining her choice. I was right there to let the police know about it. How convenient, right?
There's no paranoia this time. I did call the police. They came out and took her and the note. I was questioned briefly and I told them that she was severely depressed and I thought when she ate last night, she was getting better. No strings. No problems. I was free to live my life alone again. But Tara left another note.
I didn't find this one immediately. I don't know when she wrote either note, but this one was in the pocket of a shirt I wore fairly often. I had dressed for work and discovered it before leaving. While she didn't tell any more information, it was comforting to know she thought enough of me to write directly to me privately in a note I did not have to turn over to the police.
"Dear Atari (no, she didn't call me Atari),
I know you have a million questions, and I wish I could give you all the answers. You know how we ended up together, and that it wasn't a coincidence. You know who I work for. But I won't tell you what you so desperately want to know. I've tried, and I can't do that to you. Whatever I've put you through this last month, I want you to be able to live your life with a clear mind and conscience, so you can't know this. Please don't pursue it.
I had no greater happiness in my life than the time I spent with you. Never think that you caused my death in any way. It's just that circumstances changed, and I found out something that I could no longer live with.
There's so much I wish I could say, but before I write anything you will regret, I will leave you with this: if it were within my power, I would have spent the rest of my life with you. I never met anyone who fit with me as well as you did, and I never would have again. I wish you the best in your life as it moves forward, and I want you to move forward. I know it will take you time to get past what I've done today, but I pray you will do so quickly, because you have a long and happy life ahead of you.
I left my charm for you as something to remember me by. I know that is one of those things you have questions about, but only think of it as what I showed you on our second date. It is a symbol of a happy moment. It is a symbol of what we were.
Be happy. I love you.
Tara"
She said don't pursue this, but I can't do that. They did something to her, and she died for it. She did not deserve to die. She told me the path I need to take to find out the answers to all the questions. There are people who know. The people I've never pursued before.
I'm going to find my parents.
The Fifteenth Post
I slept very fitfully. I know they're really upset now. I heard people outside my room, but I didn't dare to look to see who it was. I checked out my hotel window, and thought I saw someone once, but I could be wrong. I'm probably jumping at shadows at this point.
All the same, I'm out of the room hiding out at the newer library at 91st & Memorial. As always, I'm not too concerned popping off my location since I tend to post right before I leave, and it gives me some measure of enjoyment to think they might run right over to try and nab me. Who knows? Maybe I'll sit somewhere close and watch as they raid the place. Ha!
This library (by name) used to be right behind Woodland Hills, but they moved it all over here for some reason. I've always wondered why. It's kind of hidden now. Anyway...
A couple just walked by me, and I remember Tara. No matter what our relationship was, I will always miss her. I wish things had turned out differently.
The day went as it usually does. I left in the morning to go to work without ever seeing her. I tried to check on her, but she didn't respond to my knocking. All day at work, I thought about her. Not a line of code went by that I didn't want to rush home and see if she was ok. She was supremely depressed and wouldn't tell me why. I considered talking about this to my co-workers, but I doubted any of them would begin to understand or even believe what I was going through. I also couldn't get far without revealing The Mist, and if I ever hoped to get through to Tara, I had to keep that to myself.
I left a little early in order to see if she was up and around. When I walked in, she was sitting on the couch. She stood up and smiled at me. She was very thin. Her face looked hollow. She walked up to me and gently put her arms around me. As I held her, I could feel how thin she'd gotten. I wanted to hold her tightly, but I was afraid I might break her, so I was very gentle with her.
"Can I at least take you to dinner," I asked her. She smiled and shook her head. She wiped a tear from her eye.
"I'm not hungry," she said.
"Not hungry?" I was trying to maintain my temper, not with her resistance, but because she was wasting away, and not helping me help her. "Look at you," I said, "there's almost nothing left."
"I know," she replied, "But you have to understand that I've done something terrible, and I can't live with that."
Then it hit me what she was doing. This was not happening.
"If you don't eat something with me, I'm taking you into the emergency room, and they'll make sure you have some kind of sustenance," I told her. I don't believe I've ever been so resolute with anyone.
She looked at me a long moment. Finally, she nodded. "All right, fine," she said. "If you insist, I'll eat something."
She wasn't interested in going out, so we ordered pizza (ironically from the place I would work for two days a few months later). She did eat. I ordered two mediums and she ate a full one by herself. This made me very happy.
I should have taken her in anyway. After we ate, she asked if I would go to sleep with her. Not "sleep with her," mind you, but share unconsciousness in the same bed. It was a start. so I was happy to oblidge. As we lay down that evening, she placed her frail head on my chest. I could feel her tears dampen my shirt.
Before we went to sleep, she leaned up and whispered softly to me, "I love you."
I smiled at her in the dark. "I love you, too," I replied.
She laid back down, and I fell asleep. My dreams that night were ripe with impossible imagery of anger, frustration, and sorrow. I saw blood everywhere and on everything. I saw the only family I ever had torn apart by some unspeakable creature. I saw Tara crucified (literally, as in Jesus). I saw her look at me and ask for forgiveness. She cried out to God, like Jesus did, saying "My God why have you forsaken me?"
My eyes snapped open and I was dripping with sweat. I looked around. Tara was next to me. I leaned up next to her and looked at her. I knew in an instant.
She was dead. Sitting on the nightstand next to the bed was a charm...of a Rubik's cube.
All the same, I'm out of the room hiding out at the newer library at 91st & Memorial. As always, I'm not too concerned popping off my location since I tend to post right before I leave, and it gives me some measure of enjoyment to think they might run right over to try and nab me. Who knows? Maybe I'll sit somewhere close and watch as they raid the place. Ha!
This library (by name) used to be right behind Woodland Hills, but they moved it all over here for some reason. I've always wondered why. It's kind of hidden now. Anyway...
A couple just walked by me, and I remember Tara. No matter what our relationship was, I will always miss her. I wish things had turned out differently.
The day went as it usually does. I left in the morning to go to work without ever seeing her. I tried to check on her, but she didn't respond to my knocking. All day at work, I thought about her. Not a line of code went by that I didn't want to rush home and see if she was ok. She was supremely depressed and wouldn't tell me why. I considered talking about this to my co-workers, but I doubted any of them would begin to understand or even believe what I was going through. I also couldn't get far without revealing The Mist, and if I ever hoped to get through to Tara, I had to keep that to myself.
I left a little early in order to see if she was up and around. When I walked in, she was sitting on the couch. She stood up and smiled at me. She was very thin. Her face looked hollow. She walked up to me and gently put her arms around me. As I held her, I could feel how thin she'd gotten. I wanted to hold her tightly, but I was afraid I might break her, so I was very gentle with her.
"Can I at least take you to dinner," I asked her. She smiled and shook her head. She wiped a tear from her eye.
"I'm not hungry," she said.
"Not hungry?" I was trying to maintain my temper, not with her resistance, but because she was wasting away, and not helping me help her. "Look at you," I said, "there's almost nothing left."
"I know," she replied, "But you have to understand that I've done something terrible, and I can't live with that."
Then it hit me what she was doing. This was not happening.
"If you don't eat something with me, I'm taking you into the emergency room, and they'll make sure you have some kind of sustenance," I told her. I don't believe I've ever been so resolute with anyone.
She looked at me a long moment. Finally, she nodded. "All right, fine," she said. "If you insist, I'll eat something."
She wasn't interested in going out, so we ordered pizza (ironically from the place I would work for two days a few months later). She did eat. I ordered two mediums and she ate a full one by herself. This made me very happy.
I should have taken her in anyway. After we ate, she asked if I would go to sleep with her. Not "sleep with her," mind you, but share unconsciousness in the same bed. It was a start. so I was happy to oblidge. As we lay down that evening, she placed her frail head on my chest. I could feel her tears dampen my shirt.
Before we went to sleep, she leaned up and whispered softly to me, "I love you."
I smiled at her in the dark. "I love you, too," I replied.
She laid back down, and I fell asleep. My dreams that night were ripe with impossible imagery of anger, frustration, and sorrow. I saw blood everywhere and on everything. I saw the only family I ever had torn apart by some unspeakable creature. I saw Tara crucified (literally, as in Jesus). I saw her look at me and ask for forgiveness. She cried out to God, like Jesus did, saying "My God why have you forsaken me?"
My eyes snapped open and I was dripping with sweat. I looked around. Tara was next to me. I leaned up next to her and looked at her. I knew in an instant.
She was dead. Sitting on the nightstand next to the bed was a charm...of a Rubik's cube.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The Fourteenth Post
I imagine it won't take much time for The Mist to want to track me down now that I've used their name. I know they've been reading this blog, and I know they've been waiting for me to utter their name so they can move in. Nothing yet, but we'll see. I don't know if they've found my hotel yet or not, but I'm in another McDonald's, and if nothing else, they'll never find me in here.
I'm making sure I move around a lot between places. I'm all the way down at the one in the Wal-Mart at 121st and Elm. We call this one the "South" Wal-Mart since we have two in Broken Arrow. The other one is fairly North.
When she told me their name, I didn't know what to think. After all, I had only become involved after meeting her, as long as you don't count that I've somehow always been involved but never knew it. As complicated as it seemed, it had a very simple explanation. Someone paid to have a local intelligence service keep the town safe. What they do behind the scenes is complicated, but the concept is simple. It explained the relative secrecy.
