Melanie's Journey

by Michael Cross

  Odd, actually, that in grade school I was sheltered by my mother—we had been forced to live in a rundown section of the city when my father left, and all my clothes were from second-hand stores. I began to read a lot and watch educational television and classic movies. I was physically in poor shape and wound up picked last for any team activities in PE classes—and mocked for my lack of coordination by both boys and girls. It was not until the age of 14 that I had endured enough, and I began to bike ride for miles and jog to re-create myself. I wound up in excellent shape, but years of torment had left me angry and withdrawn. I suppose my attitude at least helped me to avoid the hormonal radar of all the immature guys who surrounded me in school.

  I continued to be ignored even after the end of my “ugly duckling” phase...perhaps because I projected out hostile “vibes” since I never forgot, nor forgave, my childhood years of torment, pain and bullying. I mean, even my love of fantasy art had made me a target of ridicule. I had placed images of fairies on my books and back pack. I guess due to this and my large eyes I earned the nickname “Elf.” That was minor compared to other things I had to endure. For instance, a boy moved in next door named Tommy Fitzpatrick. He was really nice and we wound up playing a lot in the third grade. Yet he was slender and shy and became a magnet for bullies in the neighborhood One day a particularly large bully came into my yard when we were playing and started picking on Tommy. When I tried to stop him he punched me in the stomach. Soon Tommy’s mother decided to move away for his sake and I was left alone again. I would often fantasize of tying the bully to a tree and torturing him! Later I would discover just how satisfying such an act could be in real life, and how easy it was to emasculate a brute.

  So yes, by high school I had the ultimate revenge of emerging with attractive looks and a great deal of intelligence. Maybe that was yet another “turn off” for a social life—I liked to talk about politics, esoteric ideas on philosophy and religion, and loved to challenge teachers. I had learned how to never lose an argument—how to size up a situation, how to read what a person was thinking, and, strangely enough, what they were feeling. I loved the thrill of using psychology to defeat people any time a class discussion began. I had no mercy on either students or teachers who thought differently, or just happened to take a stand that I felt was weak—even if I actually agreed with them. The fun was in the battle of wits.

  So while I would have loved to have had friends, I just did not fit in and people seem not to be attracted to those who are too different. Sure, I had a couple of “friends” I had met in my freshman year but they were both a couple years older and had graduated—leaving me alone, as usual. So when Mom approached me with the idea of moving I guess I had a somewhat “whatever...” attitude about the whole thing, and besides, one year in another school before graduation would not be so bad I supposed—it would not be long until I was finally in university.

  Once the move took place Mom informed me that she would be working long hours, and of course Gerald, if not at his job, would not really be much company in the entire transition. I guess the only thing I really missed was the mountains that I would escape to when I was wanting to take long hikes and just get lost in nature. I had special places only I could understand the significance of…yet I hoped that maybe I could find such places around Portland.

  I suspected that the first day of school would be really exciting—note my heavy sarcasm. When you walk into a fast food franchise anywhere in the country it pretty much looks the same with just a few different faces—and high schools seem built on the same model. When I was on my school debate team in my sophomore year I visited schools all over the Northwest and it was like they were all designed by the same planners—maybe in the 1960s some people involved in those Soviet “five year plans” escaped to America and were put in charge of designing public schools...or maybe not, but it sure seemed to be the case. This school was no exception.

  Here I was alone, armed with my new schedule, walking down the corridors and getting either no responses from the teeming masses of students, or those strange stares from students probably asking themselves “Who is that, some new girl?” or “Do I know you?” For the life of me this routine still gives me cold chills. What an artificial environment to force an innocent youth to go through in their quest for what is passed off as an education.

  Well, I do not really remember my first class too much except the teacher botched my name when she called roll—like that was a surprise. Just how hard is it to pronounce Melanie Freya Johnson anyway? Of course, after a few chuckles at my expense nobody bothered to introduce themselves. Everyone seemed more excited about some big game coming up, and even though it was the first day of school, the second period that day was to be replaced by a big “welcome back to school and let’s cheer on the team” pep rally.

  I don’t know, I think everybody who has attended public school in the USA knows what these things are like and how they feel. Yeah, everyone is excited because they feel like they get out of a class for free. Same thing in every school and every year I am sure. You get herded into the main gym and then given the same “welcome back” from the principle and the same show by the football players running out and showing off. And let’s not forget the same cheerleaders jumping up and down, as always in their little outfits, trying to hype everyone up. As usual I just headed for the top of the bleachers and tried to distance myself from the whole spectacle—“Just one year” kept running through my mind.

  As I sat there, a guy, about my age with long, sort of messed up blondish hair, came up and sat in front of me. I was hoping he wasn’t going to start a conversation, but at the same time I was really hoping he would. He looked back a couple of times, glancing at me but turning before making eye contact. Then, as the cheerleaders were doing their routines and trying to impress everyone, I was rather surprised by how he finally turned and started the conversation.

