The whole world was in my hands. Without stopping I said the things they would fear most. The fantasy of the alien was hers and I shared it with my girlfriend Anne, my boss Daniel, and eventually, the entire world. None were ready for the truth except her, because she had discovered the truth and she was the real messenger, not I.
There wasn't anything about me that grouped me into a pack or helped me stand out as having leadership ability. Before school was over and I met her, my interests were useless. I could fold nice cigarettes into slinky fingers and smoke them by the lake. Another task I endeavored upon was intoxicating myself (illegally) in purposeful increments one beer at a time. The period of joy and happiness I had slipped into was that way because I was lazy and I didn't go to college. Precisely this description of a boy was what she had needed. My birthday was right-on, and after I guess four years of planning she introduced her sexual life to me.
But this was after I had broken my early curfew and driven to the lake and saw a man get arrested. I heard shouting, watched the man as the officer pulled him to the back of the police car and handcuffed him. By the time he was taken to the backseat, I felt the empty silence again. The lighted vehicle exited. My first thought was that the man had been vacuumed into space.
The next time I would remember the incident and think of it as an intense and relevant memory was a few months later. She was jumping into the backseat of a different cruiser, passing under my arms and out of the scene. That was her totally paranoid exit from the situation she had created at the casino.
I never felt safe. When I was eighteen and going to different lakes around the city for fun at night, I was located by her and taken into a scenario out of Star Trek, or maybe instead Blade Runner. To survive, anything I had discovered about myself that summer would need to be remembered. The test was if I had truly enjoyed myself at lakes and on bike rides to the library. I only had to know the meaning of pleasure and not really figure anything out intellectually. That wasn't known to me beforehand and it feels a little ironic that everything would have been over if it had been.
I was still in high school but had reached the point of apathy where smoking drugs before class seemed acceptable enough. School was almost over. I took special classes for students with a higher aptitude. I didn't enroll completely in advanced classes because I thought the workload would be too much. Instead, I took a basic credit Biology class in the morning which seemed like the main motivation for getting high before school. The class itself was extremely boring. The teacher's daughter was mentally handicapped after a traumatic brain injury sustained in gymnastics. He was a Christian and tried spiritedly to raise awareness for both creationism and traumatic brain injury (TBI) accidents. He tied it into biology. Our trek through this comedy drama of life could jump the shark at any moment, he said. Later he won twenty thousand dollars on a gay morning talk show. I could see his wife's discomfort when I saw her online. It must have been a terror for them to be on television with an openly gay host. In his lecture about personal health he actually drew a shark on the board, and explained what jumping the shark means.
It was ridiculous, yet I would remember the class with a strong attachment after I met her. Any sense of comedy or drama would be better than the nightmare of her acquaintanceship.
In the case of my own television appearance, that was explained by the way I was hooked into a brainwashing scandal. It amounted to me becoming a famous celebrity. In the commercial, I was like any actor you see in a Disney movie or on a stupidly popular miniseries. I guess I looked most like Matt Damon but didn't have his stomach.
The organization which targeted me was not owned or subsidiary to anything of her status. She was an agent of that group. She had specified who she wanted and when she wanted him. She wanted me. My Mom had gotten the idea to move to the city during her doctorate studies. She called her move “action research,” which is a form of social maneuvering to help change communities.
Mom met Macy and other addicts at the shelter where she volunteered. She told me Macy and I were a good match. Mom had told Macy everything about me. The information was processed quickly by Macy and related to me in the way that superficial facts can be used to arrest one's attention. An illusionist tricks someone with the simplest of distractions. She distracted me with a new version of myself. She mentioned she knew me well. Her idea of who I was needed to feel compete although it was, I see now, only partial in its understanding of me.
I felt like I had found a companion who could see into my soul. I thought she was the person I had prayed for the summer before. We seemed an identical match and of course she showed me her astrology companion which confirmed that our relationship would be “written in the stars.” Her tarot interpretation was fantastic in its matching of us as lovers. The cards for a queen and the four swords were drawn. They represented her, and me.
Finally, the sex rendered me helpless. For months, I was a victim of her devices. I was her lapdog, or her sex monkey. She was forward with her disease, which I felt sorry for. I felt pity that she was an addict and a user. She said she was disappointed that she had hit the pipe again this weekend. She didn't want it to get in the way of us.
Mom was working all the time and Dad had no time for me being divorced. Macy’s set-up was so effective that we slept together for four months before I lost interest for my own mental health. Being with her was dangerous. I imagine that someone had written down a law hidden by the court and the lawmakers. It could have been made by an officer or other agent, who could have writ our relationship in a few secret sentences. The purpose of this law was for her to reference should anyone of similar status to her be suspicious.
The law would say that we must have been illegal; but to keep us out of danger, we would be overlooked by the police. We must be combatants on a war on drugs, a battle of the mind, and by calling attention to ourselves we could free people from use. And she must do drugs, and I must do drugs. Perhaps even, the law would say, that we were allowed to manipulate the media to help us in our endeavor. All of this must have been written somewhere, because according to her organization the rule was that she didn’t exist as a person. She was merely a legal cable or instrument of change.
It was inescapable, our time together. Eight months I spent in her sights, until now, aboard this aircraft typing it all out. It is in the nature of my own devices that I write this with nervous hands. I am honest company, and perhaps that shows why I have no friends. The story must be gotten out of the way before I feel safe with anyone else.