Chapter 5
When I awoke Monday morning, I had the adrenaline rush that accompanies the excitement of the unknown. I was not used to looking forward to seeing people at school, not since I was a very little girl. Of course, those feelings that I suppose a regular person should feel quite regularly are hard to experience if, as a young child, your excitement for life, dreams, and your feelings get crushed over and over again.
My anticipation was interrupted while I was in the shower however. For some reason memories of past school years flooded my mind. My mood shift-suddenly shifted to a combination of anger and sadness as scenes from my past came back to haunt me.
As I stood there, frozen in thought, the unpleasant flashbacks played out in my mind. Even at a young age I was different, but I didn’t see myself as odd or anything, I was just...me. Perhaps children who are beyond their chronological age in interests and abilities—even those from broken homes—can sometimes find a way to adapt, even in the face of the cruelty of so many children. I mean, I tried...but this just led to meeting other kids once or twice and then them never inviting me over again. Did I freak them out? It was hard to say, but all I do remember is crying when I saw children having fun together, making best friends and wanting to be with each other. That crying diminished over time—maybe it was adaptation, but even in grade school I was able to disconnect with my emotional yearnings for others; and in time it did not bother me to be left out anymore—in fact, it became part of my identity.
Then, as I got older, the viciousness intensified. While children can be cruel, there is a certain innocence in their motives…I mean a chicken doesn’t think about being mean when it attacks an injured member of its flock until it dies. However, later in grade school and middle school, a person should have a bit more reasoning developed—and not evolve from child to animal. Aside from the bully who attacked me when I was playing with Tommy, I noticed that most physical bullying was reserved for the weak or quiet or “odd” boy—girls usually just exclude you and use words to hurt. However, in my first gym class in 6th grade I discovered they can be violent too. I was quine, still slightly overweight and weak with no social circle—I may as well have had a sign on my back inviting people to attack me. The worse incident was being kicked and hit while changing in the locker room. The PE teacher had left the herd unsupervised for some reason, and I wound up brutalized thanks to her incompetence. She pretended to care when I informed her of the incident but nothing happened to the perpetrators. Some of the girls decided this was a great sport, so that year was a living nightmare and I can’t remember how many notes excusing me from PE I forged my mother’s signature on.
The abusers eventually found other amusements, but verbal taunts had become part of my normal day. And not just the girls either—guys too would pick up on my being different. Maybe I thought that when I got into shape things would change—and they did in regards to threats and harassment. Yet my ability to find friendship did not improve. I would sometimes get someone who I thought could be my friend, and give me some hope in this coliseum environment, but never was I able to really get close to anyone. Maybe they would find out who I really was and then take off. And if they didn’t abandon me in that fashion they would just wind up moving away. Maybe that’s why I just shut off entirely. Maybe that, combined with my weird home environment and my neurotic mother, encouraged me to bury my emotions so deep that perhaps they were irretrievable.
So there I was in my senior year—a new school, new house and new city. Overall, I knew school itself would be as dull and boring as I had expected it would be—except I seemed to have some friends to look forward to spending time with! I was looking forward to seeing Nicole, but I was disappointed that, due to class schedules being modified that week, I would only be in Mr. Lindberg’s class on Tuesday and Thursday.
As I walked the halls to my locker it hadn’t taken long to identify the same cliques and stereotypes that prevailed there as in every other school. At least I had English and Psychology to look forward to. I liked to speak and to write—maybe as a way of expressing feelings in some sort of passionate, yet detached, manner. And Miss. Green was really nice. Like Nicole had said, she was not near winning any Nobel Prize but her heart was in the right place. In years past she would have been the ideal “schoolmarm”—a woman who for one reason or another wasn’t married with children but projected her maternal instincts onto her students.
Nicole had informed me on Saturday that Miss. Green had taught for a couple of years in Eugene so we had something in common—and I was impressed that her first year of teaching was in Norway. Her experience was unique for teachers since it seemed most of them wouldn’t be able to find Norway on a world map. I had felt comfortable in her class the first week even though I hated fiction and had in times past actually angered a couple of teachers when I had shared my views. Of course, these were the type of teachers who would get all hyperventilated with pleasure over some “classic” book just because it was old, or because society’s opinion shapes had said it was an important book. Green seemed to be able to relate her class to contemporary issues and to real life though, which I found a refreshing way to present literature topics. At least I could stay awake in her class and she appeared to appreciate my insights when I shared them.
Before class, Nicole and I met up in the hallway and started talking. We did not realize what time it was and we wound up late to Miss. Green’s lesson—but that didn’t seem to bother her. She came over and tapped me on the arm to greet me. Nicole and I bet began to talk once the 15 minute break started. I mentioned to her that Green seemed nice and she replied, “Yeah, she’s pretty nice...I’m not really into English classes, but at least she gives you the ability to choose what you want to work on.” I mentioned to Nicole that she looked tired—she just nodded and said it had been a really hard day on Sunday. I asked, “Were you at Church?” in a joking manner, though I didn’t want to seem disrespectful or anything. She laughed and said, “It was kinda a spiritual day but in a weird sort of way.”
