My Dear Stranger (17 page)

 
And that was it.  I crawled upstairs, barely able to move from the exhaustion suffocating me, but I made it to my old bed and collapsed on top of the covers.
  Lying there, of course I thought of my stranger and I actually prayed he wouldn't come to me.  For the first time in years, I didn't go to sleep begging him to come to me, or praying I wasn't alone anymore.  For the first time, I actually wanted to be alone in my drama.
  So I spent the night thinking.  Literally, the whole night I thought and planned.  By sunrise I know I closed my eyes and I remember I slept until mid-afternoon in my childhood bed.  I slept soundly because I was pretty much unconscious. 

 
If my parents checked up on me, I didn't know or wake.  If they spoke to me I didn't hear them.  I was beyond exhausted, but I had a good reason to be; I had decided to fix my life in the course of my night thinking.
   I made the plans, and I thought of my future for the first time in my life. 

                                                *****
 

 
4 days after leaving my apartment in a scramble, I made an appointment and I met with 2 of Patrick’s psychology Professors.  I told them I was SMA.  I told them ‘The Story of S’ was me.  I told them my life in short form.  I told them I was an unwilling participant in Patrick's thesis.  I told them I was the unknown subject of Patrick’s future career.
  I spoke about everything to the 2 Professors as they listened carefully, and I was fair, though through his betrayal many would argue fairness was not expected of me, I gave it anyway.  I gave credit to Patrick for many of his observations and diagnosis', and I applauded his tenacity in studying me for nearly 4 years of my life, though again it was without my knowledge or consent.
  Winding down our 3 hour conversation, the Profs did have certain hard questions for me, and I answered them honestly, though they both said I absolutely did not have to.  I chose in that moment to admit to many of my emotional shortcomings.  I admitted to the suicide attempts, and excessive alcohol intake, and even to the cutting.  I admitted to most of what Patrick described and analyzed, and I was remarkably calm throughout.
  Sometimes I was reduced to tears, and sometimes I was pretty shaken by my own honesty, and sometimes I almost drowned in my truths, yet again these 2 Profs were very kind in a caring, professionally detached sort of way.  They prompted me to speak without pushing me to answer, and it was good. 
  I think I woke up a little more that day.  Well, actually I woke right up and acknowledged the half-life I had always been living.  I woke up and tried to figure out a plan for my future. 

 
Dr. Synode, one of the 2 Profs even offered me counseling, either with himself or with another Psychiatrist at the University, but I declined his kind offer.  I even explained that because of this shock, I
was
going to make some changes and I was going to seek the help I needed but at my own pace, and by my own choosing.  And thankfully, Dr. Synode and Professor Willis wished me well and extended the invitation indefinitely, which was very kind of them.
  After 3 hours sitting with them, there was one last thing I needed to admit to them.  One thing that was crucial to my story.  One thing that had made me the adult I was.  So I did.
  Looking at both men seriously, I told them my stranger was in fact real and that I had in fact been having a relationship with him since I was 16 years old.  And then I exhaled. 

 
Waiting for either to speak, I felt like I needed them to understand that Patrick’s assertion that I was promiscuous AND delusional was wrong.  I told them I had willingly slept with only my stranger, and then I dropped the bomb- I had slept with only one man
until
Patrick.  I actually told them Patrick and I slept together once, and I told them the circumstance as well.
  To a stunned silence in the little conference room where we sat, I admitted that the very gay Patrick found me having a nervous breakdown, and admittedly, I wanted the connection, so he and I had sex.  I explained that though clearly he left that part out of ‘The Story of S’, I thought it was crucial to understand just how lonely I was.  I explained that though I was a physically willing participant in the sex, emotionally he may have taken advantage of me, which was further confirmed by his refusal to admit to it in his thesis. 

 
Finally, I questioned not only the betrayal and the manipulation by Patrick in attaining his thesis but the means in which he presented himself in order to gain the knowledge of my life which he needed to use, as the basis for his 4 year PhD thesis.
  I asked the 2 Profs if the means in which Patrick attained his subject matter was less important than the end result.  I asked if Patrick knowing I was a 'woman on the edge' was a good choice as PhD candidate when he was willing to watch someone slowly dying without stepping in or offering assistance or at the very least attempting to get me help- all so he could watch me unravel for his selfish need to attain material for the very thesis that could have killed me had I continued on that path I was on, even as Patrick sat back and observed me.
  And then I stood before I said any more.  I didn't want to destroy him, because I honestly believed he looked out for me overall, and because I was honestly grateful for his friendship.  A friendship that was absolutely dead to me the minute I read the dedication to SMA.
  And as I turned to leave, Dr. Synode stood and offered me his hand, which I shook with tears in my eyes.  Looking past him to Dr. Willis I thought these 2 men were really good doctors.  They could see what I needed, when I needed it.  For 3 hours they mostly listened and spoke only when clarification was needed, and they even offered to help me afterward.
 

 
When I left the room, neither Professor told me what would happen to Patrick, nor did they even imply he was to be penalized by the means in which he found and used his thesis material, but I knew.  I could see on their faces that each man felt anger, frustration, and sometimes dread as I relayed the story of my life to them, and Patrick's part in the last 4 years of it.  I knew he would be penalized to some degree for the betrayal.
  So I left the university.  I remember walking to my car in the early evening and I remember shaking uncontrollably when I sat in my car.  I remember thinking this must be some kind of post adrenaline rush or something, because the shaking was killing me.  Sitting there, I took my time.  I lit a few smokes, and I drank some warm Pepsi I had in my purse.  I sat there until I was steady enough to drive to my parents’ house.
 

