I saw a new boy in the neighborhood. Blond hair, green eyes. A little tall. Apparently, he and his mother just moved across the street from Barbara and me. I watched him build a snowman and was about to go out and ask him if he wanted help, but he went back inside of his house.
Volunteering to be Santa Claus this year at the mall was a great idea. A wonderful idea, in fact. The children’s smiling faces, having them on my lap…there was this one little blond-headed boy, cute as a button. I wanted to take him home so badly…sort of a Christmas present for myself. Speaking of work, I need to get ready for it.
Same boy outside. I talked to him today. He’s incredibly friendly and charming. His name is James, but he prefers to be called Jimmy. He’s 11 years old and he’ll be going to the local middle school once they get back in session. I invited him to come over to my house, but he told me that his mother wouldn’t like him going somewhere with a stranger.
“I’m not a stranger,” I said, “I’m your neighbor.” I think I almost had him convinced, but his mother appeared and told him to come inside. I waved at her and she waved back, but she looked a bit uneasy. I’ll need to be more careful. Perhaps I should give them a gift.
Christmas! Barbara enjoyed the earrings I gave her and agreed with me about greeting our new neighbors. Later today, we plan to go over and bring them some cookies. Perhaps I’ll see if I can wrangle some alone time with Jimmy then…or maybe at the annual New Year’s Eve party.
Barbara and I threw a New Years Eve party for the neighborhood. Actually, it was almost two parties, seeing how Barbara entertained our adult guests while I entertained the children. I got to talk to Jimmy a little more. It turns out that there’s a movie that he wants to see at the local cinema, but his mother thinks he’s too young to see it because it’s PG-13.
“I know how you can see that movie. Go with me.” I said. “I’ll just tell your mother we went to see a different movie.”
“That’s really nice of you,” he replied.
“That’s what friends do for one another. After all, we ARE friends aren’t we?” I said.
“Sure.” He responded as he grinned. Friends indeed.
Jimmy’s in school now, but his
mother is having trouble picking him up after school on Mondays and Fridays.
Well, one of our neighbors recommended me for the job, seeing as how I drove
her son to school for a while. I remember her son. He was such a nice young
man. I remember his sandy blond hair, his granite gray eyes…I couldn’t resist
touching him. After a while, he stopped wanting to ride with me, but his mother
would have none of it and insisted that I continue to transport him to school.
What was his name? Brian?
Where was I? Oh yes, Jimmy. Anyway, his mother has asked for my help and being the kind neighbor that I am, I’ve agreed to pick Jimmy up after school and keep him at my house until she gets off of work.
Today’s Saturday and I plan to take Jimmy and some of the other neighborhood children to the movies. Barbara wanted to come with us, but now she’s got the flu. I guess that works out for me. I’ll write later about how the movie turned out.
Same Day
The movie was great! Not only did the kids enjoy themselves, but I got to sit next to Jimmy. But it doesn’t end there, not even close. After I dropped the other children back off at their houses, I parked the car in Jimmy’s driveway and he and I talked about school and his love life, or lack thereof.
“You’re a handsome young man, Jimmy-Jim. Surely there’s a girl who strikes your fancy.” I commented.
“Strikes my what? Oh no…there’s no one I like.” He blushed slightly. “Girls are weird anyway, Mr. Jones.”
After about ten minutes of talking, I delivered him back to his mother, who invited me in for tea. She told me I was a good influence and asked if I would be willing to spend a little more time with him. From what I gathered from her (I was a bit distracted by my elation of being able to spend even more time with him) she views me as a pseudo-father figure for Jimmy. She even apologized for being a little stand-offish when we first met.
“After all, you sort of just showed up on my lawn and started talking to my son. I didn’t know if you were one of those perverts who prey on children, know what I mean?” She chuckled a little guiltily, as if ashamed of her previous thoughts.
“Of course.” I smiled back. “I understand. I have a son myself; he’s 32 and I still worry about him.”
Long story short, I pick up Jimmy-Jim every day of the week (instead of just the Mondays and Fridays) and take him back to my house.
All in all, a very good day.
Picked Jimmy up after school, as usual. I decided to take the long way home after Jimmy told me he wanted to talk.
“Today really sucked, Mr. Jones.” He stated sadly.
“How come, Jimmy-Jim?” I asked.
“Well, today was Valentine’s Day…I got two Valentines. There are 26 kids in my class, and I only got two Valentines.” He frowned. “I don’t have any friends either…I asked Colin if I could play kickball with him and his friends, and he just laughed at me.”