"But no one nows about it," she said. "It's not publicized. There's no web site. It's kept from city officials. The police aren't informed about anything. We have people working other jobs that act as informants, and only a few who are fully employed by the service. The informants deliver what they know that maybe should be kept quiet or off the books. The full time agents handle it."
"What does this have to do with me," I asked. I had to know. I was getting impatient all of a sudden. For some reason, I'd been dragged into this, and I wanted to know why.
"Because of your birth parents," she said. "They had you while in the service. They kept you in this town, and continually assigned someone to keep an eye on you your entire life. You've seen them; you just don't know it."
I had to think on this. Everyone sees hundreds of people every day, but we don't acknowledge most of them. People passing by in stores and on the street. We see them in cars, out windows, on sidewalks, getting the mail, and any number of other places and activities. With so many people in the world, we can't help but see and be seen by these same hundreds.
As I've been sitting in this McDonald's in this Wal-Mart, in fact, easily two or three hundred people have passed by the glass walls separating the McDonald's from the Wal-Mart entrance. I've even glanced up once or twice to see them. I won't remember any of their faces, though. None of them even begin to stand out to me.
Someone could check on me weekly and unless I notice them looking at me, I won't even remember them. It's the kind of idea that brings one's paranoia to a frenzy. How many people are watching me even now? Looking around, I'd never know.
But then, it hit me. Call me slow.
"So Chanda was an agent from another city? Colorado Springs," I asked.
"Yes," she said. "She and I broke the same rule. Never get involved. She knew why she was watching you, but she got involved with you anyway. I guess they figured I would be more responsible." She stopped and chuckled, fighting back a tear. She looked down, sighed and shook her head. "But I wasn't. In fact, I concealed the fact that I was dating you. I concealed the fact that we moved in together. I lied about most of your movements and mine too. Chanda spilled the beans about us to them, and when I learned you told her my name, I had to go in and tell them. That's when they told me..."
She shook her head again and then her body shook as she cried. I put my arms around her to comfort her. She leaned into my chest and we sat there for a long while. But this still didn't make sense to me. So they know. So what? So she gets reassigned or something. I didn't understand the problem. I asked her. She shook her head.
"I can't tell you," she said. "I don't want you to go through what I'm going through. I love you in the worst way possible, and I just can't do that to you."
She pulled away from me and walked back inside the apartment. I heard the bedroom door close and lock behind her. I was on the couch again. I still didn't understand. What was the big secret? What had affected her so dramatically that our relationship was so destroyed?
I was determined at this point to let this play out. If she wasn't going to tell that day, I hoped she might come around later. It had been three weeks before I got this far, but I continued hoping. She stopped eating altogether. I don't know if she slept or not. I couldn't get her out of her room.
After that last week, there was no more hoping that she'd tell me.
I'm making sure I move around a lot between places. I'm all the way down at the one in the Wal-Mart at 121st and Elm. We call this one the "South" Wal-Mart since we have two in Broken Arrow. The other one is fairly North.
When she told me their name, I didn't know what to think. After all, I had only become involved after meeting her, as long as you don't count that I've somehow always been involved but never knew it. As complicated as it seemed, it had a very simple explanation. Someone paid to have a local intelligence service keep the town safe. What they do behind the scenes is complicated, but the concept is simple. It explained the relative secrecy.
"But no one nows about it," she said. "It's not publicized. There's no web site. It's kept from city officials. The police aren't informed about anything. We have people working other jobs that act as informants, and only a few who are fully employed by the service. The informants deliver what they know that maybe should be kept quiet or off the books. The full time agents handle it."
"What does this have to do with me," I asked. I had to know. I was getting impatient all of a sudden. For some reason, I'd been dragged into this, and I wanted to know why.
"Because of your birth parents," she said. "They had you while in the service. They kept you in this town, and continually assigned someone to keep an eye on you your entire life. You've seen them; you just don't know it."
I had to think on this. Everyone sees hundreds of people every day, but we don't acknowledge most of them. People passing by in stores and on the street. We see them in cars, out windows, on sidewalks, getting the mail, and any number of other places and activities. With so many people in the world, we can't help but see and be seen by these same hundreds.
As I've been sitting in this McDonald's in this Wal-Mart, in fact, easily two or three hundred people have passed by the glass walls separating the McDonald's from the Wal-Mart entrance. I've even glanced up once or twice to see them. I won't remember any of their faces, though. None of them even begin to stand out to me.
Someone could check on me weekly and unless I notice them looking at me, I won't even remember them. It's the kind of idea that brings one's paranoia to a frenzy. How many people are watching me even now? Looking around, I'd never know.
But then, it hit me. Call me slow.
"So Chanda was an agent from another city? Colorado Springs," I asked.
"Yes," she said. "She and I broke the same rule. Never get involved. She knew why she was watching you, but she got involved with you anyway. I guess they figured I would be more responsible." She stopped and chuckled, fighting back a tear. She looked down, sighed and shook her head. "But I wasn't. In fact, I concealed the fact that I was dating you. I concealed the fact that we moved in together. I lied about most of your movements and mine too. Chanda spilled the beans about us to them, and when I learned you told her my name, I had to go in and tell them. That's when they told me..."
She shook her head again and then her body shook as she cried. I put my arms around her to comfort her. She leaned into my chest and we sat there for a long while. But this still didn't make sense to me. So they know. So what? So she gets reassigned or something. I didn't understand the problem. I asked her. She shook her head.
"I can't tell you," she said. "I don't want you to go through what I'm going through. I love you in the worst way possible, and I just can't do that to you."
She pulled away from me and walked back inside the apartment. I heard the bedroom door close and lock behind her. I was on the couch again. I still didn't understand. What was the big secret? What had affected her so dramatically that our relationship was so destroyed?
I was determined at this point to let this play out. If she wasn't going to tell that day, I hoped she might come around later. It had been three weeks before I got this far, but I continued hoping. She stopped eating altogether. I don't know if she slept or not. I couldn't get her out of her room.
After that last week, there was no more hoping that she'd tell me.
The Thirteenth Post
Wow. Post 13. I don't believe in luck, so I'm not the least bit superstitious about this being the thirteenth post, or that anything would come of it. I don't have any problem mentioning it, though. Heh.
Yesterday, I left the hotel and went to Rhema to walk through the Christmas light display. As I understand it, the Rhema display (which those of us in Broken Arrow take mostly for granted) attracts people from all over the place because of its size and....yeah, size. I walked across the light covered bridge into Rhema park to view the light covered trees and light people, animals, and vehicles even. There was a steamboat of lights and that sort of thing. I walked to the pond in the middle of the park, the railing around which was wrapped with lights, and stared at the fountain in the center.
I walked to the gazebo and noticed that they had done pictures with Santa, but along with the 5 dollar price tag was the note, "our camera or yours." Apparently, they must have had a problem losing money from people who didn't want to buy their pictures, so they'll just charge anyone. Santa wasn't there, of course. Christmas was over by then, and "Santa" was probably drunk on liquor or (given the location) fervent prayer...
After that discussion wthe Tara that evening, I wasn't waking up with a hangover, but I did have a bit of a headache. When I came to, I looked around the apartment and found her sitting on the balcony, staring across the common area between the four buildings. Our part of the complex was laid out so that four buildings formed a square between them that was referred to as a "common area" where people could mingle, but generally avoid each other as they cut across the complex between parking lots.
I walked up behind her and apologized. She shook her head and told me not to worry about it. I started to say something else, but she stopped me. She asked if I knew my parents. She knew by this time that I had been adopted, so I asked her which ones. She wanted to know about my birth parents. I told her I had never known them at all, and never worried myself to look for them. I knew they had their reasons. I asked her why she wanted to know.
She looked at me, and I noticed she had been crying. Her face was blotched and red. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wet, and tear lines streaked her face. It will be easier to me to relate this as a conversation. I remember it well (though you'll have to forgive if she sounds a bit like me in all this; it has been awhile).
"I learned something," she said. Before I could say anything, she quickly added, "don't ask me what it is. I don't want to tell you. Well, I do but I don't, you know?"
I really didn't, but knowing now what that was, and knowing how hard it has been for me to tell all to perfect strangers in complete anonymity, I can kind of understand her now. She had a secret. She had lots of secrets, but this one was new to her. She went on.
"When you told me about Chanda's email, I was a little upset, but there is more to her than you know. I went away to find out why she might be trying to communicate with you, and learned... Do you know why I sat with you that night?"
I was taken aback. I always held that our sitting together was an accident, but with all her secrecy, maybe there was more to it.
"No," I said. "Why?" I'm nothing if not talkative.
She sighed. "I was told to. I was told to keep an eye on you. You've had someone keep tabs on you your entire life, and you have no idea who or why. Your adoptive parents don't know about this either, so don't ask them."
"Why," I asked. "Why would anyone want to watch me? I'm no one."
She smiled. "You're wrong. I didn't know why I was keeping an eye on you at the time, but I do now. Oh God, how I know now." She stopped for a moment and sniffled. I could tell she was struggling to get this out, whatever it was, but like me and this blog, she was trying to will herself to go on. "It's the reason Chanda wanted to know my name. She knew the reason. She knew because it wasn't the same to her. They never told me."
"Who is they," I finally asked. I had to know this who "they" bit. I thought it might answer a few things. Yeah, no.
She laughed again and shook her head. "There are secrets everywhere, you know."
I shrugged. "Sure," I said.
She sighed. "There is an organization within some cities that serve as a sort of intelligence group. Their- Our purpose is to basically keep an eye on the city and act if the need arises. The bigger agencies call it a glorified neighborhood watch because each group is local to the town. They're funded 50/50 by a private donor and the federal & state governments."