 
And when I returned to their home, my mom was waiting in the kitchen for me.  It was 7:30 at night, and she was still waiting.  Looking at her I didn't want to cry so I gave her a lame smile and said, “It's done, and the Professors were really nice.”  And that's all I could say.
  Blessedly, my mother nodded and said nothing else, like she knew I was incapable of further speech.
  And that was the end of Patrick and my 4 year 'friendship'.  I did see him again, once at my apartment, and 3 times on campus, but I was very,
very
clear that if he so much as spoke one word to me I would start screaming, so he left me alone.
  I received one letter under my door from him which I found one of the times I went home for more clothes before I moved out of my apartment for good.  I received a letter, but I threw it away.  Amazingly, I actually threw it away without reading the content because I didn't care what he said, or whether it was good or bad.  I wanted to move on and reading his letter wasn’t going to help me move on, so I threw it away unopened.

 
Because of Patrick I had to leave the apartment I loved, and I had to find somewhere else where I felt safe, which was proving difficult.  Because of Patrick I trusted no one, though to be fair I never really did before him.  It's just his betrayal confirmed for me the absolute truth of people- Anyone can and
will
betray you if given the right opportunity or circumstances.
  So Patrick and I never spoke again.  I know he didn't graduate that year as he intended so I assumed he did receive some penalty regarding his thesis, but I know he did graduate 2 years later, a year after I should have graduated with an Honors BA, so I also assume he didn't have to actually start his thesis from scratch.
  And I don't know anything about him anymore.  I don't know where he ended up, or if he slowed down.  I don't know if he ever fell in love, or if he ever found a soul mate.  I know nothing, and I’m okay with that because I try not to think of Patrick if I can help it.
  Patrick has become nothing more than another name to throw into my hatbox.  He is a footnote in my history, and I need him to stay there.
 

**
***

  After the colossal meltdown that followed me with The Patrick Affair as I referred to it, I
did start attending school semi-regularly.  I won't lie and say I went all the time, because I didn't.  Between living at my parents, looking for an apartment and just trying to function, I went as often as I was emotionally able.  I went as often as I could which was a big step for me.
  And 3 weeks after The Patrick Affair, I saw Alexander Hamilton near the Psych buildings.  Walking from an appointment I made (and kept) with Dr. Synode, I was nearly back to my car when I saw Alex sitting near a fountain.  Looking, I remembered him from high school.  Looking, I remembered he was very attractive, popular, and always nice to me when our group of friends intertwined at various parties.  Looking, I realized he was still good looking.  Looking, I realized he recognized me.
  Smiling at me, I fought the unbearable urge to run from him and cover my head.  I fought my natural tendency to look the other way from a man.  I fought being afraid of him.  I fought being
myself
as I had been for years.
  With a strength I didn't know I possessed, I smiled back.  That's all.  I didn't stop and I didn't try to speak to him.  I didn't do anything but continue walking to my car as I left campus.  But I did smile back at him, which I was pretty surprised by.
  When I returned to my parents’ house, my mom was in the kitchen cooking dinner and she motioned to the paper where she had circled a few apartments for rent.  And I took the hint.  I had been with my parents for weeks, and though they were supportive and kind to me, I could tell they wanted their lives back.  They wanted their freedom, and quite frankly I wanted my freedom back as well.
  So I apartment hunted seriously.  I thought of the student loan I'd been granted for the summer session, and I tried to find another apartment I could afford.  I thought of how far I could make my loans last.  I thought of where I wanted to live, and
how
I wanted to live.  I looked hard for something new to fit the new me I wanted to create.
  And a few weeks later I found my new apartment, perfectly situated closer to my University, but far enough away that I was still a single woman living in her own apartment, instead of a student living in a student housing apartment.  I was close to school, but far enough away to be myself without being confused for a typical student. 

 
So my parents moved all of my stuff out of my old apartment with me, and my dad promised to keep Patrick away should he attempt to talk to me again, which he did.  I moved in 2 weeks after that because being a University City meant many apartments were available all summer while students broke leases from their previous year of school.
  I was enrolled and started the summer session so I had more credits in fewer time, plus a major distraction from all the changes I was trying to make.
  If I kept moving forward and was distracted, I found it easier to actually take these forward steps.

  And then I finally spoke to Alex.

  Alexander seemed to always be near me on
campus.  Well, the days I actually went to school, Alex was always around.  Alex smiled and said hello, and made light banter with me while I fought running from him to my car.

  Eventually, Alex began walkin
g with the security patrol to my car with me.  Eventually, Alex’s conversations made me give one or two word answers in reply.  Eventually, I began speaking back to Alexander’s conversations.

  And he was good.  There was something
so soothing about his voice.  There was something so calming and warming, that I often found myself silently listening to his tone of voice, rather than to his actual words.  There was something so lovely about Alexander Hamilton.

  After maybe a month of hit and misses, Alex finally asked me if I would like him to accompany me to all my classes, and I remember looking at him like he was joking.  I thought he was being sarcastic because of the bizarre inconsistency of my school attendance, but he wasn’t.  Alex honestly wanted to walk me to and from whatever classes I attended, and so a phone number was exchanged.

  With NO pressure, Alex asked for my
phone number and gave me his.  Alex asked me to call him when I planned to attend class, whenever that was, so he could meet me in the parking lot to escort me to and from my class if he was available.

  He asked
me to let him know when I would be at school because he was concerned with my safety.  He told me he didn’t like thinking of me alone in the evening on our huge campus.  He told me he thought of me frequently, and he wanted me to be safe.  He told me he liked me and wanted to know I was safe.