“Well, I’m your friend, right?” He nodded slowly. “I know its hard being the new kid at school and I can’t make it better there, but how about this…I take you out for a sundae, and you put a smile back on your face. Deal?” His face perked up so fast that it was as if he hadn’t even been upset at all.
I called his mother at work once we stepped inside the Baskin-Robbins and told her that we’d be a little late in getting back to my house. She thanked me and I got off of the phone.
After the sundae, we got back into the car and continued our journey home. About fifteen minutes into our drive, I looked over at him and realized that this was THE day, the one I had been waiting for.
“Gee, I wish I could do something for you, Mr. Jones.” I pulled the car off the road and turned off the engine.
“Do you really mean that?” I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed his soft hand.
“Ye-yeah…we’re friends and you’re really cool.” He tried to take his somewhat clammy hand away, but I continued to hold it tightly.
“Friends DO things for one another.” I turned and unbuckled his seatbelt with my free hand. “Things that maybe they don’t want to do.” I released his hand from my grip. “Climb over the front seat and get in the back, Jimmy.”
“Oh…okay, Mr. Jones.” He obediently climbed into the back seat and sat down. I got out of the driver’s seat, stepped out of the car, and quickly joined Jimmy in the back seat. I grabbed his hand again. “Much more room back here.”
I placed his hand on the crotch of my khakis. “Unzip me, Jimmy.” He had started quivering slightly and I felt the vibrations where his hand touched me. He shakily unzipped my fly and began whimpering.
“It’s okay, Jimmy-Jim.” I pulled my stiffening penis out of my boxers and placed his hand around it. “We’re friends…special friends, in fact. I wouldn’t just let anyone do this.” I smiled at him, but all I received in turn was a stifled sob.
“Just move your hand up and down just like I tell you to, Jimmy.” Softly crying now, he did as I asked, speeding up and slowing down as I commanded. After a good, and I mean good, ten minutes of this, I came all over his hand and the back of the driver’s seat. He quickly released his hand from my penis and sobbed loudly.
“That’s a good boy.” I dug under my seat and found a towel…maybe from the last little one I had in here? Maybe. I wiped off the back of the driver’s seat and then his hand.
“Now, you won’t tell what we did, right? That’s for us to share because we’re good friends.” Jimmy sadly nodded his head, still weeping and sniffling. “Good.”
I buckled him into the back seat, placed my penis back inside my khakis, and climbed back into the driver’s seat. “Let’s go home, Jimmy-Jim.” We were quiet the rest of the time, but he waved goodbye as I let him out in his driveway.
I can’t wait for tomorrow.
He told! That little bastard told on me! As I sit in this cell writing in this journal (which I need to keep hidden, the cops would love THIS for evidence) that little brat’s telling everyone what was supposed to be between us! None of the others told…or maybe they did, but weren’t listened to. My luck may be running out, but there’s no one to corroborate his story. I’ll be out soon, I’m sure of it. They can’t possibly find the others, and even if they do, none of them will say anything….they CAN’T say anything!
They’re talking…they’re ALL talking…oh God, they’re all talking…
A bit more composed today, a bit more doped today. What have I done? All of the children…every little boy…they’re all haunting my sleep. They’re all talking…I never realized how many of them there were.
Of course, as these stories keep rising, so does the anger against me. I’ll never get a fair trial, I’ll never leave this cell, there’s no escape.
In the hospital now after I tried to hang myself with my sheets. I should be out pretty soon and then back to “protective custody.” On another note, Barbara has served me with divorce papers, citing “irreconcilable differences.” I know what it really is; she just can’t stand what they’re saying. But I’m her husband! She should stand it for me!
I’ll give her what she wants, of course. It’s easier this way. And it keeps her away from the cacophony of shouts for my blood. I’ll give her everything; I obviously won’t need it. My lawyer has told me to plead guilty; it will be quicker and may give me a lesser sentence.
“On the single charge of first degree child molestation, how does the defendant plead?”
“Guilty, Your Honor.”
“This is a class B felony, which carries a sentence of no less than 5 years and no more than 20 years. I order you to serve the minimum amount of 5 years and to seek counseling.”
And with that, my life as a free man was over, in more ways than one.
Independence Day for everyone but me. It’s been a while since I’ve written on these pages, but Dr. Harris suggested I renew my writing. Oh yes, Dr. Harris. He’s my court-appointed psychiatrist, the man hoping to keep my head shrunk to acceptable limits. His current conversations with me have consisted of us dancing around one another. Can you imagine, a 65-year-old grandfather versus a 40-year-old headshrinker? I think not. He’s all about finding me. I’m all about escaping myself.
