Here it is. The entire month of June for the year 2001. Don't you just feel like a part of my life? Doesn't it make you all warm & fuzzy inside to know that I'm sharing a part of myself with you? I know it does. Read on, starting from the bottom.
June 24th, 2001: Well, Scott and I went to church again last night. One of the roads to his apartment was closed due to a nasty slamming into of the highway divider, so I made it there rather late. When I talked to him earlier at work, I asked him to wear this blue and white striped shirt that he wore last time I saw him, and when I arrived, he was wearing a blue and white striped shirt, but it wasn't the one that I had been thinking of, so after some considering, I retreated from his bedroom, where I had been changing, and asked him to wear the other one. I swear, I'm so demanding and mother-like, but it's not as if I was requesting the change just to exert my power; I just think he looks great in the other one. Actually, he looks great in everything, but I digress. We took a trip to his closet to extract the correct shirt, went to our respective rooms to change, and then settled in the living room for a bit o' guitar play-age. Scott said that I made him too nervous to play, so we went ahead and left for The Vineyard with plans for some more playing when we returned.
Mike was to meet us there at seven. It's funny - I was so excited for Mike to return home from Oregon to help me burst out of my home church, but now that I'm going with Katie and Scott, Mike's habits during the service drive me insane. He did look great last night, though. When Scott and I walked in (15 minutes late, mind you), Mike and Jonathan were relaxing on one of The Vineyard's multi-million dollar couches. I have to wonder if Mike felt like he was competing with Scott. I would have felt like I was competing with Scott were I Mike, but Mike cares about things far less than I do, so perhaps he looked great just to look great. When everyone was introduced and we finally got to our seats in the sanctuary, I moved Scott from his place on the end next to Jonathan to the other side of me in an attempt to shield him from Jon's evilness, which worked beautifully. Katie wasn't able to make it last night, so I just sat nestled in between Mike and Scott and compared the two of them for two hours. Worshipping with Katie and Scott is so different than with Scott, Mike, and Jon. Katie and I are total singers, while Scott stands in silent reverence, balancing us out. Mike and Jon seemed totally bored, though. In fact, they seemed bored during the sermon, too. Mike was all fidget-y and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, while Scott just sat back and absorbed everything . . . or at least pretended to.
It made me so happy to see all of the folk that I was just starting to get to know when school ended, but I felt kind of weird talking to them without Scott knowing them, so after Mike and Jon left, I just said hello to Christy's friend Abbey, and then we headed back to Scott's. He played his guitar for me for a moment, proudly displaying the new song that he just learned, and then we kind of fell silent. I don't know whether Scott is totally uncomfortable with silence or not, but it seemed that we had nothing to say, so Scott asked if I thought Graeter's was open. (Don't you just love how predictable we are?) Just after I had decided to try the Buckeye sundae, Scott mentioned that he wanted to try something new and chose the Buckeye, making me look like his psycho clone. (I don't think you understand how little it takes to make me look obsessive.) Scott pulled out his wallet and showed me that his mom had given him a bit of money the last time that he went home, and I asked, "To make up for being such a horrible mother?" That, of course, was the perfect thing NOT to say, but I realised that only after Scott turned to me and said, "She wasn't that bad all of the time. She loves me, Katie. She loves me," as if I had questioned his mother's affection for him.
We sat down at the same table that we had previously and discussed much of the same topics that we had before. There's just too much to be said. I told him about trying to sell him to the nice, Christian girls I know, only to realise that they're never good enough for him. I really worry about Scott's heart, for some reason. I sometimes start to believe that not even I am good enough for him, so I can't imagine setting him up with a drinker or a smoker or a slut. We discussed all of the judgments associated with being an unwed father and the fact that I probably wouldn't have adored him in the beginning like I did had I known. There's nothing sadder than realising that your friend with the bastard child is actually a better person than you are, at least when it comes to making judgments about people he doesn't know.
I just don't understand my predilection for that boy. He's such a dork. Such a big dork. And he needs so much reassurance. Like after I asked him to wear the white shirt, he kept complaining that it's a little too tight, which makes him think that he's going to rip right out of it, knowing that I'm going to tell him that it flatters him. And yet he impresses me so much. So very much. And I learn the oddest things about him every time that we're together that make me want to find a nice wife for him. For instance, last night I learned that it was his stepfather who got him interested in both computers and cars. Cars? Who knew that he knows a thing about them? And yet, when we got back from Graeter's and I had finished taking pictures of his neighbour's Jew license plate, he explained to me the process of replacing his alternator and other such car bits that I know not the slightest thing about. I love how I went from not knowing a thing about him to wanting to know everything. And I think I'm on my way there.