I shook my head. This time it was my turn to laugh a little. "That's crazy," I told her. "Why would anyone want to do something like that. Especially in a little place like Broken Arrow?"
"Broken Arrow is not a little place," she corrected. "It's supposed to be up over 90,000 people now. That's not little. Someone has to keep it running behind the scenes. The police do their bit in public and we do ours in private. The safest cities in the U.S. have this group."
"Who are they," I asked.
"We've always had one name," she said. "We are called The Mist."
Yesterday, I left the hotel and went to Rhema to walk through the Christmas light display. As I understand it, the Rhema display (which those of us in Broken Arrow take mostly for granted) attracts people from all over the place because of its size and....yeah, size. I walked across the light covered bridge into Rhema park to view the light covered trees and light people, animals, and vehicles even. There was a steamboat of lights and that sort of thing. I walked to the pond in the middle of the park, the railing around which was wrapped with lights, and stared at the fountain in the center.
I walked to the gazebo and noticed that they had done pictures with Santa, but along with the 5 dollar price tag was the note, "our camera or yours." Apparently, they must have had a problem losing money from people who didn't want to buy their pictures, so they'll just charge anyone. Santa wasn't there, of course. Christmas was over by then, and "Santa" was probably drunk on liquor or (given the location) fervent prayer...
After that discussion wthe Tara that evening, I wasn't waking up with a hangover, but I did have a bit of a headache. When I came to, I looked around the apartment and found her sitting on the balcony, staring across the common area between the four buildings. Our part of the complex was laid out so that four buildings formed a square between them that was referred to as a "common area" where people could mingle, but generally avoid each other as they cut across the complex between parking lots.
I walked up behind her and apologized. She shook her head and told me not to worry about it. I started to say something else, but she stopped me. She asked if I knew my parents. She knew by this time that I had been adopted, so I asked her which ones. She wanted to know about my birth parents. I told her I had never known them at all, and never worried myself to look for them. I knew they had their reasons. I asked her why she wanted to know.
She looked at me, and I noticed she had been crying. Her face was blotched and red. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wet, and tear lines streaked her face. It will be easier to me to relate this as a conversation. I remember it well (though you'll have to forgive if she sounds a bit like me in all this; it has been awhile).
"I learned something," she said. Before I could say anything, she quickly added, "don't ask me what it is. I don't want to tell you. Well, I do but I don't, you know?"
I really didn't, but knowing now what that was, and knowing how hard it has been for me to tell all to perfect strangers in complete anonymity, I can kind of understand her now. She had a secret. She had lots of secrets, but this one was new to her. She went on.
"When you told me about Chanda's email, I was a little upset, but there is more to her than you know. I went away to find out why she might be trying to communicate with you, and learned... Do you know why I sat with you that night?"
I was taken aback. I always held that our sitting together was an accident, but with all her secrecy, maybe there was more to it.
"No," I said. "Why?" I'm nothing if not talkative.
She sighed. "I was told to. I was told to keep an eye on you. You've had someone keep tabs on you your entire life, and you have no idea who or why. Your adoptive parents don't know about this either, so don't ask them."
"Why," I asked. "Why would anyone want to watch me? I'm no one."
She smiled. "You're wrong. I didn't know why I was keeping an eye on you at the time, but I do now. Oh God, how I know now." She stopped for a moment and sniffled. I could tell she was struggling to get this out, whatever it was, but like me and this blog, she was trying to will herself to go on. "It's the reason Chanda wanted to know my name. She knew the reason. She knew because it wasn't the same to her. They never told me."
"Who is they," I finally asked. I had to know this who "they" bit. I thought it might answer a few things. Yeah, no.
She laughed again and shook her head. "There are secrets everywhere, you know."
I shrugged. "Sure," I said.
She sighed. "There is an organization within some cities that serve as a sort of intelligence group. Their- Our purpose is to basically keep an eye on the city and act if the need arises. The bigger agencies call it a glorified neighborhood watch because each group is local to the town. They're funded 50/50 by a private donor and the federal & state governments."
I shook my head. This time it was my turn to laugh a little. "That's crazy," I told her. "Why would anyone want to do something like that. Especially in a little place like Broken Arrow?"
"Broken Arrow is not a little place," she corrected. "It's supposed to be up over 90,000 people now. That's not little. Someone has to keep it running behind the scenes. The police do their bit in public and we do ours in private. The safest cities in the U.S. have this group."
"Who are they," I asked.
"We've always had one name," she said. "We are called The Mist."
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
The Twelfth Post
I can’t help but notice that the number two seems to recur a lot in my life. It’s not something I’m superstitious about by any means, but my life keeps recurring in twos. Or at least the life I led with her did. Two months between meeting and moving in together. Two months between moving in and the email. And she was gone for two days. Weird. I won’t dwell on it.
It’s still Christmas day, so there’s no where for me to go, so I am staying in my room using the hotel’s wi-fi network. It’s been rather quiet over here, and I tried watching TV for awhile to clear my head. It’s not doing any good.
I didn’t know what happened to her when she left. I didn’t know who she spoke with. I didn’t know what kind of conversation she had. I didn’t know anything when she returned, and she wasn’t volunteering anything. I don’t know about you, but when someone clearly needs to talk, and they refuse, it drives me up the wall. Whatever was affecting her, she needed to tell me much like I need to tell everything to you, but much in the same way, it was information too difficult to just come out and say.
She never left the apartment after that. I went to work, but she stayed home. We never slept together again. When I tried to get close to her, she pulled away. When I tried to just be in the same bed with her, she left the room and slept on the couch. I wasn’t happy with what was going on, but I cared too much about her to just leave. I had to find out what was so distressing about my talking to an ex that she would respond like this.
After three (not two, this time) weeks of this, I finally cornered her and asked why Chanda’s email bothered her so much that she would ruin our relationship over it. She looked at me a long moment, confusion etching her face. She said, “Chanda? Email?” Then it dawned on her what I was talking about (which clearly indicated something else was plaguing her, and I clearly misjudged it). She just laughed for a moment, but not an amused laugh or a happy laugh. No, she gave me a pained laugh that said to me, “You’re a total idiot.”
She said if that were all there was to this, then she would not have any problems in the world. She said she is not so petty that she would get so wrapped up in something so infantile as a lover’s quarrel over some old girlfriend. She said she thought I knew her better, and to be honest, I did. I told her I was surprised and didn’t know why she was so upset, so I guessed.
She shook her head. She asked if I thought it was weird how well we got along. Or how well we seemed to relate to each other. I honestly didn’t, and I said as much. She laughed again, fighting back more tears. She called me stupid under her breath, and that might have set me off if I didn’t hear her call herself stupid in the same breath. She mumbled that it explained everything. That all of the nonsense they put her through made sense now, and she should have listened.
I asked her for the first time who “they” is. She looked at me. She looked for a very long moment, as if looking right through me. Finally, she walked up to me and asked if I thought I could begin to handle the truth. I have to confess that visions of Jack Nicholson in “A Few Good Men” rushed through my head at that very moment. God help me for being so into movies. It was all I could do not to bust up laughing.
She saw my struggle. Her eyes narrowed, and I saw the devil behind the woman I loved. She didn’t speak. Not a word. I saw her eyes dilate in anger. Tears were coming out of my eyes. Her face contorted into a visage I hope no one ever sees on anyone ever again. I have never in my life seen rage of that magnitude on anyone. Needless to say, my sudden amusement over something so serious (and believe it was extremely serious), was not taken well.
My mind got so far as to think “Oh, sh-“ before her fist slammed into my face, and I don’t remember anything else that evening.
It’s still Christmas day, so there’s no where for me to go, so I am staying in my room using the hotel’s wi-fi network. It’s been rather quiet over here, and I tried watching TV for awhile to clear my head. It’s not doing any good.
I didn’t know what happened to her when she left. I didn’t know who she spoke with. I didn’t know what kind of conversation she had. I didn’t know anything when she returned, and she wasn’t volunteering anything. I don’t know about you, but when someone clearly needs to talk, and they refuse, it drives me up the wall. Whatever was affecting her, she needed to tell me much like I need to tell everything to you, but much in the same way, it was information too difficult to just come out and say.
She never left the apartment after that. I went to work, but she stayed home. We never slept together again. When I tried to get close to her, she pulled away. When I tried to just be in the same bed with her, she left the room and slept on the couch. I wasn’t happy with what was going on, but I cared too much about her to just leave. I had to find out what was so distressing about my talking to an ex that she would respond like this.
After three (not two, this time) weeks of this, I finally cornered her and asked why Chanda’s email bothered her so much that she would ruin our relationship over it. She looked at me a long moment, confusion etching her face. She said, “Chanda? Email?” Then it dawned on her what I was talking about (which clearly indicated something else was plaguing her, and I clearly misjudged it). She just laughed for a moment, but not an amused laugh or a happy laugh. No, she gave me a pained laugh that said to me, “You’re a total idiot.”
She said if that were all there was to this, then she would not have any problems in the world. She said she is not so petty that she would get so wrapped up in something so infantile as a lover’s quarrel over some old girlfriend. She said she thought I knew her better, and to be honest, I did. I told her I was surprised and didn’t know why she was so upset, so I guessed.