  “So...” he commented, “...you don’t seem to be getting into the spirit at all.” The way he said it seemed sarcastic and at the same time comical since it seemed he did it in a manner mocking this whole show. Then, changing to a more normal conversational tone, I guess, he continued, “I don’t really blame you much, I mean, what is the whole point in this anyway? It just seems to be a way to get the football team some exposure and let the girls on the squad practice their drills, and maybe catch some football player's eye.” I have to say I was taken back, he didn’t seem all that different, but he spoke in the same detached manner I thought in.

  I had to play the “devil’s advocate,” I just could not resist, “Don’t you think it is good to try to bring everyone together?” I smirked as I responded so he would know that I agreed with him but wanted him to support his position. “It’s sad then...” as he elaborated on his views “...that while other societies we call primitive have rites of initiation and rituals that truly bind people to one another we have top pop music, pep rallies and strip malls.” He continued, “It’s no wonder so many people are depressed or alienated...we have nothing that really gives us the glue to hold us together— things out there that could give some meaning, like religion, we see mocked nowadays. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not going to give you a tract from the campus ministry or something like that but...”

  I had to interrupt him, “Have you ever thought that these rally routines are the sanitized versions of when tribes, like the Celts, before a battle, the young women would strip naked and dance and cheer the men as they marched off to fight the enemy?” I waited to see what his reply would be to that! He merely shot back, “Hey, maybe you are right...” as he laughed a bit “...you do know that the word gymnasium means a place where you exercise in the nude in the original Greek so maybe you have something there....but I don’t think Mrs. Jensen will be getting her rally squad to strip naked, paint their bodies in blue and then do their drills for the student body.” I had to laugh and say, “Well, maybe they might do it over in Sweden, but I doubt it will become a trend o
ver here anytime soon.”

  At the same time I was rather impressed that this guy seemed to have some quirky knowledge of history and the like, and was not some clone, I still was not all that comfortable with talking to new people about anything personal. In a way I hoped he would just move on, but I had to admit I was enjoying this unexpected encounter.

  He then asked me what my classes were without even asking me my name. I let him glance over my schedule and he said, “Oh, you have Mr. Lamb for social studies, good luck...I think he gets all his opinions from reading the headlines off Time Magazine. A very boring class...and to make it even more intolerable, any time one of the basketball players asks him anything about sports he'll turn the lesson into a sports information session. Not that it matters anyway, you could take a nap in his class and not miss anything important. I can't stand the jerk!" The tone of his voice seemed to convey contempt, but he did not give any details beyond the apparent lack of competence the teacher had. He then went through some of the other classes. “Well, Miss. Green is a good teacher, a bit loud and energetic.” He went on and mumbled a few things about some of the other teachers and then came to Mr. Lindberg, “Hey, you have Mark Lindberg for psychology...way to go! We’ll have the same class together with him at the end of the day.” I thought that sounded good...of all the classes I had the only one that really sounded interesting was psychology.

  “Oh, by the way...I noticed the Oregon debate award sticker on your notebook, by any chance are you into debate?” I could not believe it, not only was someone talking with me on a deep level, as well as showing excitement about psychology, but apparently he was into debate. I asked “Are you on the debate team?” He gave me the look that said “yes” and also went on to say, “Mark, I meant Mr. Lindberg, is also the debate coach. I am sure he would like to have some fresh blood on the team—and we do take lots of trips to events all over the western states.”

  The bell then rang and everyone started taking off. He waved and said bye but still never introduced himself, or even asked my name—strange I would recall that but the more I got to know him...

  I kind of skimmed through the rest of the day until 4th. Period came and I went to room 27A. I saw the guy from the bleachers and he motioned me to come and sit next to him. There was a slender girl with long dark hair sitting to the left of him and she glanced over and introduced herself. “Hey there...My name is Nicole and you have already met Daniel I guess. And you must be...?” I responded, “Melanie, Melanie Johnson.” I noted that Daniel and I had not actually introduced ourselves to each other at the pep rally.

  In a barely audible tone Nicole asked, “So you’re new here...what do you think of this school so far?” I responded, “Well, it’s a school...just like any other—except there’s only one year to go.” She smiled and replied, “Oh, okay” and then she kind of peered at me in some sort of analytical gaze.

  Daniel came back with, “Hey, it’s not the worse school and besides, it’s what you do in your spare time that makes life exciting.” Upon that statement Nicole gave him one of those “maybe you should just shut up” kind of looks. In just a matter of minutes I noticed they seemed an odd pair—her being soft spoken and somewhat withdrawn, and him being more outspoken and extroverted.

  At that point someone came in and almost shouted “Okay class, it’s time to begin!” Daniel then whispered something to me about this teacher “not sucking” and that I’d find the class interesting. “My name is Mr. Lindberg and this year you will be studying Psychology.” Of course we went through the standard course planner, but as he talked something captivated me about him. I just could not figure out what it was though. Then he asked why the students thought they were there to learn psychology.

  Most of the students replied with silence, others smirking and others not paying attention in the least. Mr. Lindberg looked at the class and asked, “Well, do you think that people use psychology in everyday life besides Dr. Phil?” One person then said psychology was used in relationships while another noted something about getting rid of the fear of flying. He thanked them for their answers and waited for any others to respond.