June 17th, 2001: Scott and I have randomly become rather close over the past month or so, in case you haven't noticed. Since I lost contact with Tracey this year and Mike doesn't hear a word that I say, Scott and my dear, sweet BIG K.N. are pretty much the only ones who know anything about me. Scott recently started learning the ways of Christianity after being rejected a while back by a woman who knew that she couldn't be with him, a non-Christian. So, I asked my dear Scott to accompany me to church sometime now that he's intrigued by the church and the Bible. Tonight, I went to his house after work and changed, whereupon we left to meet Katie. After picking her up at the information desk just inside and making some introductions, we headed into the massive auditorium-like sanctuary of The Vineyard and said hello to some of the old college group. We sang this amazing Breathe song that I could tell totally touched Scott, which was a sight to behold. And when the worshipping was over and the week's announcements began, the pastor reminded us that it's Father's Day and asked all fathers in the crowd to stand up and be recognised. Now, we all know by now that Scott is the proud father of a beautiful little baby Alaina, but I couldn't imagine him standing up in front of hundreds of strangers and shouting out to world that he's an unwed father. But he did. And all of the OSU folk looked at me, the proud mother, they thought. Even better than that, though, was the look that Christy gave me when I introduced her to Scott. She and Rhonda both know all about Scott's former lack of religion and the discovering of his daughter, so she pointed to him with wide eyes and mouthed, "Scott?" I enjoyed it immensely.
June 16th, 2001: So, it's Summer again, and I'm back working nearly full-time at COSI. I celebrated my one-year anniversary with COSI today, which was kind of scary. It's far too easy to measure the passing of my life with what happens at my sweet science museum. I remember when I first began working there and talk of an exhibit called "Secrets of Aging" began. Then, the exhibit came in September, and when it did, I knew that an entire three months of my life had just flashed before me. Secrets of Aging was to be around until May 6th, and I remember thinking last year how far away May 6th would be. But then it came, and not only had eight more months of my existence come and gone, but I was also just about to wrap up my first year of college. The passing of time never used to affect me like it does now. Summers have always slipped by me like nothing, but instead of rejoicing over my aging, I now despise it. And I'm only 19! I remember when I first got the Internet, and I would go into the silverchair chat rooms, embarrassed to only be 15, longing to be 17, my perfect age. I think 17 always will be my perfect age. I could drive and get into R-rated movies, but I wasn't yet old enough to get myself into any real trouble. Not that I've gotten myself into any trouble since then, but there wasn't even the threat of it back then. And of course, 17 was the last entire year that I spent with my mom. Ahh, sweet 17. And that's not to say that 19 hasn't been great. How much did I learn about myself and my friends this year? Wow. But I digress. Actually, I don't digress. This story was about something else entirely, but I'm going to leave it at this. I'm old and withered and only 19. God help me.
June 9th, 2001: Well, I'm back home after completing my first year of college at OSU. Such a weird feeling. But I guess that was to be expected. Moving out made very, very depressed. My roommate, Christy, took all of her whatnot away on Tuesday afternoon, but she came back that night to spend some time with the rest of us, since seven still remained. It was really weird at the end, because Katie, Marla, Christy, Rhonda, and I all sat in my room and watched October Sky while eating our last order of Pokey Stix (cheesy bread stuff) for the year, and I didn't think at the time that it was probably the last time that we will all be together. Going to bed that night was horrible, because my dad had already taken my lamp home with him, so I was fumbling around in the dark. I woke up in the middle of the night and looked over to Christy's side of the room as I always do, but instead of seeing her completely hidden by her fluffy comforter, I saw nothingness. Her bed was empty, save a roll of carpet that she had left for me. My only saving thought was that of my other six suitemates being snuggled up in their beds. But five of them left on Wednesday afternoon, leaving only Rhonda and me. I locked myself in my room and watched Sunshine to depress myself even further while Rhonda went downstairs to say good-bye to some of her friends.
I went to sleep around midnight, because I had my last final on Thursday. I woke up around 8 that morning to the most frightening thing. The door to Rhonda's room was hanging wide open, everything inside gone. I spun around the hexagon-shaped foyer area and saw that it had all been moved into the suite room. Rhonda was asleep on the couch, so I went in to take my shower and study a bit for my final. Watching Rhonda leave was the hardest thing, because it meant that I was the only one left of the original eight. Everything was so disgustingly stark and hospital-like that I just couldn't wait to get out of there. My only comforts were music videos and the thought that Christy was coming back that night to help me jerk the carpet tape from our bedroom floor.
I left for my final extra early to escape from my lonliness and stare at the seat where Brandon Leck once sat. That final was so good for me. The major part of it was writing four essays, and while I didn't have enough time to develop them very well, timed essays are my strength, even if I haven't written one since the AP English exam last Spring. People started leaving 45 minutes into the exam, so I was the only one left writing at the two-hour mark. I think I wrote so much just to have the chance to talk to my professor alone at the end of class. I wasn't the least bit attracted to him until he told me that he graduated from Berkeley, and I don't know what it is about Berkeley men, but I can't resist them. So, I spoke with him for a moment and then left to return to the land of the lonesome, went to work for a few hours, and then came back to load all of my stuff into Dad's car. After we had made about five trips, lugging my garbage bags and Rubbermaid containers behind us, Dad said, "When is Christy coming back to get the rest of her stuff?" What he failed to realise was that Christy had already taken everything home, and the massive piles of belongings on her side of the room were actually mine. So, we made several more trips, and then Dad went home while I packed all of the smaller bags into my Blazer. I had things piled upon things piled upon things to the point that I would barely be able to see out my rear window as I drove home. I went back up to my room to sweep and clean out the refrigerator and whatnot, and that took me until about 10 PM. Now, all afternoon, I had been flirting with the guy at my dorm's front desk as I borrowed brooms and dustpans from him. When I was finally done with my room, I called down to him to have him send someone up to check my room for cleanliness. After the guy who came reminded me to take down the picture of the naked woman that Christy had thumbtacked to the ceiling above my bed, I went down to the lobby to have the front desk guy sign me out. I pretended to be all weakling girl and let him take my keys off of my keyring for me, which made him feel 100% man, no doubt. I then told him to have a good night and a nice Summer and all of that as I dragged my very last garbage bag of junk out to my Blazer.