She shook her head. She asked if I thought it was weird how well we got along. Or how well we seemed to relate to each other. I honestly didn’t, and I said as much. She laughed again, fighting back more tears. She called me stupid under her breath, and that might have set me off if I didn’t hear her call herself stupid in the same breath. She mumbled that it explained everything. That all of the nonsense they put her through made sense now, and she should have listened.
I asked her for the first time who “they” is. She looked at me. She looked for a very long moment, as if looking right through me. Finally, she walked up to me and asked if I thought I could begin to handle the truth. I have to confess that visions of Jack Nicholson in “A Few Good Men” rushed through my head at that very moment. God help me for being so into movies. It was all I could do not to bust up laughing.
She saw my struggle. Her eyes narrowed, and I saw the devil behind the woman I loved. She didn’t speak. Not a word. I saw her eyes dilate in anger. Tears were coming out of my eyes. Her face contorted into a visage I hope no one ever sees on anyone ever again. I have never in my life seen rage of that magnitude on anyone. Needless to say, my sudden amusement over something so serious (and believe it was extremely serious), was not taken well.
My mind got so far as to think “Oh, sh-“ before her fist slammed into my face, and I don’t remember anything else that evening.
The Eleventh Post
Well, Merry Christmas out there. I really don't know what I was thinking. While I enjoyed the interaction with others during my short tenure as a pizza delivery guy (as well as the substantial tips), I realized having a job of any kind is pointless for me. I don't know when it will happen, but my life will soon be over.
Part of me feels like I should continue the job as a distraction, but when a certain Toyota Corolla parked near the pizza joint with someone inside for the entire duration of my shift, I felt for the sake of my own safety and anonymity, I should bow out. It didn't take them long to find me. I suspect their network is quite large and someone in it recognized me. Whether I like it or not, they know who I am. Fortunately, no one has shown up in this hotel yet (the guy standing outside a few days ago hasn't returned as far as I can tell).
So that position was far too public for my sake. I need to finish this story so it's out there. That way, at least someone will know what happened to Tara and what happened to me when I'm gone.
Things were quiet for us after we moved in together. She did her thing, and I did mine. The only thing she ever asked of me was whether I could crack a website's user name and password list. I won't say the site, but it turned out to be fairly easy. I went through a couple of anonymous proxies and it was no more than an SQL injection to get what she wanted. No one was any the wiser (except her, who now had their entire user name/password list). I did ask why she wanted me to do this instead of whoever she might have on their end that would be able to. All she told me was that she trusted me. At the time and even now, I can't help but wonder how true that statement was.
The real change came in when I got an email from an ex. This was someone I knew back in my military days, and I'd dated for a little while before I left the Army and she stayed in Colorado Springs, where I was stationed at the time. It wasn't an in-depth relationship by any means. We both acknowledged it as something we had fun with at the time, but wouldn't last if either one of us had to move around to make it work. So I returned to Broken Arrow, and she seemed glad to be rid of me. Not that I was a bad guy, but after being spoiled by the military, I didn't really know how to take care of myself, so I returned home to live with my parents for awhile.
Adopted parents, actually. They told me when I was sixteen that I was adopted, and that my birth parents were too young to care for me when they gave me up. I wasn't the type to go digging, so I just let it go. After all, my adopted parents are the only parents I know, and they are very good to me. I sent them the address to this blog, and I know they read it daily. I want them to know that I do love them very much, but this time, I'm in way over my head. There's no saving me, and there's no coming home. Nothing is now or will ever be the same. But above all, it isn't your fault. My mother will blame herself forever, but mom, it isn't your fault. There is nothing you or dad could have possibly done to prevent this. They kept you out as much as they kept everyone else out.
This girl I knew, though, her name was Chanda, and she has periodically emailed me now and then to see how I've been and it was about 2 months after Tara and I moved in together that she emailed again. I casually responded to her that I'd met this great girl, etc., and that we were living together. I mentioned that I was hopeful that we might even marry at some point, and that was about it. I never even hinted about hooking up or anything, and she made no mention of visiting me for any reason. We were friends at that point at that was that.
But before I got off, Chanda emailed me back. She asked what Tara's name was. It was a very short email and really only had that question, but I answered all the same. I did ask why she wanted to know. I didn't get an immediate answer, but about that time, Tara came home.
We talked for a little while about nonsense, and then I mentioned the email from Chanda. Somemay think this was crazy, but I had no secrets from Tara, and since it was nothing to me, it would be nothing to her. Oh, how I was wrong.
She listened intently to what I told her right down to the end about asking the name. Tara went off. I'm not honestly sure what the bigger issue was: my talking to an ex or her name being told. he was heavy in on the possibility of what she called "emotional cheating," but the conversation occasionally strayed to telling someone else "our business." She said her name was none of this "Chanda person's" business.
Yeah, I didn't see what the big deal was, but I apologized all the same, admitted that I didn't know she would react this way. She chastised me for my lack of emoitonal understanding, and stormed out, leaving me wondering what the heck just happened. The whole conversation lasted maybe three minutes. It took me longer to tell about it than it did for her to give her speech.
She was gone for two days. When she returned, she wasn't ever the same.
Part of me feels like I should continue the job as a distraction, but when a certain Toyota Corolla parked near the pizza joint with someone inside for the entire duration of my shift, I felt for the sake of my own safety and anonymity, I should bow out. It didn't take them long to find me. I suspect their network is quite large and someone in it recognized me. Whether I like it or not, they know who I am. Fortunately, no one has shown up in this hotel yet (the guy standing outside a few days ago hasn't returned as far as I can tell).
So that position was far too public for my sake. I need to finish this story so it's out there. That way, at least someone will know what happened to Tara and what happened to me when I'm gone.
Things were quiet for us after we moved in together. She did her thing, and I did mine. The only thing she ever asked of me was whether I could crack a website's user name and password list. I won't say the site, but it turned out to be fairly easy. I went through a couple of anonymous proxies and it was no more than an SQL injection to get what she wanted. No one was any the wiser (except her, who now had their entire user name/password list). I did ask why she wanted me to do this instead of whoever she might have on their end that would be able to. All she told me was that she trusted me. At the time and even now, I can't help but wonder how true that statement was.
The real change came in when I got an email from an ex. This was someone I knew back in my military days, and I'd dated for a little while before I left the Army and she stayed in Colorado Springs, where I was stationed at the time. It wasn't an in-depth relationship by any means. We both acknowledged it as something we had fun with at the time, but wouldn't last if either one of us had to move around to make it work. So I returned to Broken Arrow, and she seemed glad to be rid of me. Not that I was a bad guy, but after being spoiled by the military, I didn't really know how to take care of myself, so I returned home to live with my parents for awhile.
Adopted parents, actually. They told me when I was sixteen that I was adopted, and that my birth parents were too young to care for me when they gave me up. I wasn't the type to go digging, so I just let it go. After all, my adopted parents are the only parents I know, and they are very good to me. I sent them the address to this blog, and I know they read it daily. I want them to know that I do love them very much, but this time, I'm in way over my head. There's no saving me, and there's no coming home. Nothing is now or will ever be the same. But above all, it isn't your fault. My mother will blame herself forever, but mom, it isn't your fault. There is nothing you or dad could have possibly done to prevent this. They kept you out as much as they kept everyone else out.
This girl I knew, though, her name was Chanda, and she has periodically emailed me now and then to see how I've been and it was about 2 months after Tara and I moved in together that she emailed again. I casually responded to her that I'd met this great girl, etc., and that we were living together. I mentioned that I was hopeful that we might even marry at some point, and that was about it. I never even hinted about hooking up or anything, and she made no mention of visiting me for any reason. We were friends at that point at that was that.
But before I got off, Chanda emailed me back. She asked what Tara's name was. It was a very short email and really only had that question, but I answered all the same. I did ask why she wanted to know. I didn't get an immediate answer, but about that time, Tara came home.
We talked for a little while about nonsense, and then I mentioned the email from Chanda. Somemay think this was crazy, but I had no secrets from Tara, and since it was nothing to me, it would be nothing to her. Oh, how I was wrong.
She listened intently to what I told her right down to the end about asking the name. Tara went off. I'm not honestly sure what the bigger issue was: my talking to an ex or her name being told. he was heavy in on the possibility of what she called "emotional cheating," but the conversation occasionally strayed to telling someone else "our business." She said her name was none of this "Chanda person's" business.
Yeah, I didn't see what the big deal was, but I apologized all the same, admitted that I didn't know she would react this way. She chastised me for my lack of emoitonal understanding, and stormed out, leaving me wondering what the heck just happened. The whole conversation lasted maybe three minutes. It took me longer to tell about it than it did for her to give her speech.
She was gone for two days. When she returned, she wasn't ever the same.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
The Tenth Post
You may be wondering why, after posting twice a day for that last few days, I suddenly failed to post at all. Well, the reason is simple: I was getting acclimated to that pizza delivery job. Yes, I went in and have since been driving around town (last night in the driving sleet then snow) delivering for minimum wage and tips. I offered to work as much as he's let me, so I was there all day collecting away and since it started snowing, I made a killing in tips...
Well, I'm sure all this will be short-lived, however, since once I get done with this long narrative I've begun, it will all be over for me. Knowing what I know now, it won't likely be by my hand, but when it's over, you'll feel a particular ominence when I tell you that I'll probably fade into the mist.
Talking about Tara and I moving in together brings a certain turning
of my stomach after all that went down. Neither one of us had any
idea what would come of this, and given how far she was into that
other world, that's really saying something. At the time, however, it
was practically paradise.