Dr. Harris brought up an
interesting point today. Until today, I hadn’t realized that all of my victims
(for that’s what he calls them; what do I call them? I don’t.) were blond.
Every one of them, from Jimmy to Robert to
“Which brings up an interesting conundrum, Mr. Jones…”
“Which is what?” I was only here because the courts ordered me to be here.
“Your sons are blond, but your ex-wife was brunette. And it says in my file that you were blond as well…was your father blond, Mr. Jones?”
“As a matter of fact, he wasn’t. My uncle was though.” Indeed he was…a beautiful strawberry blond. HE always had time for me, he always made me feel loved…
“Did your uncle touch you, Mr. Jones?”
“No! Of course not! He was my uncle!” But now as I sit here at this desk, I have to think, did he?
One year ago, I saw Jimmy across the street. One year ago, I sowed the seeds of my own downfall. One year ago…too long ago.
Beware the Ides of March…or Dr. Harris. We began discussing my family life as it was.
“So, you lived with your uncle and aunt while you were growing up?” Another question about my family.
“Sort of. My mom ran off when I was a baby and my dad was in and out of prison for years. ‘Lived’ implies a choice, Dr. Harris. I was dependent on them. Of course, my aunt and uncle divorced when I was 5. One of my first memories was of my aunt closing the front door and not coming back.” Great, let’s dredge up more memories while we’re at it.
“It was just you and your uncle then? Did your uncle ever remarry?” He just knows how to ask the wrong questions.
“It was just my uncle and me for 8 years. We ate together, we bathed together, we slept in the same bed…” Then he interrupted me.
“Wait, you bathed and slept together? Didn’t you feel like that was inappropriate?”
“I was 5 when it started, Dr. Harris, and it stopped when my uncle remarried.” Honestly…like it was some sort of crime.
“An interesting turn of phrase…it didn’t stop because you were 13, it stopped because your uncle remarried.”
“Yeah, I guess I was 13 when he remarried…I think I’m done for today, Dr. Harris. All this talking about my uncle has left me a bit uncomfortable.” I tried to sound irritated, but it really did make me squeamish on the inside, as if I was ashamed to talk about him…I couldn’t think of a reason why, however. Perhaps I’ll sleep on it.
I remember…oh God, I remember the touching…I don’t want to get up ever again.
“I’ve heard you refuse to eat, Mr. Jones…can I ask why?” I turned to look at Dr. Harris slowly. I didn’t feel like moving any faster.
“Tell the guards to go away, Dr. Harris…they don’t need to know.” Every once and a while, having a court-appointed headshrinker around works wonders. The guards were gone in an instant. I closed my eyes then. I wanted to just sleep forever.
“Wake up, Mr. Jones, I sent the guards away, now you talk to me.” I opened my eyes again and as I lay on my cot, I revealed it all. How my uncle had insisted that to save water, we needed to take showers together. How he refused to let me clean myself, preferring to do it himself. How he encouraged me to sleep with him in his bed, claiming that it would keep the nightmares away. How his hand had slipped down my pajama bottoms, coming to rest on my penis, never to move again the entire night.
The man who had taught me how to fly a kite in the daytime was the same one who taught me how to not scream as he ripped me apart in the night. The man who never turned down a game of checkers was the same one who wouldn’t let me turn down his nightly “visitations.” And the worst part? When he remarried, he never touched me again…and I never felt so empty and alone.
Dr. Harris just nodded his head as if he has expected it. “It makes sense, you know. Your choice of victims, I mean.”
I didn’t care if it made sense; I just didn’t want to think about it any more.
“It’s not your fault, Mr. Jones. You were a boy. He shouldn’t have done anything like that to you.” Dr. Harris said softly.
I just stared at the ceiling.
A year ago today, I was sentenced to prison. Have I learned anything? Maybe…I learned that I miss sunlight. I miss my family; I miss my ex-wife. But do I miss my old life? Not really.
I learned today that if I keep on behaving as well as I have, I should be out by this time next year on good behavior. This news, which would have filled me with joy four months ago, depresses me now. After all, what would I be trading? My life now is bland and relatively safe; we’re all prisoners here. What does the outside world offer? I have to register as a sex offender. Everyone will have to be alerted in whatever neighborhood I choose to move to. In here, I carry my past inside. Out there…my past will be revealed to everyone with a mailbox. Eventually, I will have to return to the outside world. And while I will enjoy the feel of the wind in my hair, the sunshine unmarred by bars, the change of wardrobe, I know that society will never free me. I will be chained forever to what I’ve done.
When I leave, I will be trading one
prison for another.