… It Ain’t Over Till It’s OVER.
Yeah so this whole confusing shenanigan went down over the Summer of 2001 and didn’t really ‘finish’ until late Spring / early Summer 2003; so many phone calls, so much emotional manipulation, guilt, drunken ranting and raving. Throughout it all I remained steadfast in my stupidity and desire to help. Here’s the most substantial thing I learned through the entire experience and something the vast majority of people need to grasp about themselves:
I AM NOT A TRAINED PROFESSIONAL! THEREFORE I CANNOT EFFECTIVELY HELP ANOTHER PERSON WITH THEIR MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES.
Her first phone calls back to me ran the expected gamut of emotions, first it was apologies, then anger, and threats, and extraordinary claims. I even got a call from her mom at one point going off about Cancer and stuff like getting together because of a major health issue was sensible.
My friends all made the reasonable suggestion of either blocking her number or changing my phone number. I refused based on my belief that she had to be the one to want to end contact with me otherwise she’d always continue pursuing me. Based on the efforts she’d already done (and would eventually do) I was right, even if it took the better part of 2 years.
Her biggest attempt at pursuit and reconnection was later in the Summer of 2001, probably near the end of August as 9/11 hadn’t happened yet because there’s no way the border would have reacted the same way a month later. Anyway, one fine day I was sitting down to start dinner in my apartment and the phone rings. The guy at the other end of the line identifies himself as a border guard stationed at one of my provincial crossings. He wants to know if I recognize LawLady’s fake name and maybe a little more light into the situation.
CRAP.
So yeah… I totally spill the beans and explain to him the scoop. Apparently she’d left some of her duplicated paperwork in her trunk including her driver’s license and registration stuff. Her brother had also given her a length of metal pipe to keep hidden under her seat in case she ever had to protect herself from road rage freak outs. To the border guard though, it was an individual trying to cross into another country with a false identity and a concealed weapon. Her original intent was a surprise visit, he assured me that wouldn’t be happening that evening, but that I might get a call from his supervisor just to validate the claims of the situation. I didn’t get called from the Supervisor.
Holy hell did I ever get some phone calls from her that night though. One thing I tried to stress to her (and felt that I got through with) was that there were no romantic feelings anymore, my trust was betrayed, it was never going to happen. I also recognized that she had to be the one to want to let go as well so I tried encouraging her to focus on her studies with the Travel and Tourism course she had started that Spring. It actually seemed to work and her calls subsided.
Or so I thought, apparently by the summer of 2002 the ONLY job she could get in that field was leading bus tours into the New England states and into my little part of Canada. Right….
It had been a year since the whole encounter, her calls had diminished, though I noticed if I was ever any kind of friendly she’d latch onto that and start calling way more often. I didn’t want to screw over her education and the effort she’d made to improving herself so I agreed to not object if she ‘had’ to work in Canada, but I was also very clear about the fact that I was not comfortable with seeing or having direct contact with her again. So long as she was only crossing over for work and would remain with her work then whatever.
Then one fine Summer day, pretty sure it was a Friday, I’m hanging out with my friend who actually did own a Celica. I remember we had to be back at my place for late afternoon since I was expecting a call from the border to say, sure it’s ok so long as it’s only work. Except the only call I got was from her saying that she was in line at the border and that it would only be a bit longer. So my friend and I head out and walk down to the corner store for drinks and munchies, hang out for a bit longer, and then he’s got to leave. Normal enough, then I notice he forgot his sunglasses on the counter, just as the buzzer rings.
Good timing buddy! (except he doesn’t actually feature in this story again).
So I hit the button and crack the door open and stick my head out, I was in a ‘basement’ apartment at the time so there were 3-4 steps to go down first before getting to my hallway. She wasn’t even down the first step before every lock on my door was fastened. I wasn’t exactly in fear of my safety I just didn’t know how to deal with her or how to properly handle the situation. I didn’t really want to go to the cops because it didn’t seem like ‘that’ serious of a situation. It’s also not physically possible to cross the border and drive a street legal car from there to my place within the timeframe of her phone calls.
So I took the coward’s way out and hid in the corner of my apartment before hiding in front of my computer with my headphones on (so I couldn’t hear her knock or complain through my door).
After about an hour of that I get an email from one of my best friends. Essentially saying, “DUDE WTF! I’m playing hooky tonight and tried to stop over for a visit and…. WHAT THE FREAKING HELL DUDE!”
Turns out he had showed up and tried buzzing my door while she was waiting in the entrance (secured building) and when she saw him hit my button she made some comment about visiting me and asking for him to talk a bit of sense into me. He just backed away slowly. Then a 2nd friend did the exact same thing, he played hooky, and had a face to face encounter in my building before emailing me.