Pretty simple setup here. Boy meets girl. Girl tries to avoid boy. Girl falls for boy. Girl moves in with boy. Not the other way around, and I'm sure by now, you probably saw that coming. It came as no surprise that she came my way, but the request was a bit of a shocker. We'd been going out irregularly for almost two months, and one evening, she just springs it on me.
"Do you want to move in together?"
Well, needless to say, the horny male in me jumped for joy, though there goes my stomach again. How much should I say about that? Well, the horny male was in no shortage of disappointment, and how about we leave it at that?
She continued her odd and perplexing job that she had before, and she refused to tell me anything about it. I asked a lot, of course, but she was very resolute in that point. She said to never ask her about what she did because she could never tell me. And there I had to leave it. I didn't know what to make of it, but I knew I couldn't ask about it further.
I can't help but wonder, however, if things would have changed had I pressed at the time. After all, she ended up telling me eventually...but by then, it was too late.
Well, I'm sure all this will be short-lived, however, since once I get done with this long narrative I've begun, it will all be over for me. Knowing what I know now, it won't likely be by my hand, but when it's over, you'll feel a particular ominence when I tell you that I'll probably fade into the mist.
Talking about Tara and I moving in together brings a certain turning
of my stomach after all that went down. Neither one of us had any
idea what would come of this, and given how far she was into that
other world, that's really saying something. At the time, however, it
was practically paradise.
Pretty simple setup here. Boy meets girl. Girl tries to avoid boy. Girl falls for boy. Girl moves in with boy. Not the other way around, and I'm sure by now, you probably saw that coming. It came as no surprise that she came my way, but the request was a bit of a shocker. We'd been going out irregularly for almost two months, and one evening, she just springs it on me.
"Do you want to move in together?"
Well, needless to say, the horny male in me jumped for joy, though there goes my stomach again. How much should I say about that? Well, the horny male was in no shortage of disappointment, and how about we leave it at that?
She continued her odd and perplexing job that she had before, and she refused to tell me anything about it. I asked a lot, of course, but she was very resolute in that point. She said to never ask her about what she did because she could never tell me. And there I had to leave it. I didn't know what to make of it, but I knew I couldn't ask about it further.
I can't help but wonder, however, if things would have changed had I pressed at the time. After all, she ended up telling me eventually...but by then, it was too late.
Friday, December 21, 2007
The Ninth Post
Life is a Rubik's cube. Consider the correlations. You can't see the whole thing at the same time. It's addictive, fun, and frustrating. It requires a complex set of moves to figure it out. You can't choose sides but work it from one end to the other. And as soon as you get it figured out, you can't do anything until it is all mixed up again. After all, a solved Rubik's cube is a pointless game, just as a life in perfect order is completely unexciting.
I could do with some unexcitement right about now, given that I'm so mixed up, I don't know which color I'm on or which move will put just two block together in the right order. I can solve the Rubik's cube, but solving my life is going to be far more complex. The standard cube is 3x3, but I suspect life has so many sides and colors and blocks that it is more like a 7x7 cube, which will break very easily should you not be careful with what you move. After all, the blocks you add, the more breakable the cube is. Funny how it continues to emulate life.
I think I was a solved 3x3 cube when I met Tara back in April. By the time we moved in together in June, I a slightly unsolved 4x4, and right about now, I've hit the completely mixed up 7x7 stage. I never dreamed I would deliver another pizza ever again, and yet in a few hours, that's what I'll be doing. I am hesitant to find another software company because they know that's what I do. You can't be incognito in your own field. They'll never expect me to be delivering pizzas. But I will make sure I'm wearing a hat.
After our Olive Garden date, I pulled out my well-worn cube and showed Tara that I could do it. She seemed moderately impressed.
The next couple months continued as the first few days had. The only difference is when I wanted to call her, I was able to. This is not to say she always answered right away. There were quite a few times I had to wait for a call back, but she always seemed happy to talk to me. But she always seemed to be busy doing something, but she would never say what.
But right before we moved in together, I learned all I was going to from her. She didn't answer all my questions, but she did tell me enough for me to now I shouldn't ask.
I could do with some unexcitement right about now, given that I'm so mixed up, I don't know which color I'm on or which move will put just two block together in the right order. I can solve the Rubik's cube, but solving my life is going to be far more complex. The standard cube is 3x3, but I suspect life has so many sides and colors and blocks that it is more like a 7x7 cube, which will break very easily should you not be careful with what you move. After all, the blocks you add, the more breakable the cube is. Funny how it continues to emulate life.
I think I was a solved 3x3 cube when I met Tara back in April. By the time we moved in together in June, I a slightly unsolved 4x4, and right about now, I've hit the completely mixed up 7x7 stage. I never dreamed I would deliver another pizza ever again, and yet in a few hours, that's what I'll be doing. I am hesitant to find another software company because they know that's what I do. You can't be incognito in your own field. They'll never expect me to be delivering pizzas. But I will make sure I'm wearing a hat.
After our Olive Garden date, I pulled out my well-worn cube and showed Tara that I could do it. She seemed moderately impressed.
The next couple months continued as the first few days had. The only difference is when I wanted to call her, I was able to. This is not to say she always answered right away. There were quite a few times I had to wait for a call back, but she always seemed happy to talk to me. But she always seemed to be busy doing something, but she would never say what.
But right before we moved in together, I learned all I was going to from her. She didn't answer all my questions, but she did tell me enough for me to now I shouldn't ask.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
The Eighth Post
I'm back in my room after finding out that the library closes two hours early. Who told them they could close early? And why didn't I notice that when I was there? Anyway, I had me a very close call at Wal-Mart, which I went to right after Panera earlier. I was going to check out, and I was very nearly spotted by a former associate of Tara's. Yeah, they know me. She told them all about me. I guess she had to before she decided to duck out. That really cheesed them off.
I pretended to be interested in the Pirates of the Caribbean display for about an hour before he finally went out of eyeshot. The cashier standing nearby was getting very concerned. Who wouldn't be? I'd read both versions of the DVD about a hundred times while lowly rotating around the display depending on where this guy was standing. I started for the register a couple times before he turned again.
After I left, I considered carefully where to go from there. I still needed to find a job, and I did pizza delivery in college. It's not great money, but I have control over where I go, most of my people don't order out, and even if they do, I can decline the order by saying they're family. It'll be enough to get by for a little while. Who knows? The next time you order a pizza, it could be me delivering it. No, I'm not going to tell you where I was hired today.
I found me one desperate manager who was more than eager to take in a guy with a car and the willingness to work. I start tomorrow. It'll distract me from this pain I've got myself into.
I realized after looking over the last post that I never told you about this mysterious charm Tara "picked up" at the mall. It was a Rubik's Cube. Well, not literally, but a flat view of the cube like you're looking at a corner, so it was divided into three even parts with squared off sides. It's not too hard to imagine, but I'll have to figure out how to upload pictures to this blog so you can actually see it.
When I commented to her that I could solve the cube, she was impressed. I honestly think that was the point where she decided I was worth sticking with since it wasn't too long after that that I got her number. Her whole attitude changed as a matter of fact. Go figure. I guess she figured I wasn't so dumb after all.
As for the charm, I saw it periodically, or so I thought. I never saw it for long in the same place, and when I commented on it having noticed she never actually wears a charm bracelet, she just laughed it off and said she just likes it. Well, that is kind of the truth.
What was horrible is what the charm represented. It stood for something that lives in the underbelly of this city -- voted the safest in Oklahoma and the 20th safest in the nation. Maybe what this charm represented helped that. Maybe it served to keep it safe. Maybe it stifled all that threatened the safety of the city. One thing I learned, though, is that there is more to Broken Arrow than what is on the surface. Don't misunderstand me, it is a very safe place to live. I never had any problems here.
But what is it behind the scenes that keeps us that way? The truth, when it comes out is one of the hardest things to accept, especially when it is so unexpected. I've never been one to be paranoid, but I've started looking over my shoulder more. After what I've done, I just might be a target now.
The Seventh Post
I honestly wonder if anyone will ever read this. I'm also not sure I care. The whole point was to have a method of communication to tell what happened and get this monkey off my back, so whether a reader exists or not is almost irrelevant.
Anyway, this morning, I'm in a Panera Bread Store on 145th in Broken Arrow. Again with the awesome wi-fi connection. I know people at the Wal-Mart that's right here, but I've never known them to come over here despite its proximity. People will travel miles and miles to work, but few of them will go somewhere close enough to walk to. Granted, I had to drive from the hotel a little over a mile away, but that's beside the point.
That hotel bill is going to deplete my funds rather quickly if I don't do something. I haven't worked since... Well, since October, and I've been eating through the savings I have ever since. I need a job, but one where I can control who does and doesn't see me. I also need one where they practically hire you on the spot so they don't dig too deeply into my background. Well, not that there's currently anything they would find (things take time to update), but living out of a hotel won't bode well for me. I could get something more legit when I get another apartment, but again, I have to be careful.
You see, Tara was into some things I never knew about until later. These things were so secret, she was able to easily keep me completely in the dark about them until... Well, until later.
The next time I saw her, she called me again, and asked to meet her at Woodland Hills Mall. Not an unusual choice, since the mall provides a good quarter mile of area to wander around in, but isn't it traditional for the guy to pick the girl up for a date? Then again, it's also traditional for the guy to call the girl, so this is all upside down. At least I'm still driving. That's another one of those things that became a staple I learned the reasoning behind much later as well. She always drove herself. Before we moved in together, we always traveled in separate vehicles.
