This past PROMPTuesday, I wrote a little snippet about someone hiding under my bed. In the story, this person was an undesirable someone. A someone you’d most definitely NOT want to find lurking under your bed.
And it really happened.
A lot really happened those 12 years ago, stuff that I’m going to write about now. I’ve written about it before — in appeals to the police, my apartment manager, credit bureaus, but I’m hoping this time, the story loses its impact and immediacy. It’d be about time.
*************************************************************************************
In the Beginning….
I first saw him in a bar on Fairfax in West Hollywood. I’d just moved from Chicago and a vanilla relationship and I often painted the town, trying to shake out years of boredom with the wrong person. I stood at the bar, and nudged my friend when I made eye contact with a startingly blue-eyed tall man from across the way. Intensity burned in his gaze, a fire I now know was fueled by crazy, but at the time, he was different, alien to all I’d known in Chicago, and that was all I needed.
A few minutes later he made his way beside me and ordered a beer. I passed it to him from the bartender and he and I began to talk. I learned that he was an artist, wanted to make a movie called “Acirema,” (“America” spelled backwards), shot entirely in infrared, using dwarf actors. I know. But at the time, it sounded Lynchesque and brilliant and so L.A. that I went along for the ride.
We ended up at his place an hour later, a studio apartment just around the corner from the bar. My friend and her boyfriend were waiting for me, so I made my visit quick. Just enough time to check out his artwork and receive a multitude of stolen kisses. His apartment suffered under a coat of dark green paint, punctuated with the infinity symbol splotched across the walls, and even drawn on the windows. A single mattress lay on the floor and books wound their way in serpentine, double-helix patterns between strewn clothes and paint supplies. Large canvasses slanted against every wall, looking vaguely Pollock-like, with a dash of Picasso.
My creative heart nearly burst. Why, here there be books! Art! Weird symbols on the walls! What more did I need to know? Turns out there was quite a bit more, as you might guess. But that came later.
{{I’m sorry…but this must be continued…not on purpose…but I’ve got to wrangle me some peanut butter-wielding kids… I do want to publish what I have though, because if I don’t, I may never write it at all}}
Part II Here
Part III Here.
Now that was just darn right ornery. I was just getting ready to put my pj’s on and pop some popcorn and *POOF story over
dang girlfriend, this sounds like the intro to a horror flick
This is like the “Who Shot JR” episode of Dallas! Talk about leavin’ em hanging!
Waiting . . .
Oh, for Gawd’s sake, can’t they clean up their own peanut butter? COME BACK TO YOUR KEYBOARD THIS INSTANT!
You are incredible.
You and me? We’re downass homies 4 lyfe and all, but we have to talk about this to be continued thing you do.
I have literary blue balls, yo.
WOW.
Hurry up and post the next installment, girl.
Gah. So unfair. Where’s the rest? You need a dog. They are really good at cleaning up peanut butter so you can spend more time writing. I have two, I’ll send one to you, I totally don’t mind. Do you prefer large or small?
[…] Intro to the Craziest Story on Earth […]
This is so cool… kudos for you to writing all of this, and double for sharing!
I remember the start of this story from long ago.
Ok I am hooked…
[…] Part 1 Here. […]
[…] Part 1 Here. […]
[…] Part 1 Here. […]
[…] I couldn’t answer. He bowled me over with his good looks and freaky demeanor, a personal turn-on that would later bite me in the ass. […]
[…] Maybe you decided to move somewhere. Or get married. Or have a child. Or not have a child. Or meet a psychotic starving artist and kiss him. […]
[…] when I was stalked and my stalker BROKE MY DOOR DOWN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, I felt bad for bothering the police. […]
[…] I couldn’t answer. He bowled me over with his good looks and freaky demeanor, a personal turn-on that would later bite me in the ass. […]
[…] ADT? I am ALL OVER THE SECURITY SYSTEMS. I was stalked. I will forever and ever amen want, need, and procure security systems. That one? A […]
[…] when I was stalked and my stalker BROKE MY DOOR DOWN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, I felt bad for bothering the police. […]
[…] 15 years ago, I was stalked. This person broke into my apartment, hid under my bed until I returned home, shattered my front […]