  He then asked if people thought advertisers used psychology and then, when he had students more engaged, he switched to crime issues. “Well, what about the police? Don’t you think they use psychology to try to track down criminals like the serial killer you’ve been reading about in the papers?” I thought to myself, “A serial killer on the loose? Great! That might complicate my plans for exploring isolated areas.”

  He seemed to have caught most of the student’s attention—at least everyone was focused towards the front. Some students asked about how police search for killers. Lindberg then noted that there are patterns they look for, and that psychological profiles aren’t perfect but they help investigators try to figure out what kind of person kills in a particular manner. He continued about how one can even examine the victim and ask why they were selected…then about examining the scene for clues as to what kind of person would leave a body the way they did—even the location is important. The class seemed mesmerized as he described a few gruesome cases.

  He even tried to tie in the student’s interest in popular culture to the topic. He talked about how killers like Ed Gein, Ted Bundy and even Countess Bathory had been the inspiration for many movies the students may have seen. Then he started talking about how a movie archetype, especially those involving vampires or serial killers, may actually appeal to audiences due to hidden subconscious desires, or thoughts that would scare people if they gave them the chance to be analyzed in the light.

  One student asked him to give an example so he started talking about Bathory and how she ultimately became a major part of the inspiration for “Dracula” and the concept we hold today of vampires. He had everyone’s attention when he elaborated, “The portion she contributed to this genre was her belief that bathing in the blood of virgins would maintain her beauty as well as give her immortality. She would send her assistants out and get young women who she would then often place in cages suspended from the ceiling and they would stab the victims so they would slowly bleed to death. She would be underneath the cage showering in the blood draining from above.” He paused for a moment, “So how many of you watch vampire movies?” A few hands were raised. He seemed to enjoy the topic explaining, “According to a Freud, the pioneer many consider to be the father of modern psychology, the vampire is the part of our minds that we hide in what he called the subconscious. This creature is what we identify with on a primal basis that we would aspire to if we could.” He went on about Freud and some of the basics of the primal wants and needs that almost all people suppress and never allow to be seen by others. “According to Freud, our mind still has the animal urges dealing with sex and aggression. In fact, these impulses give us energy he called the libido. We are forced by society to ignore these impulses, unless given permission to express them, and this energy has to be channeled to things that are socially acceptable.”

  One guy shot back that Freud was crazy, and that he must have been some sort of pervert or something, which Lindberg to which Lindberg, as he leaned on the board, asked, “Okay, how many people here would stay in this room if suddenly all the ideas and fantasies of people here, your friends and fellow classmates, could come true for five minutes? Just for five minutes any repressed desires would be allowed to come out without inhibition?” Almost everybody laughed and said they would run out of the class if that could occur. Lindberg enthusiastically responded, “Exactly! Because we know what we are really thinking about, and we fear both losing control of ourselves and, more importantly, are terrified that other people are thinking along the same lines.” He then sighed, and looked at the clock, “I guess we’ll have to talk about Freud in more detail in the next class. However, before you leave please take a copy of the study questions” Amazingly, the entire class, even the loser kids and jocks, were totally caught up in what he was saying and patiently awaited the papers to c
ome to them, and even though school was officially over—a few students were still asking questions.

  Sitting there at the end of the class I had to admit that I was pleasantly surprised with how things went. For a while I was confused by how he was going in so many directions at once but then it dawned on me—he was doing this on purpose. He was juggling a series of sub-topics all the while orbiting his main objective focus. I had read about this in a rhetoric's book—it’s sort of a sensory overload that keeps the audience fixated on the speaker. It was hard to tell if he was doing this on purpose, or if it just came natural to him, but it was fun to see everyone pay attention to fairly advanced psychological insights.

  Daniel poked both Nicole and me and joked, “You know, I hope he doesn’t inadvertently inspire someone to go out and try to commit the perfect murder!” Nicole giggled at that, while all I could do was smirk and shrug my shoulders. Then I commented to him that if they did that would be their problem, not the teacher’s. Then I turned and noticed that Mr. Lindberg was looking right at me while giving one of those “I know what you are thinking” smiles, you know, the kind that are a mix of evil and amusement, and then he just went on with his discussion with several students. Nicole then leaned over and whispered to me that I had done a great job in catching his attention the first day. I gave her a “whatever” and she just laughed under her breath.

  I wanted to get home soon after school so I rushed to get my things together and leave. Nicole and Daniel had started walking over to Mr. Lindberg, but just as I began to exit Nicole called me to join them. I sheepishly went over and she introduced me to Mr. Lindberg. Daniel said that he thought I was perfect for the class as I had good insights into things. Mr. Lindberg then said he was anxious to prove Daniel right. Nicole looked me over again and said something really odd, “I think you have something unique about yourself…something that makes you stand out—I’d like to see if I am right.” Mr. Lindberg then apologized and said he had a meeting to rush off to and that he had to lock the room—so we all headed towards the door. “Melanie!” Nicole said as she clutched her books close to her chest, “I guess we have English together tomorrow—I will see you then!”