Yeah, we lived together for about four months. Those were the quietest times we had together.
Anyway, when I got to Woodland Hills, I wandered into the food court area to see if she was around there anywhere. I realized we hadn't discussed where we would actually meet. Part of me at the time thought that might have been deliberate considering how much she seemed to keep to herself.
I wandered around that area for a little while before I decided to just sit and wait. No point in wandering aimlessly when she might or might not be there. After all, she had set up the meeting. Meeting... Like it's a business deal or something.
After a while, I went into Lollipops, which is a candy store right there at the food court entrance, and grabbed some chocoloate covered cookie dough (it's an obsession -- leave me alone) to nibble on while I waited. About the time I finished it, she showed up.
She was already inside the mall apparently since she came from the inside. She was also not surprised to find me waiting, nor did she apologize for either keeping me or not telling me where to meet. But when I expected to walk around in the mall, she asked if I wanted to head over to Olive Garden to eat. Being the agreeable chap I am, I said this was fine, and asked if she wanted to drive over or just walk. She looked confused for a moment, so I reminded her that we could walk through the mall and exit out Sears and be right there. She said I should drive, and we walked to my car.
On the way, I asked her where she parked, and she said on the other side of the mall. I offered to drop her off after we ate, hoping to catch a glimpse of her vehicle, but she didn't answer immediately.
Once we were seated at dinner, I asked what she was doing at the mall. She said she had to pick something up. An odd statement, considering she wasn't carrying any bags or items with her. I casually asked what she had to get. I guess I wasn't casual enough, because she gave me a slight smile, and asked if I trusted her. Now, to be honest, I didn't know this girl, nor were her actions thus far something to be considered trustworthy. However, I lied and said sure, I did.
She reached into her pocket and produced a small charm. I asked if I could see if it closer, but she said it was custom, and would rather hold on to it. I asked if she trusted me. She replied quite casually that if she didn't, I wouldn't be there with her. Now, I would just like to point out that that is exactly how she phrased it. That I wouldn't be there with her, not that she wouldn't be there with me.
So would she have been there anyway, whether I showed up or not? Was I a cover so she would look like she belonged there? Was I just filling the space across from the table?
Well, she never looked around or gave me the slightest indication that she were putting on a show for someone, because she was completely casual all evening. We talked about me, mostly. My life. My history. My past.
I told her I graduated in 97 from Broken Arrow High School. Spent some time in the Army. Got kicked out for reasons that are a whole other story, just not as serious. It was an honorable discharge. Went to college for computer programming. Worked at a firm where I could use my degree. I lead a very basic, simple life. She only nodded and asked very few questions. She did ask how I scored on the weapons in the Army. Proudly, I had to say I was expert on M16 and M60, but only Sharpshooter on grenades -- I just don't have a throwing arm, so what? I did tell her what I did in the military, but it's not important for this. Suffice to say, I had a very, very non-combat job. Never even got deployed.
I tried to find out about her, and learned she had graduated from Broken Arrow in 2001, so there was no chance of my ever seeing her there. She had gone to college, but she didn't say what for, and when I asked, she changed the subject to dessert. I miss the chocolate lasagna they used to have there. She said she works, but didn't say where or what she does. Not even a hint. I tried to ask about the time the food arrived. Oh well.
These are answers I have now, after the fact. I can't help but wonder if I knew then what I know now, would I have pursued her. Given that I'm in hiding, probably not. I would have spared myself the momentary pleasures for the cushy programming job I used to have.
The only event of significance during dinner was when she got up to go to the bathroom. Now, you may be saying, "Atari's paranoid," but I watched her go and then saw her speaking to a large gentleman in jeans and a polo shirt. She glanced up and saw me. Our eyes met. She pulled the guy out of my line of sight. She came back to the table a few minutes later. It's not as if we were dating at this point -- I'd only seen her a couple of times -- but I still felt entitled to ask who she was talking to. She said he was just a gentleman from her work she ran into on the way to the bathroom and left it at that.
After dinner, she guided me to a white Ford Escort parked in front of Macy's. She got out and waved good-bye but didn't get into the car right away. I did as I'd done with Rhema and drove a short distance away. She walked about four rows over and got into another vehicle I couldn't make out in the dark before she drove away. Actually, she didn't drive away. She got in the passenger side, so someone else drove away with her. Yeah, I definitely found that odd.
Unfortunately, my love of too many James Bond films had my mind racing and I had to see her again. Never knowing when to quit is a definite weakness of mine.
Well, I finished my bagel a long time ago, and the third cup of coffee is catching up to my bladder, so I'd best move on. I don't want to stay in one place for too long because you never know when they're watching and who might be on the way.
Oh, I did get her number after dinner.
Anyway, this morning, I'm in a Panera Bread Store on 145th in Broken Arrow. Again with the awesome wi-fi connection. I know people at the Wal-Mart that's right here, but I've never known them to come over here despite its proximity. People will travel miles and miles to work, but few of them will go somewhere close enough to walk to. Granted, I had to drive from the hotel a little over a mile away, but that's beside the point.
That hotel bill is going to deplete my funds rather quickly if I don't do something. I haven't worked since... Well, since October, and I've been eating through the savings I have ever since. I need a job, but one where I can control who does and doesn't see me. I also need one where they practically hire you on the spot so they don't dig too deeply into my background. Well, not that there's currently anything they would find (things take time to update), but living out of a hotel won't bode well for me. I could get something more legit when I get another apartment, but again, I have to be careful.
You see, Tara was into some things I never knew about until later. These things were so secret, she was able to easily keep me completely in the dark about them until... Well, until later.
The next time I saw her, she called me again, and asked to meet her at Woodland Hills Mall. Not an unusual choice, since the mall provides a good quarter mile of area to wander around in, but isn't it traditional for the guy to pick the girl up for a date? Then again, it's also traditional for the guy to call the girl, so this is all upside down. At least I'm still driving. That's another one of those things that became a staple I learned the reasoning behind much later as well. She always drove herself. Before we moved in together, we always traveled in separate vehicles.
Yeah, we lived together for about four months. Those were the quietest times we had together.
Anyway, when I got to Woodland Hills, I wandered into the food court area to see if she was around there anywhere. I realized we hadn't discussed where we would actually meet. Part of me at the time thought that might have been deliberate considering how much she seemed to keep to herself.
I wandered around that area for a little while before I decided to just sit and wait. No point in wandering aimlessly when she might or might not be there. After all, she had set up the meeting. Meeting... Like it's a business deal or something.
After a while, I went into Lollipops, which is a candy store right there at the food court entrance, and grabbed some chocoloate covered cookie dough (it's an obsession -- leave me alone) to nibble on while I waited. About the time I finished it, she showed up.
She was already inside the mall apparently since she came from the inside. She was also not surprised to find me waiting, nor did she apologize for either keeping me or not telling me where to meet. But when I expected to walk around in the mall, she asked if I wanted to head over to Olive Garden to eat. Being the agreeable chap I am, I said this was fine, and asked if she wanted to drive over or just walk. She looked confused for a moment, so I reminded her that we could walk through the mall and exit out Sears and be right there. She said I should drive, and we walked to my car.
On the way, I asked her where she parked, and she said on the other side of the mall. I offered to drop her off after we ate, hoping to catch a glimpse of her vehicle, but she didn't answer immediately.
Once we were seated at dinner, I asked what she was doing at the mall. She said she had to pick something up. An odd statement, considering she wasn't carrying any bags or items with her. I casually asked what she had to get. I guess I wasn't casual enough, because she gave me a slight smile, and asked if I trusted her. Now, to be honest, I didn't know this girl, nor were her actions thus far something to be considered trustworthy. However, I lied and said sure, I did.
She reached into her pocket and produced a small charm. I asked if I could see if it closer, but she said it was custom, and would rather hold on to it. I asked if she trusted me. She replied quite casually that if she didn't, I wouldn't be there with her. Now, I would just like to point out that that is exactly how she phrased it. That I wouldn't be there with her, not that she wouldn't be there with me.
So would she have been there anyway, whether I showed up or not? Was I a cover so she would look like she belonged there? Was I just filling the space across from the table?
Well, she never looked around or gave me the slightest indication that she were putting on a show for someone, because she was completely casual all evening. We talked about me, mostly. My life. My history. My past.
I told her I graduated in 97 from Broken Arrow High School. Spent some time in the Army. Got kicked out for reasons that are a whole other story, just not as serious. It was an honorable discharge. Went to college for computer programming. Worked at a firm where I could use my degree. I lead a very basic, simple life. She only nodded and asked very few questions. She did ask how I scored on the weapons in the Army. Proudly, I had to say I was expert on M16 and M60, but only Sharpshooter on grenades -- I just don't have a throwing arm, so what? I did tell her what I did in the military, but it's not important for this. Suffice to say, I had a very, very non-combat job. Never even got deployed.
I tried to find out about her, and learned she had graduated from Broken Arrow in 2001, so there was no chance of my ever seeing her there. She had gone to college, but she didn't say what for, and when I asked, she changed the subject to dessert. I miss the chocolate lasagna they used to have there. She said she works, but didn't say where or what she does. Not even a hint. I tried to ask about the time the food arrived. Oh well.
These are answers I have now, after the fact. I can't help but wonder if I knew then what I know now, would I have pursued her. Given that I'm in hiding, probably not. I would have spared myself the momentary pleasures for the cushy programming job I used to have.
