I’m currently teaching Nick Hornsby’s “About a Boy” in my literature class, hence the title.
However, this entry is not about my literature class, but rather about a “stalker”.
Used in the loose sense of the term, but it got your attention, yes? (mom, don’t freak out; really it’s okay.)
In re-telling this story I have to be quite careful with details, and names, and such. So, I hope you can follow along.
About a week ago, (remember the word WEEK) I met a guy. This was not totally haphazardly; however, for the sake of acrimoniously avoiding specific details, we will pretend I haphazardly met this guy. When I was still living at Katya’s he messaged me online, asking if I wanted to walk around the city, see the sights, so on. It seems that I have been asked this question by every person I meet, and they are always disappointed that I have already seen everything there is to see. However, this is an inappropriate digression for this specific blog focus… Thus, I eventually accepted his offer, and we met up, walked around, went to a café, sat on the Volga’s boardwalk, drank beer, and had a really good conversation.
For this reason, I agreed to meet again. We met a few more times before I really noticed anything odd. Our most recent meeting got really shocked me and I began to worry.
So, I met him and he immediately wanted to show me something. He takes down his hood and what does he have? You guessed it – a tattoo. It was horrible – one of the worst tattoos I’ve ever seen; perhaps I’m bias in this situation. It’s in Turkish (which he doesn’t speak at all, he just knows that I am studying it). And then the second word…. My name. At this point in time I just wanted to scream and run away; not an under-exaggeration. And folks, I am not joking – OH how I wish I was. I think I told him a handful of times how stupid he was and asked if it was fake, and he kept saying “no, it’s real! it’s real!” and then saying ” no, it’s fake, but maybe it will stay on for a month, or maybe one year, or maybe forever. so its real”. And he kept asking me if I liked it. LIKED IT?!!? WTF. NO! Within the next half hour, while I suddenly got “really tired and started to feel sick” he talked about all these crazy things, like going to America, something about the word eternity, and a lot of other freaky bullshit that made me want to gag. He asked for my schedule so he could know when to call and hang out. Yeah, no thanks. I maintain my own schedule, thank you very much. Eventually he asked me what window in the dormitory was mine. Why? He wanted to stand below it and sing songs. So I lied and then downright told him that he will not find out. Oh! and the other day, I told him I probably couldn’t hang out because I had a lot of work to do (this wasn’t even a lie!). I ended up going to a student concert/produciton and wasn’t home. I checked my phone mid-way through the concert and I had a text message that said “I am waiting outside the dorm for you.” Creepy? Anyone? Very glad I went to that concert.
Do you remember the word in the beginning? WEEK. That’s how long we’ve known each other.
Needless to say, I attempted to have a very STRONG conversation with him yesterday. I sat “attempt” because he really didn’t listen, or try to understand, and kept asking me these very annoying questions, and I had to continuously repeat myself, while he continuously refused to ignore what I was saying. Even more needless to say, I will be avoiding him for the foreseeable future.
So the moral of my story is… when embarrassing things like this happen to you, you can tell your friends about it; then your friends can use your story in their next English lesson, and draw pictures to illustrate the events.