Authors: Laurel Osterkamp
“Did her boyfriend ever find out about her and David?”
“Well, uh, actually, I can’t talk about it.”
Max raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can’t discuss Carolyn’s private life with you.”
Max took his napkin off his lap, folded it and put it back on the table, then placed his fork atop if it. “Oh, I get it.” He began in a normal conversational timbre, but soon his voice level raised, attracting attention from the surrounding tables. “I have to listen to her moaning while she’s getting it on with my roommate, depriving me of hours of sleep, but her private life is none of my business. I put up with your blubbering after you found out that your friend is more of a slut than you thought, but you can’t reduce yourself to talking about her to me. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.”
I felt like I was looking at one of those 3-D pictures, where if you let your eyes relax a whole new image will jump out at you. Out of the blue, Max displayed dimensions I had not noticed before, and I was an idiot for never having put two and two together.
“You’ve been stalking me, haven’t you?”
He was silent for a moment. But he quickly regained his composure. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice now low, “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s been you. All those phone calls, the notes, the little presents outside of my door.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. It started on the night we met. You know, that night that you said you were going to brand my phone number in your heart.”
“That was a joke! I make a simple joke, and you accuse me of stalking you! Jeez, get over yourself! Even if I was a stalker, which I’m not, I sure as hell wouldn’t waste my time stalking you!”
His face had turned bright red, and his neck was straining against the collar of his fake polo shirt. For a guy who looked like he belonged in a JC Penny circular he sure turned out to be a nut-job. I got up from the table, and grabbed my purse and my pillow. “I’ll find my own way home.” I leaned into him. “But you need to know, it had better stop.
The phone calls, the letters, everything. It needs to stop.”
Snap! If the world was at all just, everyone in the Olive Garden would have burst into spontaneous applause as I strode out of the dining room. No matter—I had put my biggest problem to rest, and exhilaration lifted me as a result. I went outside. This time we were in downtown
Minneapolis
, so I was able to find a bus without any problem. However, I had to transfer once, and I was still dropped off several blocks from my building. By the time I got home nearly an hour passed since I left the restaurant. When I approached my door I could see from a ways away that something had been left outside it. It wasn’t until I got close that I realized that it was a witch’s hat. There was a note as well:
I can’t imagine this won’t fit. Wear it and think of me, because you know that I’m still thinking of you.
My blood went cold. That was practically a threat. I turned the hat over and looked at the tag. It was from a downtown theatrical supply store, not far from the restaurant. Wow, he acted quickly. I started inside, ready to call the police.
The door was unlocked, and the lights were off. Had he broken in? Perhaps he lurking somewhere, ready to jump out at me. I was so gripped by fear that at first I didn’t notice there was soft music playing. I looked towards the living room, and saw two glasses of wine and the flaming candles on the coffee table.
I was about to slink away to my bedroom. I would use the phone in there. Then I heard smooching, followed by giggling. I recognized Missy’s giggle first, I had come to know it in the past few weeks. But the second giggle was as familiar to me as the back of my hand. In a burst of horrific clarity, I realized that the romantic evening upon which I intruded belonged both to Missy, and my baby sister Margaret.
I was paralyzed with shock and indecision. They hadn’t noticed me yet. Should I walk away? Which would be more uncomfortable, saying something now, or later? It didn’t occur to me that I could put off saying something indefinitely. Yet I was saved from having to make a decision when Margaret, who must have noticed the light streaming into the apartment from the hall, sat up. Whatever questions my facial expression may have been asking were not ones she was prepared to answer.
“Faith! We didn’t you hear you come in! How long have you been home?” She simultaneously jumped up from the couch, wiped her mouth, and straightened her hair and clothes.
Missy sat up at this point too. “Oh, hello Faith. You’re back from your date so soon? Didn’t it go well?” If Missy was embarrassed by being caught making out with my sister, she didn’t show it. But Margaret looked like she was about to cry. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.
“Faith, why are you back so early? Was your date very awful, or something?” I nodded my head. “That’s too bad,” she said.
Margaret and I stood there, each of us humiliated for different reasons. After several moments, I found my voice. “I’m sorry to barge in, I didn’t know....”
“Don’t worry about it.” Margaret answered quickly. She was still standing, and walked towards the door, shutting it behind me. The room went dark again, so she reached and turned on the main light.
“We were just hanging out,” Missy chimed in. “You don’t mind me getting to know your sister better, do you?”
Actually I did mind, quite a bit. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me so much. Was it because Missy was female, or was it simply because she was Missy? Perhaps I minded for the uncomplicated reason that Missy was irritating and unstable, and I knew that Margaret could do better.
Before I could answer Missy, Margaret changed the subject. “Why are you holding a witch’s hat?”
“It was left outside our door, not too long ago. You didn’t hear anything, did you?”
“No! And we’ve been here a while.” That didn’t mean they would have heard something, although none of us were going to point that out.
“Well, I know who did it. It was Max. He totally freaked out on me during our date, and when I accused him of stalking me, he became quite belligerent.”
“Did he confess?” asked Missy.
“No. But he didn’t have to; I could tell it was him anyway. So I left, and took a bus home. But it took me a while to get back because I had to transfer, and in that time he must have bought this hat, driven up here, and left it outside of our door. Isn’t that creepy?”
“Yeah, it is,” responded Margaret.
Missy got up, and took the hat from me in order to inspect it. I continued, “It’s from a store downtown, and we were at The Olive Garden, so all he had to do was walk over.” She didn’t say anything, and I detected she needed further convincing. “And look, there was a note too!”
I showed her the note. “It’s typed!” she exclaimed.
