May 12, 2005 - 7:09 pm

Talking about Earl the maintenance guy the other day reminded me of The Best Stalker I Ever Had. Pull up a chair and I�ll tell you all about it!

I�d had other, less notable stalkers over the years, mostly just the run of the mill stuff: a few weeks of daily Polaroids of a guy�s crotch in my high school locker followed by a few weeks of baggies of pubic hair (sexy!), road block signs or orange cones placed in my driveway every day for a week so I couldn�t back out without moving them and seeing the little love notes attached, a clipping from a guy�s big toe nail left on my drafting table in my studio with a love note underneath (super sexy!), a serious marriage proposal (in letter form) from a guy I�d met one time at a lecture, the Algerian hotel desk clerk who came into my room and left me a gift on my bed every day while I was out sight-seeing, the miscellaneous whining phone calls in the middle of the night promising suicide if I didn�t start loving them IMMEDIATELY (to which I always replied, "Promise?") You know, the usual stuff.

But the guy I�m about to tell you about wins the prize for patience and fortitude. And the best car.

It was just after college graduation and a three-month trip abroad. I moved to Atlanta, broke up with a really nice guy who had been waiting for me to come home (I know, I was restless), and moved into a fabulous apartment by myself in the Virginia-Highland area of Atlanta. I was �dating casually� at the time (read: lots of meaningless sex!) and free-lancing residential design work out of my perfect apartment. Just me and my cat. It was the happiest I�d been in more years than I could remember: man-candy whenever I wanted but no free-loading slacker hanging out on my couch when I got home (besides my cat, I mean). Ideal.

Anyway, one day I went to an art supply store for some drafting stuff. The guy who helped me was really nice and pretty cute too: tall, thin, dark, wavy hair, clear blue eyes, soft-spoken, the whole bit. A few minutes of flirty banter and suggestive eye contact and he asked me out. I said yes. He was putty in my hands.

He came to pick me up in a Porsche. I guess it was nice and all, but I don�t really care about that kind of thing. As far as I�m concerned, as long as the car is fairly clean and doesn�t smell bad and you can�t see the road through the floor, it�s fine by me. But apparently Morgan (totally not his real name, but equally Harlequin Romance-y) was ALL INTO HIS CAR. That should have been my first warning. He �picked his way down the road� (his words, I swear) to the restaurant at about five miles an hour so he wouldn�t hit any pot holes or reflectors. He parked WAY the hell away from the front door so no one would accidentally bump his car door. He even � get this classic asshole move � took up two spaces to leave extra room between cars! I mean, come ON! It was a ten year old low-end model, for crying out loud, not a brand new [insert fancy car name]!

I guess this should have been a warning, but I�m nice and all, and I cut people a good bit of slack most of the time. I thought, hey, if this is his one big flaw, he�s not THAT bad and maybe I could get used to it. Plus he had really big hands, and I was kind of curious.

A few more dates, a few more make out sessions (no sex yet � I thought this guy was really sweet and didn�t want to start right off treating him as a sex object) and I begin to realize that � how should I put this? � I wasn�t really�um, doing it for him. If you know what I mean. A girl can tell if a guy�s glad to see her, you know? But the thing is, he kept telling me how sexy I was and how no one had made him FEEL like I did. You know, kind of hinting that I WAS doing something for him, the way no one had in a REALLY LONG TIME. I admit it was sort of odd for me and I didn't know how to react. His lips said, �Yes! Yes! Yes!� but the non-existent bulge in his pants said, �Uh, not tonight.� But he would never bring it up directly, and god knows, I wasn't going to either. Fortunately the issue never came to a head (tee hee).

After a month or so, I realized that, besides erectile dysfunction, he had no plan in life other than to work at an art-supply store, and had no conversation skills or interests in anything besides his car. Not really a winning combination in my book, and besides (more importantly), I just didn�t feel that connection you have to feel with someone in order to get really close to them. So, one night on our way out to dinner I told him that I liked him, but I didn�t see this going anywhere, and I didn�t want to waste anyone�s time, and I thought we should end it now before things went any further. I said I thought he was a great guy and would make some girl really happy, but that girl would not be me. I also said I totally understood if he wanted to just turn around and drop me off rather than go to dinner, but he didn�t. We had a pretty nice time anyway, and that was that, our last date.

Or so I thought.

He started dropping by my apartment with little gifts and cards. He mailed me newspaper clippings he thought I�d like. Once he left a pot of scented paste or something outside my door that smelled up the hall of my building for weeks. He called a lot and hung up.

Eventually, though, he just went away.

Or so I thought.

Flash forward FOUR YEARS LATER. It�s New Year�s Eve and John and I are sitting on the couch in our house drinking champagne and watching the ball drop. The Girl and the Boy are both sleeping. The phone rings and John and I look at each other like, �What the hell? It�s midnight.� He answers it and then hands me the phone with an accusing look on his face.

Hello?

Samantha?

Yes?

It�s me, Morgan.

Who?

You know, Morgan. With the Porsche (swear to God he said that). Was that John who answered the phone?

Oh! Morgan!�Um, how did you�? Uh, how are you?

Wow! It�s so good to hear your voice again! I�m fine! In fact I�m better than fine! I�m an electrical contractor and I just finished the biggest skyscraper in Buckhead! I�m doing so great, you have no idea how great I�m doing!

Well�that�s�good. I�m happy for you.

You have two kids now, right? I�d love to meet them in person!

Uh, well�I�

You know, not one day has gone by that I don�t think about you. I never stopped thinking about you for one minute. You�re so beautiful and sweet and nice and smart. I don�t even care that you�re married. I�d love to take you and your kids out to lunch, you know, just to catch up and get to know them.

I don�t think�

You know, you were the best girlfriend I ever had. And you didn't even wear any make-up! (Not even true) I tell everyone that. No one ever broke up with me as good as you.

Listen, Morgan, (calmly freaking out) I really have to go now, but, hey, happy new year, and I�m glad you�re doing so great. It was nice to hear from you. See ya� later! Don�t call me again, kay? Bye!

All I could think was that maybe, just maybe, Viagra causes exuberant chattiness.

After I hung up and told John who it was, he accused me of obviously not breaking up with him well enough. Oh, yeah?That�s not what Morgan thinks.

I think I can safely say, �No one ever broke up with me as good as you� has to be the most pathetic line I�ve ever heard. And I�ve heard a lot of them. I mean, what did he think I was going to do? Leave my husband because he�d gotten a J.O.B.?

I never figured out how he knew John�s name or that I was even married and had kids. And I never heard from him again after that strange, enthusiastic phone call. But sometimes I wonder�

Is he still out there? Watching me from afar? Waiting for his moment to strike?

I pray I never find out, but wherever he is, I sincerely hope he�s happy and that at least his car is in good working order.

~Samantha

recommended:
reading -Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
viewing - The Postman Always Rings Twice
listening -"76 Trombones" from The Music Man

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