just ignore me…

Last spring, I bought an old Smith-Corona word processor off of EBay. This particular model has a detachable CRT screen that I wanted, plus it was a good price and was also located somewhat nearby (about a 45-minute drive or so). I contacted the seller and asked her if it was okay if I picked the item up, and she said that was fine.

I made the drive to the seller’s house, and it was a smallish house in the nicest part of the city. The woman was very thin and nervous, mousy and afraid when I pulled up. Seeing that I was a woman (and not a very scary one), she quickly warmed up and let me into her house to pick up the item. She had two small children who were playing in the front room of the house. The girls were also thin and sad, but they also warmed up quickly and started showing me their toys. I was very familiar with the magnetic tiles and the Barbie dolls, and we discussed them for a few minutes. The woman told me a bit about the word processor’s history – her grandmother had written several books, they were novels based on stories from the Bible. She excitedly told me all about the books and pulled copies of them from a bookshelf nearby.

While we were talking, a red truck pulled into the driveway. It was the woman’s husband. As he entered the house, the whole mood changed. The girls went silent and retreated back into their playroom. The woman, who minutes before had been full of life, seemed to deflate.

The man stared at me and said nothing.

Feeling the mood shift, I picked up one of the boxes containing the word processor and accessories and began to head to my car. The woman grabbed the other, smaller box and followed. The children followed her.

We stood by the trunk of my car and said our goodbyes. As I was about to leave, one of the children grabbed my legs and began to hug me tightly. I bent down and gave her a long hug back.

As I pulled out of the driveway, I looked up at the front door and saw the children and their mother watching me as I drove away.

I’ve always told myself this: if I am diagnosed with a terminal illness, my plan is to hand everything I own over to the kids before I go on my killing spree. I will become a serial killer, and my victims will be men who abuse and torment their wives and children; men who steal the light from behind their eyes and cause a pain that is all to familiar to me.