I was about to ask what she meant, but she went back to talking about Miss. Green, “I guess another thing I like about this class is that she tries to make it interesting, and she has a good sense of humor—you can joke around with her and she won’t get all offended or anything.” Then she added, “And in case you don’t know she was the assistant debate coach—she isn’t anymore, but she does teach speech for the freshman class and still helps out in preparation for tournaments.”
At that point I remembered that I needed to talk with Mr. Lindberg if I wanted to get into debate that year. I asked Nicole if there was anything I had to show him to join and she surprised me by saying that she’d already talked with him, and he was expecting to see me as soon as possible. She then mentioned how much fun we would all have on school trips to tournaments—again, I had to see how she competed in public settings since she was so shy most of the time. I also noticed that she seemed to want to avoid anything that came close to interacting with other students, except me of course.
Class was almost over and of course I had to go to History with Lamb—Nicole knew and commented how that really sucked for me. When English ended Nicole said she looked forward to seeing me later that day. “Likewise” I assured her.
When I entered Lamb’s class I noticed he was, talking with some of the jocks about last week’s football game. He seemed to really get into who played and who had made sure the school would win. It seemed this testosterone bonding session lasted forever, until he finally realized that he should probably try teaching something to his class.
During his presentation he started speaking about the paper he would assign people to start working on. He wanted everyone to consider some subject that impacted on American history and culture in the 20th Century. Then he started discussing the events leading up to WWW1.
The clock seemed to be at a standstill as he talked, and talked and talked for the entire class period, and this was a long block sch
edule school—four classes a day, all almost two hours long. Of course I had seen a few documentaries on the educational channels about the early 20th Century, and they made it all sound fascinating. I mean you had debates on which side, if any, the US should have favored in WW1, and a lot of behind-the-scenes intrigue that would easily rival a James Bond movie, as well as discussing a killer flue that killed more people than the war. Did Lamb talk about any of this? Not even close. I opened up the textbook and it was as if he took his notes from the study questions in the back. Thrills...at least maybe I could do something interesting for the paper I thought to myself.
When class ended Lamb reminded students to choose a topic so he could approve them by Wednesday, and warned he’d consider procrastination when determining grades. Walking out that door was such a relief.
Daniel and Nicole were on the same lunch schedule so they came over to me in line. Daniel greeted me with a, “How’s life treating you today?” Then he answered his own question rather ironically, “Okay, you just got out of Lamb’s class, you’re probably feeling pretty down.” I laughed and told them I was happy to see them. Nicole just smiled and joked, “Well, as long as you are still alive I suppose...after all, there’s plenty of people who can’t say that anymore!”
That seemed a strange thing for her to say, and then for her to give one of those “I know something you don’t” impish kind of looks. Her mannerisms and even her laugh seemed strange, even for her, but all I did was ask, “Have you been up watching slasher movies all night?” They both laughed and I just assumed the answer was yes.
We made our lunch choices and sat down together, and began a most interesting talk. Daniel started it off without hesitation, “So Nicole tells me you’re not only into her taste in movies but you are also into pruning the genetic tree of life!” A bit surprised I decided to see how far I could push this—it seemed Daniel just brought this out in me. I answered, “Someone has to I suppose...given a few generations and chimps will rival us for brains and social order!”
Daniel seemed interested as he tilted his head and looked puzzled, “So not only do you think films should depict clever people who do in those who weigh the society down, but maybe you would like to see that in real life?” Apparently Nicole had shared some of our conversations, so in defense or offense, I could not tell, I retorted, “I don’t know, maybe today’s society does its best to hinder those with desirable traits from increasing and goes so far as to allow those who prey on society to get away with it. Am I right?”
At this point I was still not sure of Daniel’s intentions—I wondered if he was just poking me around for amusement, or if he was really interested in what I had to say. Nicole jumped in, “I don’t know, I think Melanie has a good point. Maybe we could start with entertainment that promotes a more positive view in these matters, and then we could hope it would take root in people’s minds.”
Nicole looked at me and nodded in agreement. Daniel smiled and said he agreed too—he just wanted to see how I thought about things. He continued on the movie thing though—with a slightly different twist, “Here’s a question for you—do you think that the viewing public would react in a positive way if, well...I mean give them characters who are perfectly normal in every respect, and smart, but happen to be killers—for the public good? Might this confront them with their own hidden wishes?” He continued, “It’s seems that even in movies where a killer is likable in some way, and only going after people who deserve it, he is presented with some sort of psychological flaw or vulnerability. It may be like a cartoon superhero—people need to feel like life makes sense and the world works a certain way. So even if it is imperfect and flawed, entertainment makes sure to depict even a goodhearted vigilante as too far out there to identify with. Maybe if people took law into their own hands that would be unpredictable, and would play havoc with people’s way of seeing order, so they don’t even want to see a normal person in fiction doing so-called abnormal things.”
