Archives for June 2019

The bell rang. Mom pulled up. I ran over to the car and hopped in. She turned out of the parking lot and began her usual play-by-play recap of her day. Our ride home was her opportunity to talk to a captive audience, and she took advantage of it.

I was in first grade. Life at home was pretty unsettled, between my parents not getting along, and my surly teenage siblings.

“So. First off, your sister tells me she’s taking a break from college. She and her roommate are going to open a jewelry store. A jewelry store! And not just any jewelry. SCRIMSHAW! Whatever the hell that is!” She continued on, giving a rundown of her troubles with each family member.

She sighed. “Well, Jane, at least you’re an easy kid. You never give me any trouble.”

Every day was the same. Our home was always in chaos, and the focus was always on everyone else. I felt invisible.

Mom turned onto Mendon Center Road and finally glanced in the rearview mirror at me. She forced a smile. “So, anyway, honey…how was YOUR day? Aren’t you excited? Tomorrow is the last day of school!”

“I guess so,” I replied. I sort of liked school. It was a nice break from home.

Then I worked my courage up. I said as casually as possible, “So…on the playground at recess today, a guy pulled up in his car and asked if I wanted to see his kitten.”

She surprisingly didn’t say anything. So, to fill in the awkward silence, I babbled on. “I was way at the far corner of the playground, by that big rock near West Bloomfield Road, you know? Playing by myself. So a light blue car pulls up, and a guy gets out. He opens the car door and says, ‘Do you want to see my kitten?’ And I got a really bad feeling, and I just ran as fast as I could back to the school without looking back.”

Mom remained silent. By this time, we had pulled into our driveway. Finally she said, “Did you tell your teacher about it?”

“No,” I answered. “I didn’t want to upset her, so I kept it to myself. I didn’t even tell the other kids.”

“Well…” Mom said, slowly, “…you did the right thing to run away.” She got out of the car, slammed the door and walked briskly into the house without saying another word.

I was confused. Why wasn’t she upset? Her daughter was almost murdered!

Here I’d expected hugs and kisses, relief that I was alive and well, and admiration that I was so smart to have escaped a murderer. Maybe she would even make my favorite treat, a rainbow sherbet-ginger ale float. But nothing.

Oh, well. Maybe she didn’t believe me. Fine.

The next day was the last day of school. I was at my desk, pencil in hand. Suddenly, my teacher came up from behind me and whispered in my ear, “Jane, I need you to come out into the hall with me, please.”

I complied. The kids’ eyes followed me as I was escorted out. The teacher smiled comfortingly at me. But I was thinking, have I done something wrong? I don’t recall doing anything wrong. I never do anything wrong!

She closed the door behind us. We stood facing each other in the dimly lit hallway. Now the teacher was looking more serious than I had ever seen her. More serious than the time Patrick Kendall pooped his pants in the Housekeeping Corner.

Suddenly, I was feeling really unsettled.

“Jane. Your mother just called me. Do you have something to tell me?” She waited.

Oh no. I knew what this was about. Panic immediately set in.

“No,” I coolly replied. “What did she say?” I bit the inside of my lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“Your mother told me that a man tried to get you into his car at recess yesterday,” the teacher said, her eyes fixed on mine. “He told you that he had a kitten he wanted to show you. Is that true?”

“What?” My thoughts were racing.

I couldn’t tell the teacher the story I told Mom.

Because there had been no guy in a car. I’d made it all up.

I’d overheard the news on TV about the serial killer in Rochester, and how he tricked girls into getting into his light blue sedan. So I’d told Mom the story only to get her to focus on me for a change. It had never occurred to me that she would call my teacher about it.

I now realized the full ramifications of such a serious accusation. The cops would be called. Under interrogation, I would surely crack. At seven years old, I wouldn’t be able to stall by asking for coffee and a cigarette while they played Good Cop, Bad Cop. I would immediately fall apart and confess to my lie. Then it would be all over the news. FIRST GRADER LIES ABOUT SERIAL KILLER.

All I’d wanted was Mom’s attention. How did it come to this?

So, running through all the outcomes in my little blonde head, I did the only thing I could do.

I threw Mom under the bus.

I looked my teacher straight in the eye and said firmly, “I didn’t tell my mom any story about a guy in a car. I have absolutely no idea what she is talking about.”

The teacher’s mouth got tight and her eyes narrowed.  “Jane. Let me get this straight. You are telling me that your mother is a liar. That she made this all up. Your own mother?”

“Yes. That is what I’m saying,” I said firmly, with all the confidence I can muster. “My Mom lies all the time. Ask anyone.” I rolled my eyes.

The teacher frowned and put her hands on her hips. “All right. I’ll be discussing this further with your mother. You can go back to your desk.”

I was red in the face, sweating profusely. I sat down hard, smoothing out my plaid skirt, and stared blankly at my math book. I jammed my pencil into the palm of my hand and read the same problem over and over as I tried to figure out how I was going to get out of this one with Mom.

My Mom could be really scary for absolutely no reason. And I’d just given her a really big reason.