“So?”
“So! So Max went and bought a hat, ran home to type a note, then drove to our place and left this outside of our door, all in the time that it took you to take a bus? Seems unlikely to me.”
“I had to make a connection. It took me a long time to get home, so it’s completely possible.”
“But he didn’t confess when you accused him.”
“Well of course not, but you should have seen his face! It’s Max. Believe me.”
“You know what I believe? I believe you are still so stuck on Ethan that you are grasping at straws. You don’t want to believe it’s him, so you’ve convinced yourself it’s Max.”
“Missy, that’s ridiculous. If you had been at the restaurant, you’d know what I mean. Max totally started going off on me for no reason, he was creating this huge scene. Believe me, he has a screw or two loose.”
“Uh huh. And has Ethan called to defend himself since you left him that message? Have you heard from him at all?”
“I was drunk when I left that message. He probably couldn’t even understand what I was saying...”
“You can’t get over him, can you? You would rather believe that what you felt with him was real than acknowledge the truth.”
Her words interrupted my train of thought. It was one thing to have been rejected by Ethan, but I wanted to regard our one date as pure. I pushed my doubts away and continued on.
“Ethan may not be a prince, Missy, but I think I would know if he was a stalker.”
“Sure. Defend him all you want. I’m just telling you what I think.” I had the urge to slap her.
“Well, pardon me Missy for not putting much stock in your opinion.”
“Guys, calm down. I think the important thing to do right now is to contact the police.” Margaret had stepped between us, and put her arm around me. “Why don’t we let them know what’s going on. We can tell them about both Ethan and Max, and they can figure it out.”
Missy didn’t look at Margaret, nor did she acknowledge what she said. “Faith, I’m trying to help, and I’m not going to lie to pacify you.”
“Well I don’t want or need your help! It just so happens I am a very perceptive person, sometimes I’m even psychic! So I think I have a better idea about who is behind this.”
Missy laughed. “Get over yourself. You’re not psychic, and you’re definitely not perceptive. If you were, your life wouldn’t be such a mess. All you are is a confused, self-important baby who lies to herself so she won’t have to grow up already.”
She knew how to push my buttons; I’ll give her that. Hearing her talk was as painful as it had been to recently watch the tape of myself singing “Tomorrow” for the 7th grade talent show. My worst fears about myself were confirmed. But I wasn’t going to admit that to her, and I wasn’t going to give in without fighting back, so I laid into her, surprising myself with the severity of my words.
“Oh, and your life is so together, I suppose? When I look at you, all I see is a lonely tramp, so desperate for attention that you’re willing to do anything or anyone, including my sister!”
Margaret’s grip tightened around my shoulders. “Faith! Stop!”
“Shut up Margaret.” I shook her off. “And for all I know, all of these presents and notes could be directed at you. You’re the stripper. You’re the one who does phone sex. Why are we even so convinced that I’m the target? Because if either of us is a witch, then believe me, it’s you.” I began to walk away, but Margaret attempted to stop me.
“Faith, stop. We need to work this out.”
“No! It’s no longer my problem. Everyone thinks that I’m so self -involved, well okay. Then this is not about me. It’s about Missy. I’m officially handing it off to her.”
I stormed off to me bedroom and slammed the door. If I was being immature, then I didn’t care. I had had enough.
Chapter 16
So tell me Faith, what are your main goals as an educator?” Kristin asked me this with the earnestness of a child. I was at my job interview, and so far, it seemed to be going well. Ethan’s name had not come up, so I guessed she had not spoken to him. I was able to put the events of last night behind me rather well, and completely focused on the here and now.
I contemplated her question. “Well, that’s a hard one, because my goals as an educator are always changing. I mean, there’s the obvious answer, which is to teach the students something, to get them excited about learning, to inspire them to be life-long learners. Those are all goals of mine. But how do I go about doing that? My methods, you would say? Those are always changing, or to put it a better way, evolving. I find that each class is different, and each student is unique in their own way. So I have to figure out, I have to gauge how best to reach the students, according to what their needs are. Whether it’s stricter discipline, a more concrete lesson plan, incorporating higher expectations, or giving the students more input. It all depends.”
Kristin nodded her head as if she was taking in every single word I said. Kudos to her if she had, because I wasn’t at all confident that my teacher rhetoric made any real sense. “I completely know what you are talking about. That is so great that you think that way!” She twirled from side to side in her swivel chair, reminding me of a wood nymph. Her office was decorated in shades of brown and green, with twigs and pots of ivy emerging from every corner.
Kristin herself was dressed in green, a loose sheath of a dress with a matching scarf around her neck, and another one in her long brown hair. I had chosen to wear my usual job interview outfit, a gray linen fitted jumper with a white collared blouse underneath. I hoped I didn’t look too corporate.
“Because you see,” continued Kristin, “so much of Waldorf education is based on the environment. We are all products of our environment, so it is important that we establish one highly conducive for learning. How do you think you would incorporate this philosophy into your teaching?”
“Well,” I said, “I would have to do some research and get some suggestions from you or fellow staff members. Then I would set up my classroom, and as I was teaching I would try and assess how the environment was affecting both me and my students, and um... modify it accordingly?”
“Wow!” exclaimed Kristin. “I love that you’re willing to do research. So much of what we do here is dependent on the Waldorf philosophy, so it is imperative that you are open to that. But it seems that you’re not only open to it, you’re willing to do the leg work yourself.”
Leg work? Was I going to have to do a lot of walking while I did my research? I have never understood that term, but whatever. My job was to smile, nod my head, and pretend I understood what both she and I were talking about.