Nicole shot back, “Daniel, you are such a “devil’s advocate.”At that point I really decided to play—this time no holding back, “Daniel, have you ever seen some of those old 70s movies, I think, were some cop starts killing criminals—I mean in an unconventional way? He makes himself look vulnerable and when some criminal comes out to get him, like in a dark park, he kills them and just walks away.”
Daniel then just shrugged his shoulders and said he had not. I continued,” I think the plot is that someone rapes or kills his daughter and the courts don’t do anything about it so he decides to go shoot bad people himself.” Nicole sat her drink down, grinned, and commented, “Sounds like a cool movie if you ask me.”
Daniel got out of his chair and placed himself between Nicole and myself, and commented, “So let me get this straight, the cop goes out and attracts people to victimize him, but then he kills them. So, uh, he’s doing this for personal satisfaction as well as to protect other innocent people—you know technically he’s now a murderer, right? In fact, by definition he’s a serial killer.”
I had not thought about that making such a character a serial killer—I suppose they didn’t even have that description in the 1970s. I think they just called him a vigilante in the films. Then I looked down at what passed as a school lunch and let my opinion be known, “Well, maybe the world needs a few ‘serial killers’ like that in real life!”
I really was trying to shock Daniel in this little game, and see his reaction, but he just looked at me and seemed to be trying to size me up—not in the same way as Nicole, who almost seemed to strip you bare with her piercing gaze, but still....Then he asked how I would go about finding a “target for this sort of social ethnic cleansing project” while also making sure I didn’t become the victim instead. I flipped my hair back and peered back at him and said, “I could just make the determination myself who would meet their end—I’m a good judge and all.” At that point both Nicole and Daniel laughed. I smiled and wrinkled up my face and then Nicole looked at me with a positive, yet inquisitive, expression while Daniel seemed intrigued by my feistiness.
I have to say that for some reason I was getting slightly paranoid towards Nicole’s spoken, and unspoken, inquisitiveness. I was really beginning to like Nicole, but I could discern that she was constantly attempting to put me through some sort of investigation. I didn’t mind her looking at me like a cat ready to pounce on its prey sometimes, but all the time? Then, out of nowhere, Nicole leaned over and said “Melanie, don’t take everything so seriously, we both like you a lot.”
Her comment made me feel more at ease. Then Daniel remarked, “You know, you should share your views with Mark—he’d be thrilled to talk with you.” As he finished his sentence Nicole gave him a small punch on his arm. I had no idea what he meant by his comment—did he think a psychology teacher might find me an interesting case study in madness?
Then Nicole said that in reality Mark probably shared my views, and he would love to have someone to discuss such things with. I had only had a couple of classes with him but he already seemed like an outstanding teacher, so if he agreed with my views then all the better! I found his particular insights really deep, and the way he talked about just about everything was almost mesmerizing—even for me. He seemed to have some sort of energy radiating from him. Wow...there I was beginning to feel like a true Eugene native thinking in those kind of terms.
I could not quite figure out what was so special with Mr. Lindberg at that time. I hoped that he would let me open up and share insights with him, and that he would find me interesting— but not as some sort of subject to be studied, or, worse, merely some disturbed student in his class. I suddenly became aware that I was ignoring my friends as I was deep in though. I smiled, gave Daniel a classic “whatever expression” and Nicole re-enforced my feeling of victory as she gave me a look that females can give to each other when one of their kind has proven mightier than a male opponent.
Then Nicole asked if I was still on for Saturday. I remembe
r being almost embarrassingly enthusiastic about hanging out with Nicole, Daniel, annoying as I thought he sometimes was, and Mr. Lindberg. I asked if there was anything special that was to take place, and she said we would be going over some debate stuff, as well as anything else that might come up. When the bell rang Daniel said he would look forward to seeing me later—probably trying to make sure I was not irked at him. Nicole then asked me to make sure I was on the computer that evening—I said I would make sure of it.
Little did I know then that when I would log on after dinner she would greet me, and we would wind up conversing about anything and everything until about 2:30 that next morning. I was so happy to have someone to discuss things with, but I knew that breakfast and lunch would require an ample supply of energy drinks or else I would make a fool of myself and fall asleep in class—and Mr. Lindberg’s class was at the end of the day. I would not want to embarrass myself in any class—but especially not his.
Chapter 6
The next day, before I was off to school, Mom asked if I had heard the news that police had found another body in the woods. She said it was a young woman who was attending college across town and that they thought it was the work of the serial killer who had been killing women in the Portland/Vancouver region for the past year and a half.
Melanie's Journey Page 5