That day was the longest day of my life. Watching the clock. Tick tock, tick tock. The bell finally rang for the last time of the school year.

I walked as slowly as possible toward Mom’s car. She leaned over and glared at me menacingly. I was really in for it. I’d never been so scared.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guy in the light blue car pull up. He smiled broadly. I ran over to his car, and hopped in.

Dear Dad,

Another Father’s Day has come and gone and it’s almost time for bed.

Remember how every night you would read me a story and tuck me in? And every night, just as you were closing my bedroom door behind you, I would ask, “Daddy, can I please have a glass of water?” And you laughed, and trudged off to get me a glass of water?

Remember how every night I would fall out of bed onto the hardwood floor? And not even wake up? And you laughed and put pillows all over the floor to cushion the falls?

Remember how you would take me places at night and I’d always fall asleep in the car on the way home? And then wake up in my own bed? And when I asked you how I got there, you laughed and said, “I don’t know”?

Remember later, at the very end, when I crawled into your hospital bed and held your hand? And read you stories to keep your mind off things? And you laughed and said, “Who would have thought it would end up like this?”

He could be blonde. Maybe a redhead. In any case, he’d be smart to capitalize on a goofy smile. Even better, have one arm in a sling.

Whoever he is, I am on the lookout for him. And I will find him. Because the best way to find the Craigslist Killer is to post 67 items at a time on Craigslist, sit back, and wait patiently for him to show up.

How this all started

When my kids left for college, I decided to put my house up for sale.  I had a lot of stuff I had to get rid of. I figured I would just give it all to Goodwill. Then my friend said, “Why don’t you sell your things on Craigslist? I’ve had a lot of luck using Craigslist.”

“No way,” I replied. “I don’t want to deal with strangers who might kill me. Not to mention, I can’t stand it when people try to haggle. And anyway, who would want my old stuff? It’s just not worth the trouble. Especially the getting killed part.”

He laughed and said, “Literally, I have sold ROCKS on Craigslist. For a dollar apiece. ROCKS. I have made hundreds and hundreds of dollars. You should try Craigslist.” (Note: he has also managed to sell a boatload of broken mirrors.)

Anyway, he was right. I highly encourage you to sell practically everything you own, on Craigslist, right this very minute.

Not on Facebook Marketplace where all your Facebook Friends will judge you because they all saw that you are trying to sell a half-completed crossword puzzle book for $3. On Craigslist, where you can anonymously post all sorts of strange things, and no one will know it’s you.

As I wait for the killer to arrive, I’d like to share some insight with you.

Five Steps for Selling Your Crap on Craigslist

1. Carefully evaluate every single thing in your home. Picture the thing in your left hand, and the money you could get for the thing in your right hand.
2. Fantasizing about all that cold hard cash, decide it can all go. If you end up needing any of the stuff later, you’ll just buy duplicates.
3. Take photos of each item from its most flattering perspective. To ensure a fast sale, when taking the photo, put a puppy next to the item.
4. To determine a competitive price, Google the name of the thing plus “Craigslist” to see what it’s selling for elsewhere, e.g., “1950s Scary Clown Doll With Missing Eye Craigslist.” Then price the thing higher than what it’s worth, so buyers think they are getting a deal.
5. If you’re a girl, when you get a Craigslist inquiry, PRETEND YOU ARE A GUY. Even if the person inquiring indicates that they are female.

#5 is super important so I’d like to give you girls an example of how to pretend you are a guy.

Inquiry Text from Possible Craigslist Killer:

“Is the woman’s mountain bike that was only used once still available? I’m interested in buying it for my wife.”

My Text Reply:

“Yes. The bike was my wife’s, but she died. Not while she was riding the bike. The day after. Anyway, so I’m a guy, like I said, and if you want to see the bike, I just have to check with my boyfriend to see when he can come over so you don’t kill me when you come to pretend to buy the bike when you are really just coming over to kill me let me know a good time and I’ll get back to you.”

So, months into this project, I have sold nearly 100 items. I’m still waiting for my Killer. But sorting through the garage tonight, I found an axe.

I just posted it on Craigslist. And I’m feeling lucky.

I am sprawled on a riverbank in the pouring rain, face down in the dirt. Hundreds of buzzing black flies swarm me. They burrow into my hair, bite my hands, crawl up my shirt. This has been going on for hours. I have resigned myself to waiting patiently for the end to come.

No, I am not the victim of a serial killer. Although given the circumstances, death has become a more attractive alternative.

Let’s rewind.

The Beginning

When we met, he told me that he “loved the outdoors.” I replied enthusiastically, “So do I!” We smiled. We’d made a connection.

In retrospect, I could have been more clear about what I meant by “loving the outdoors.”

Yes, I loved the outdoors—under very specific conditions.

It had to be sunny. Temperature between 64 and 72 degrees. Wind under 10 miles an hour. And below 50% humidity.

In my hometown of Rochester, New York, this criteria narrowed my time outdoors to about 4 days of the year.

Those days when I was able to tolerate it outside, I preferred to assume a prone position. Such as on a chaise lounge by the pool, enjoying a cocktail. Or on a chaise lounge on the patio, enjoying a book. Or on a chaise lounge in the yard, enjoying a nap.