The bottom of it kind of started to give way to all of the boxes of veggie burgers inside, and through a little hole, my jar of unused jelly dropped to the ground and rolled to the side of the path. I was a bit distressed, but my hands were totally full, so I assumed that someone else would be able to partake of my delicious strawberry jam and went on down to my car. However, when I got my junk loaded into the Blazer, I decided that I wasn't finished with the front desk guy and went back up to ask for his number or something of that sort. However, when I got to the desk, I couldn't do it, so I had to ask for something random like an application to be an office assistant this Fall. He couldn't find any, so he told me to apply when I come back in three months. I thanked him, and we exchanged good-byes once again as I kicked myself for being so yellow.
I couldn't think of another reason to go back up to talk to him some more, so I decided that things were not meant to be and tried to start my car. But it was dead. The Blazer had died on me. I stroked the wheel soothingly for a moment to encourage it to start, but it wasn't about to go anywhere. So, I trekked back up to the desk. Front Desk Boy smiled and allowed me to use his phone to call Bethany to come and pick me up, and then he and my hall director tried to console me, but there was no groping of any kind involved, just in case you were wondering.
And my first year of college was done.
June 4th, 2001: So, Brandon Leck. I'm taking a German class right now called Weimar and the Third Reich in German Literature and Film. I had to do this group presentation about one of the books that we read, so my group and I were sitting outside of our classroom on a bench, discussing Nazis and life, when I looked up and saw him. He had a shaggy, Beatles-esque haircut and was wearing a vintage orange tee and vintage denim flares. And when I say vintage, I'm not talking about your $30 American Eagle/Abercrombie and Fitch knockoff. I'm talking $3.99 at your local thrift store kind of stuff. He was a work of art. A smoking work of art . . . but art nonetheless.
Two days later, I walked into the German lecture hall, and feeling like I wanted to be indiscreet, I sat in the very last row. As I put my bag down, I noticed the person next to me glance over, so I did the same to him, and who was it? My masterpiece. I hadn't the slightest idea that he was even in my class, and now there I was, sitting two seats away from him. I couldn't find the words to tell him how beautiful he is, but when he passed me the attendance sheet, I couldn't help but look at his name.
Brandon Leck.
I came home and wrote an away message on my Instant Messenger that read, "Does anyone know Brandon Leck? If so, will you please offer my body to him? I don't even need anything in return. Just tell him that it's his if he wants it. Thank you and have a nice day." I didn't expect anyone to actually know him and never really meant for him to know that I had said such a thing. And actually, none of my friends do know him, but lovely Dave's Mike took it upon himself to look Brandon up on the OSU website and write him an e-mail that went a little something like, "Katie Ett wanted me to tell you that her body belongs to you now. She can be contacted at [email protected]," which he also sent to me as proof. Now, I tend not to trust highly deceptive people like Dave's Mike, so I had to find out if he had actually done such a thing, but I just wasn't sure how. Over the next couple of weeks, I watched Brandon leave halfway through class every day, so uncaring. And every day, he would say "excuse me" when walking past me, touching my leg and apologising if he happened to bump into me. And every day, the dirty hippie girl who sat next to him would swoon over him with me after he was gone. It was one of the most beautiful non-existent relationships I've ever had.
On my last day of class with Brandon, the day that he was to take his senior final and disappear from my life forever, I came to class and went to sit in the seat in the last row that I had adopted as my own. Much to my surprise, Brandon had moved over two seats from his usual home and was right next to mine. I greeted the guy who always sits next to me, and as soon as we were done exchanging pleasantries, I turned to Brandon and asked, "So, have you ever gotten any weird e-mails from men you don't know?" He looked a little startled and said slowly, "No . . . I don't think so." I asked, "Nothing from a stranger named Mike?" Not a thing. "How do you know it was me?" he inquired. "Basically because I'm a psycho," I replied. He told me that he never checks his OSU e-mail account, so I told him that he may want to do that at some point. He gave me a "thank God I'm leaving to take my final" smile, and then Brandon Leck disappeared from my life for what may be forever. I was amazed at how comfortable I was telling him that I'm his psychopathic stalker. Definitely evidence of a deeper underlying problem, is it not?