And that’s when we crossed the line and went full retard. We could and should have just called the cops and gotten this properly handled but… that would be boring.
So one of the guys leaves his car at my place and gets into the getaway car. We’re talking THIS badboy of automotive supremacy.
The glory upon which you are gazing is a 1992 Mercury Topaz. That thing can go 0-100km/h in less than a minute or so and won’t start shaking uncontrollably until you hit almost 120km/h AND going downhill. It’s also got the widest trunk I’ve ever seen on a relatively small car – you can load a bass guitar in a hard shell case flat in, no messing with angles or trying to shimmy and wedge it in there.
So anyway my two buddies are cruising around in that car and one of them is using the ‘cell phone’ to coordinate a plan with me. We’re talking one of those old school half brick gameboy looking things with a flip piece to speak into that still needed to be plugged into the car’s lighter socket. She’d been stalking my building and parking lot for a while apparently, they’d try drawing her away so I could ‘escape’ but she’d normally just turn back. Eventually she took the bait.
And the chase was on.
Now I was still hiding in my apartment at the time. I only know what I heard through the phone. She was apparently driving parallel to them in the lane for oncoming traffic through residential streets. She’d cut them off at intersections, weaving in and out of traffic, driving over curbs; everything short of physically ramming the vehicles. Heck even my friend was somehow pushing that Tempo and its automatic transmission to the point of squealing the tires. Then it happened, they managed to get her boxed into a lane at an intersection that only went straight, and with the current traffic she would only be able to go straight until she found another corner.
So I get the message. “She’s stuck! GO GO GO! We’re looping around behind the grocery store, we’ll pick you up at the shady end of your street!” Seconds later I’m sprinting down the street, neighbors are probably thinking I knocked off one of the corner stores, don’t care. I’m more than halfway to the corner before the Tempo pulls up to a fast stop. I motion to my friend in the passenger window to open the back door. I’m thinking the less time I’m visible the better. I point to the back door, I wave my arms in a “OPEN IT!” manner, he gives me a thumbs up.
Whatever, those few seconds didn’t end up mattering, she was lost and didn’t manage to round the corner to see my escape. I laid myself down on the floor in the back between the seats and might have even pulled a blanket over top of me just in case. First stop was my one of their girlfriend’s apartments, I hung out there for an hour or two while they went back and got the other guys car. They also did a few spins around the block to confirm that she wasn’t still stalking the area.
Now in retrospect I learned that when she tried to cross the border again (for work) that her first visit with the falsified credentials etc. was still on her record or something. Either way, it worked against her ability to cross the border for whatever reason, and in order to fix it I had to give my approval, but if I was OK with her crossing the border then I ‘should’ have been ok with signing a letter from the border agency or whatever on her behalf. That’s not how it was originally explained and therefore that’s not how anything played out.
After that incident the calls went bananas for a bit, she threatened me with legal action to recoup the costs of her education because it was ‘my fault’ she couldn’t work, etc. It took over a year to actually meet her again as yet another ‘new’ person (3rd? 4th persona?) except this time where she was adamant about being ‘new’ I was able to trap her logic and either force her to acknowledge the façade that wasn’t nearly as opaque as she’d hoped or to leave me alone, win win for me.
I got the last call a few hours later. She asked me to hear her out first before saying anything. Then went on to claim she’d finally seen or experienced something to fully grasp my perspective, she’d finally burned the sweatshirt she’d worn when she hugged me and as a result had smelled like me for almost 3 years…
It sounded like one of those ‘empowerment’ support group things like when obsessive people need to make some sort of physical display to get over some sort of emotional issue. In her case she needed physically destroy everything about me to move on or something. Good enough for me. The last thing I said after she explained herself and how she was moving on was “It’s taken almost 3 years, it’s about god damned time. Good. Bye.” Then I hung up the phone and went back to bed.
----
But back to the night of that chase. From the ‘safe-house’ of a friend’s girlfriend’s living room, to the safety of a friends’ parent’s spare room; there was really only one place left to go. The safest, most secure, most obscured room in my area, that side room in the basement of my friend Jef’s parents house.
Oh yes, after a night like that the only place to go was… straight
to THE JAM ROOM! (I only wish I could find the jam we recorded about her - "BALTIMORE! BALTIMORE! WE DON'T NEED YOU, ANYMORE!" then my friend J-the driver tries to sing this high note and his voice cracks like he's a Muppet, it was a thing of beauty).