So I suspected he might be a little more outdoorsy than I was. But I thought about how I always sort of wanted to be that granola girl in her Subaru who’d pass me on the Thruway with the wind in her hair, her brightly colored kayak on the roof rack, and an ADK sticker on the back.

How hard could it be to learn to be outdoorsy, right?

Ha ha ha ha.

Summer

As our relationship progressed and the warm weather neared, we decided to go on a vacation together. He said, “There are so many great places to go. There’s the wilderness of Maine, the wilderness of the Adirondacks, the wilderness of Central Canada, or the wilderness of British Columbia.”

I said, “How about L.A., Chicago, or New York City?”

So when we arrived in the most remote part of British Columbia, first thing on the agenda, of course, was going for a hike. As we disembarked from our vehicle, I was alarmed to come upon a big sign with warnings about bears. Not just black bears. Grizzly bears. This sent me into a reeling panic. I’d seen the documentary Grizzly Man and it had really stuck with me, especially all the screaming at the end.

He said reassuringly, “Don’t worry. We just have to make a lot of noise to keep them away. And we have to avoid berry bushes, where they feed. I have bear repellent, too.”

Bear repellent? I didn’t know there was such a thing. The guy in the Grizzly Man documentary sure could have used some. Maybe he didn’t know about it. Anyway, WE had some bear repellent, and that was quite a relief.

Midway through the hike, he handed me the bear repellent. It looked like a small, white fire extinguisher.

I said, “So, I just spray this all over myself, like bug spray, right?”

He laughed. “No, goofy. Read the instructions.”

They read:

WAIT UNTIL BEAR IS WITHIN TEN FEET. SPRAY REPELLENT DIRECTLY AT THE BEAR. BEAR WILL APPROACH VERY QUICKLY. DO NOT RUN AWAY. THE BEAR WILL CHASE YOU.

Ha ha ha ha.

Fall

He said, “How about we get away for a while?” I said, “Sure!”

He said, “How about the mountains?”

I said, “How about Boston?”

So when we got to the cabin in the woods, I settled in to read a book and look at the pond, but was soon plopped into a boat. We ended up spending the entire time hiking and fishing. The days seemed to last forever.

But then one day, he said, “Let’s go to the ‘Lodge.’” I couldn’t believe it. He was actually going to take me to civilization! A restaurant, and probably a gift shop! I was psyched. I dressed up.

As we disembarked from the vehicle, I was surprised to see that we were at the foot of a mountain. We hiked up the trail to what I thought would be the gift shop. The trail went on an awfully long time and got steeper and steeper. I didn’t get to see much of nature’s beauty, as I was unable to look up from watching my feet. It was a challenge to remain upright amongst all the precarious tree roots and rocks. I was sweating through my dress clothes.

A couple hours later, just when I didn’t think I could walk any further, we reached the top of the mountain. We were standing in the middle of a beautiful meadow.

I asked, “Where’s the Gift Shop?”

He responded, “What Gift Shop?”

I frowned. “You said we were going to the Lodge. I thought that was a gift shop. That’s why I am dressed like this, with a nice blouse and jewelry on and my hair done.”

He laughed and said, “No, this mountain trail is called ‘The Loj.’ L-O-J, pronounced ‘Lodge’. This is just a mountain.”

Ha ha ha ha.

Winter

I thought I might be safe from the outdoors during the winter. Who goes outdoors on purpose in the winter in upstate New York?

One day, he said, “How about we go on a winter hike?”

I said, “How about we go to the movies?”

So we drove south for quite a ways, then pulled into a trailhead parking lot. As we disembarked from the vehicle, I was taken aback to see a steep hill looming above us.

He looked up and observed, “That’s the trail, but looks like it’s a sheet of ice today.” He paused.

I waited for him to say, “So, we’ll have to get in the car and go back home.”

But he continued cheerily, “So, instead, we’ll have to walk alongside the trail in the snow. Watch out, the snow’s pretty deep!”

Ha ha ha ha.

Spring

We decided to go for a long weekend getaway.

I said, “Where should we go?”

He said, “How about fishing?”

I said, “How about the historic city of Savannah, Georgia?”

So when we got to the river, we disembarked from the vehicle, and it began to pour. Black flies immediately attacked us, aggressively trying to bite us and even our vehicle. We put rain jackets and headnets on, and headed off to wade in the river to look for trout.

We made our way down the long, steep hill to the river, losing our balance a few times. We finally reached the riverbank. It had rained a lot, and the water rushed by. The river bottom was covered with big, slippery rocks. I knew there was no way I could keep my balance and try to cast a line. I told him to go ahead and fish as long as he wanted, and I would wait for him. Soon, he was out of sight.

I am sprawled on a riverbank in the pouring rain, face down in the dirt. Hundreds of buzzing black flies swarm me. They burrow into my hair, bite my hands, crawl up my shirt. This has been going on for hours. I have resigned myself to waiting patiently for the end to come.

Ha ha ha ha.