The only event of significance during dinner was when she got up to go to the bathroom. Now, you may be saying, "Atari's paranoid," but I watched her go and then saw her speaking to a large gentleman in jeans and a polo shirt. She glanced up and saw me. Our eyes met. She pulled the guy out of my line of sight. She came back to the table a few minutes later. It's not as if we were dating at this point -- I'd only seen her a couple of times -- but I still felt entitled to ask who she was talking to. She said he was just a gentleman from her work she ran into on the way to the bathroom and left it at that.
After dinner, she guided me to a white Ford Escort parked in front of Macy's. She got out and waved good-bye but didn't get into the car right away. I did as I'd done with Rhema and drove a short distance away. She walked about four rows over and got into another vehicle I couldn't make out in the dark before she drove away. Actually, she didn't drive away. She got in the passenger side, so someone else drove away with her. Yeah, I definitely found that odd.
Unfortunately, my love of too many James Bond films had my mind racing and I had to see her again. Never knowing when to quit is a definite weakness of mine.
Well, I finished my bagel a long time ago, and the third cup of coffee is catching up to my bladder, so I'd best move on. I don't want to stay in one place for too long because you never know when they're watching and who might be on the way.
Oh, I did get her number after dinner.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The Sixth Post
I enjoy the library. It's quiet. It's semi-private with people. And most of all, the Broken Arrow Library has wi-fi access...which did I mention was awesome? I'm sitting here next to the hold shelves watching the door (just in case, you never know) figuring out what to tell next. Sequentially will probably work best since that's how it all unfolded for me. I know, "think logically, Atari." Why not?
That night I picked her up at ELH became a pretty average date. We had some dinner, watched a movie, and hung out at Java Dave's for some post-movie coffee. But when I offered to take her home, she said to drop her off on the driveway (not the street, but in Rhema's complex) in front of Rhema's big auditorium (or whatever they call it -- that gargantuan building with the rotating "Faith" sign). I asked her if she was sure about that, and she said she was. So I did as she asked.
Being immensely curious about why I'd done this, I parked at the bank next door and watched her. She waited there for a little while (I guess waiting for me to be far enough away), and then crossed the street and walked past the bank to Hickory, which runs behind the ELH building. I decided not to follow her since that would be suspicious of me, and I didn't want her to know I waited. I figured she just wanted to be dropped off away from the alcoholic dad and then walk home from there without them knowing she was "out with a boy." Weird behaviour for a 23 year old, but some parents are just that strict, I suppose.
And then I realized I still didn't have her number.
One of the librarians just looked at me for awhile. She's whispering to the one next to her. Do they know me? I've been out of touch. Maybe people are searching for me, and my picture is out there. I'll have to surf the 'net later and find out if my mug is public knowledge.
It's too creepy, honestly. I think I'll need to move on for the moment.
That night I picked her up at ELH became a pretty average date. We had some dinner, watched a movie, and hung out at Java Dave's for some post-movie coffee. But when I offered to take her home, she said to drop her off on the driveway (not the street, but in Rhema's complex) in front of Rhema's big auditorium (or whatever they call it -- that gargantuan building with the rotating "Faith" sign). I asked her if she was sure about that, and she said she was. So I did as she asked.
Being immensely curious about why I'd done this, I parked at the bank next door and watched her. She waited there for a little while (I guess waiting for me to be far enough away), and then crossed the street and walked past the bank to Hickory, which runs behind the ELH building. I decided not to follow her since that would be suspicious of me, and I didn't want her to know I waited. I figured she just wanted to be dropped off away from the alcoholic dad and then walk home from there without them knowing she was "out with a boy." Weird behaviour for a 23 year old, but some parents are just that strict, I suppose.
And then I realized I still didn't have her number.
One of the librarians just looked at me for awhile. She's whispering to the one next to her. Do they know me? I've been out of touch. Maybe people are searching for me, and my picture is out there. I'll have to surf the 'net later and find out if my mug is public knowledge.
It's too creepy, honestly. I think I'll need to move on for the moment.
The Fifth Post
If you're wondering, yeah, I have a headache. But on the other hand, this little one sided exchange is becoming rather habitual. I am finding that I kind of like it. My hope is that I will find the courage to finally clear my conscience of what I've done so I can move on with my life...or turn myself in.
I'm finding myself more and more paranoid as time goes on. I am on the second floor of this hotel and I constantly look out the window to see who might be watching. A man stood in the parking lot for some time a couple of day s ago just watching the building. I don't know if he was watching me or not -- it was dark. I have a bad feeling that I've gotten into something far bigger than just a little revenge.
Let me back up a little here. First, there was Tara. I don't know what it was that drew us together, but we met while watching a movie at the Cinemark in Tulsa at 71st and highway 169. It was Disturbia, of all things. Not a bad remake of Rear Window, to be honest. We got a taste of the kid from Transformers before that movie hit in the summer. Anyway, the theatre was dark and people were walking around, and we just ended up sitting next to each other. Simple as that. No real fanfare or anything. I had popcorn and she didn't.
I thought it was that simple, anyway. I still can't wrap my mind around how complex her situation was by the time she ended up in that house watching that movie. She was actually supposed to have been in the theatre for The Reaping, but she changed her mind. I wish I could explain that, but it won't make any sense. None of this makes any sense.
Anyway, she asked if she could swipe some popcorn, asked what I knew about the movie, that sort of thing. I make a point never to learn more than what the trailer gives before watching a movie, and I knew very little about this one in that way. I quickly caught the Rear Window similarity, though, and pointed that out. I couldn't believe she'd actually seen it. Most people don't watch movies from before they were born for some reason, but she was really well versed. She liked Alfred Hitchcock and Jimmy Stewart which led her to watch Rear Window some years before. Yeah, years. She was only 23, but she saw Rear Window long before this Disturbia came out.
That was April -- eight months ago. Exactly, as a matter of fact. It was April 19th. If I'd known what was going to happen, maybe I wouldn't have offered my number. She didn't offer hers. I was the one forthcoming with information. When I didn't get hers, I figured my number was in the trash by the door, but two days later, she called. She sounded desperate. She wanted to meet me at Wal-Mart 53 and asked if I understood her. It was a bizarre reference, but having lived in Broken Arrow my entire life, I actually knew what she was talking about. I tried to clarify, but she cut me off only asking if I understood her. I said I did, and she hung up.
Wal-Mart 53 isn't a Wal-Mart at all; not anymore, anyway. Store #53 was at 71st & Elm (across the street from that McDonald's) until the late 80's (87 or 88) when they closed that store due to the new Wal-Mart (#472, if you're trying to keep track) which opened at 71st & County Line in 1986. Today, the building is called ELH, and for the life of me I don't know what goes on there. Regardless, I knew what she was talking about and met her in front of that building.
She was on foot, so I figured she lived somewhere close to there. I pulled up and as soon as I got out of the car, she jumped in and told me to drive. I asked her where, but she said just get out of the parking lot and drive. I went west.
I could quickly see this wasn't a date, and as casually as I could, I asked what was going on. I noticed she was ducked down in the seat, like she was hiding. She said it wasn't important, but then commented that her dad had had too much to drink and was in an angry mood. I remember being sympathetic, but wasn't sure I actually believed her at the time. Seemed pretty important to me to blow off initially, and then just say it. As trouble as I've had getting to the point here, I would have thought anyone else would have that kind of problem, especially with an alcoholic parent, but she just said it like it was nothing.
I learned later she lied to me.
I'm finding myself more and more paranoid as time goes on. I am on the second floor of this hotel and I constantly look out the window to see who might be watching. A man stood in the parking lot for some time a couple of day s ago just watching the building. I don't know if he was watching me or not -- it was dark. I have a bad feeling that I've gotten into something far bigger than just a little revenge.
Let me back up a little here. First, there was Tara. I don't know what it was that drew us together, but we met while watching a movie at the Cinemark in Tulsa at 71st and highway 169. It was Disturbia, of all things. Not a bad remake of Rear Window, to be honest. We got a taste of the kid from Transformers before that movie hit in the summer. Anyway, the theatre was dark and people were walking around, and we just ended up sitting next to each other. Simple as that. No real fanfare or anything. I had popcorn and she didn't.
I thought it was that simple, anyway. I still can't wrap my mind around how complex her situation was by the time she ended up in that house watching that movie. She was actually supposed to have been in the theatre for The Reaping, but she changed her mind. I wish I could explain that, but it won't make any sense. None of this makes any sense.
Anyway, she asked if she could swipe some popcorn, asked what I knew about the movie, that sort of thing. I make a point never to learn more than what the trailer gives before watching a movie, and I knew very little about this one in that way. I quickly caught the Rear Window similarity, though, and pointed that out. I couldn't believe she'd actually seen it. Most people don't watch movies from before they were born for some reason, but she was really well versed. She liked Alfred Hitchcock and Jimmy Stewart which led her to watch Rear Window some years before. Yeah, years. She was only 23, but she saw Rear Window long before this Disturbia came out.
That was April -- eight months ago. Exactly, as a matter of fact. It was April 19th. If I'd known what was going to happen, maybe I wouldn't have offered my number. She didn't offer hers. I was the one forthcoming with information. When I didn't get hers, I figured my number was in the trash by the door, but two days later, she called. She sounded desperate. She wanted to meet me at Wal-Mart 53 and asked if I understood her. It was a bizarre reference, but having lived in Broken Arrow my entire life, I actually knew what she was talking about. I tried to clarify, but she cut me off only asking if I understood her. I said I did, and she hung up.
Wal-Mart 53 isn't a Wal-Mart at all; not anymore, anyway. Store #53 was at 71st & Elm (across the street from that McDonald's) until the late 80's (87 or 88) when they closed that store due to the new Wal-Mart (#472, if you're trying to keep track) which opened at 71st & County Line in 1986. Today, the building is called ELH, and for the life of me I don't know what goes on there. Regardless, I knew what she was talking about and met her in front of that building.
She was on foot, so I figured she lived somewhere close to there. I pulled up and as soon as I got out of the car, she jumped in and told me to drive. I asked her where, but she said just get out of the parking lot and drive. I went west.
I could quickly see this wasn't a date, and as casually as I could, I asked what was going on. I noticed she was ducked down in the seat, like she was hiding. She said it wasn't important, but then commented that her dad had had too much to drink and was in an angry mood. I remember being sympathetic, but wasn't sure I actually believed her at the time. Seemed pretty important to me to blow off initially, and then just say it. As trouble as I've had getting to the point here, I would have thought anyone else would have that kind of problem, especially with an alcoholic parent, but she just said it like it was nothing.
I learned later she lied to me.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
The Fourth Post
After a few drinks, here's what I can say. I'm not drunk, but just a ittle bit lucid. Lucid is a weird word. Heh.
Yeah, so I had met this girl and geez it's hard to type like this. She was cute and I didn't know who she was but then I did and we went out and moved in and stuff happened blah blah blah. That doesn't help, does it? Well, tough.
Ok... She was awesome. She bared her soul and body and yeah she had a hot body. I'm trying to stay focused. Did I mention wi-fi is awesome. They got it everywhere now. This hotel has it. God this hotel thing is going to break me.
Anyway, it wasn't my fault she got mad at me that night. I wasn't trying to keep anything from her. I just didn't think it was worth mentioning. Who knew talking about her to an ex would make her so freakin' upset. God, it's an ex, and I said I was taken.
Of course I found out why later, but it still isn't really my fault.
Women get so mad at the dumbest things. I shouldn't be mean to her. I mean, sh
I don't really want to talk about that. I promised to get to the point and I'm rambling. What do I expect? They shouldn't put so much alcohol in that little fridge thingie where just anyone can get to it. ughcfjuyjhujmukkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
My hand fell on the keys. That's funny. I can't read that. Maybe I should go to bed.
Yeah, so I had met this girl and geez it's hard to type like this. She was cute and I didn't know who she was but then I did and we went out and moved in and stuff happened blah blah blah. That doesn't help, does it? Well, tough.
Ok... She was awesome. She bared her soul and body and yeah she had a hot body. I'm trying to stay focused. Did I mention wi-fi is awesome. They got it everywhere now. This hotel has it. God this hotel thing is going to break me.
Anyway, it wasn't my fault she got mad at me that night. I wasn't trying to keep anything from her. I just didn't think it was worth mentioning. Who knew talking about her to an ex would make her so freakin' upset. God, it's an ex, and I said I was taken.
Of course I found out why later, but it still isn't really my fault.
Women get so mad at the dumbest things. I shouldn't be mean to her. I mean, sh
I don't really want to talk about that. I promised to get to the point and I'm rambling. What do I expect? They shouldn't put so much alcohol in that little fridge thingie where just anyone can get to it. ughcfjuyjhujmukkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
My hand fell on the keys. That's funny. I can't read that. Maybe I should go to bed.
The Third Post
Wi-fi access is a wonderful thing. I can set my laptop up anywhere there is a signal and add to this narrative, hoping that maybe with a change of venue, I will have the courage to put down what has been plaguing me now for four days, and dates back for months. I'm finding, however, that McDonald's doesn't exactly provide the environment to speak the terrible truth of my deeds. Which McDonald's? I don't mind telling you because a) by the time you read this, I'll be long gone and b) even if I were still here when you arrived in a huff, you wouldn't know who I was anyway.
I'm sitting at 71st & Elm in my hometown of Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. Yeah, I stayed in my hometown because I know the area, I know the people, and more importantly, I know their movements and where to hide from them. I know at this time of day, none of them will visit this McDonald's so I can eat my sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit and hashbrowns in peace.
This is a weird McDonald's though. Once upon a time around here, this McDonald's sat next door to an Otasco store, which is (was) a hardware store. Well, it changed from one thing to another until finally, they tore down both the store (which like everything else in Broken Arrow and Tulsa, became a car lot) and the McDonald's next door, and built a dual-store convenience store(gas station)/McDonald's. Then the convenience store closed, leaving the McDonald's in half a dead store. But as I look across the store at where I entered, the convenience store section is open as it has been for quite some time now, and I'm pondering whether I should grab an overpriced moon pie on the way out.
This doesn't solve my immediate problem of needing to confess my sins to complete strangers, but since I have no one else to talk to in my instant hermitage, it helps to think that someone out there is actually "listening" to me. Tara used to work here when she was in high school. That was before I knew her, though. That was before a lot of things happened.
Ok, maybe that's enough for now. I don't want to draw attention to myself here.
I'm sitting at 71st & Elm in my hometown of Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. Yeah, I stayed in my hometown because I know the area, I know the people, and more importantly, I know their movements and where to hide from them. I know at this time of day, none of them will visit this McDonald's so I can eat my sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit and hashbrowns in peace.
This is a weird McDonald's though. Once upon a time around here, this McDonald's sat next door to an Otasco store, which is (was) a hardware store. Well, it changed from one thing to another until finally, they tore down both the store (which like everything else in Broken Arrow and Tulsa, became a car lot) and the McDonald's next door, and built a dual-store convenience store(gas station)/McDonald's. Then the convenience store closed, leaving the McDonald's in half a dead store. But as I look across the store at where I entered, the convenience store section is open as it has been for quite some time now, and I'm pondering whether I should grab an overpriced moon pie on the way out.
This doesn't solve my immediate problem of needing to confess my sins to complete strangers, but since I have no one else to talk to in my instant hermitage, it helps to think that someone out there is actually "listening" to me. Tara used to work here when she was in high school. That was before I knew her, though. That was before a lot of things happened.
Ok, maybe that's enough for now. I don't want to draw attention to myself here.
Monday, December 17, 2007
The Second Post
After re-reading my first post multiple times, I think I'll try to build myself into... well, this.
First, you'll notice my title is "Atari Speaks." My name is not Atari, but I always enjoyed the Atari 2600 game system. In fact, 2600 is the number for a hacker publication, and I've aways been rather good with computers. I figure: it fits. Anyway, my real name isn't that important, so Atari 2600 works fine. I value my anonymity at this point, but I need a name.
I don't know where else to start from there. Everything began in April, but this mess didn't start until months later. My mind is a mess. I want to just blab it all out, but really, without some kind of a background, what good would it do to tell you. You'd judge me, like everyone else will.
I hope, for your sake, you never do anything you regret. Revenge is a powerful motivator, but I never realized what its success would feel like. I thought I would feel relief or happiness or satisfaction or closure... But I get nothing. Nothing but fear. Nothing but the constant anxiety of whether someone is coming. Whether this is the moment it's all over and they find me.
I swear I will get this out at some point. My fingers just won't type it.
First, you'll notice my title is "Atari Speaks." My name is not Atari, but I always enjoyed the Atari 2600 game system. In fact, 2600 is the number for a hacker publication, and I've aways been rather good with computers. I figure: it fits. Anyway, my real name isn't that important, so Atari 2600 works fine. I value my anonymity at this point, but I need a name.
I don't know where else to start from there. Everything began in April, but this mess didn't start until months later. My mind is a mess. I want to just blab it all out, but really, without some kind of a background, what good would it do to tell you. You'd judge me, like everyone else will.
I hope, for your sake, you never do anything you regret. Revenge is a powerful motivator, but I never realized what its success would feel like. I thought I would feel relief or happiness or satisfaction or closure... But I get nothing. Nothing but fear. Nothing but the constant anxiety of whether someone is coming. Whether this is the moment it's all over and they find me.
I swear I will get this out at some point. My fingers just won't type it.
I don't know...
...if this is a good idea.
I've been in this hotel room for three days now, and I just think I need someone to talk to. Someone who won't interrupt, won't judge, won't give me any look at all, good or bad. I have so much to tell that has happened in the past few months, and I don't know if I can bring myself to write it down.
I've tried several times to just say it, and I can't. I don't know why. Maybe part of me is afraid of what you'll think. Maybe I'm afraid I'll get caught. Maybe you'll know who I really am. Maybe you're a hacker who can figure out my IP address and track me down for those who are looking for me.
I don't want to be found. But I need to get this off my chest. I just don't know where to begin. I don't even know if this is a good idea. Part of me thinks it is because I will feel better. Maybe I'll even have the guts to face everyone again.
I think I need to think about this a little more...
I've been in this hotel room for three days now, and I just think I need someone to talk to. Someone who won't interrupt, won't judge, won't give me any look at all, good or bad. I have so much to tell that has happened in the past few months, and I don't know if I can bring myself to write it down.
I've tried several times to just say it, and I can't. I don't know why. Maybe part of me is afraid of what you'll think. Maybe I'm afraid I'll get caught. Maybe you'll know who I really am. Maybe you're a hacker who can figure out my IP address and track me down for those who are looking for me.
I don't want to be found. But I need to get this off my chest. I just don't know where to begin. I don't even know if this is a good idea. Part of me thinks it is because I will feel better. Maybe I'll even have the guts to face everyone again.
I think I need to think about this a little more...
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