Spitefic: Resolve, Part 1gehayiJune 9 2011, 15:05:46 UTC
Patch wouldn't shut up during the quiz. Quiz, hah. It was easy to pass one of those things; all you had to do was echo back Coach's sexist bullshit. I'd tried writing down actual information earlier in the year, but I'd given up after my facts--which were more accurate than anything Coach had ever dreamed of spouting--got me a couple of Fs. I'd had to do a ton of extra credit to wipe out those grades, too.
After that, I got the message. Shut the fuck up, little girl, and don't bother boring me with facts because my mind's already made up. Just repeat everything I say and you'll get an A...which, after all, is what colleges look for. Who cares if you've actually learned anything?
Oh, yeah. I was just a little pissed about this. And every quiz just made it more annoying. I really did not need Patch whispering in my ear, least of all in that mock-solicitous tone of his.
"Did you have a rough night?"
I could have told him--though I didn't--that having a car accident that nearly totaled my car and then mysteriously un-happened was preying on my nerves a little. But that was none of his fucking business. The last thing I wanted this creep to know was how rattled I was.
So I tried ignoring him--you know, what parents and teachers always tell you to do to bullies. It doesn't work, of course. Bullies don't think, "Oh, well, she's not interested, so I'll go on to someone else." Their attitude is, "Goddamn it, I'll FORCE you to pay attention to me!"
So I didn't dare wholly ignore the asshole. My car had been destroyed and repaired in seconds; my body--and my life--could be smashed just as easily, and there was no guarantee he'd put either back together so that they worked the way they were supposed to.
"You look so tired, Nora."
Amazing how much "tired" sounded like "weak." And "helpless."
Also, bullies often read someone ignoring them as fear. They're usually right, too.
If there was one thing I couldn't afford to show, it was fear. I'd been silent too long. Never mind that we were taking a quiz and we were supposed to be quiet. And he was crowding me--his fingers brushing at wisps of my hair and lightly touching the skin of my arm as I tried to write, his leg pressing against mine. All of it sending the same signal: I can have you any time that I want. You're mine, bitch.
So I spoke to him. I mentioned that I'd spotted him at the library. I wanted him to know that yeah, I'd noticed what he was doing, no, I didn't like it, and no, I wasn't afraid to call him out on it. I didn't want him to see me as a threat; I was sure he'd take out anyone who was a real danger to him. But someone who was aware of what was going on and who had the guts to say, "Leave me ALONE!" might be more trouble than she was worth.
Of course, then he'd probably move on to some other girl who was even more vulnerable and more terrified than I was. And the cycle would start all over again.
Damn, I hated this.
I got up to turn in the quiz, hoping that Coach wouldn't decided that Patch had been whispering answers to me throughout the quiz. Never mind that I was one of the best students in class and Patch's only contribution to class had been the sexual harassment of yours truly. I was a girl. In Coach's eyes, that meant that I was dumber than Patch by default.
I turned to trudge back to my seat--and got a shock.
Patch looked so...boyish.
I don't mean that he was handsome or had a nice smile, though he was and he did. It was if he'd sloughed off the bad boy jacket and put on a charming-boy-and-ideal-student suit. He looked like every parents' dream date for their daughter.
No one looking at him would think of him as a sexually harassing stalker.
His smile grew just a hair wider as he gazed at me.
Spitefic: Resolve, Part 2gehayiJune 9 2011, 15:09:03 UTC
I told Coach that I felt sick to my stomach and needed to go to the nurse's office before I threw up. All of which was true. I was getting such a creepy vibe from Patch that I felt as if I might hork up that minute. I guess I looked like that, too, because Coach let me go with a minimum of fuss.
I did go to the nurse, and I did lie down. But once I was lying on the cot, I called 911. (After all, I didn't have the regular number of the Coldwater, Michigan Police Department on speed-dial.)
Once I got transferred from the emergency number to the regular one, I spoke to an Officer Lewis. She sounded like a nice woman. She even sounded as if she believed that Patch was sexually harassing and stalking me.
The tough thing was proving it.
"Under Michigan law," she explained, "stalking is defined as 'a willful course of conduct involving repeated or continuing harassment of another individual that would cause a reasonable person to feel terrorized, frightened, intimidated, threatened, harassed, or molested, and that actually causes the victim to feel terrorized, frightened, intimidated, threatened, harassed, or molested.' That's straight from the statute.
"But that is how he's making me feel," I said, gripping my cell tightly. "He creeps me out. And he won't stop!"
"I know," she said glumly. "The problem is that he's a sixteen-year-old boy, and sixteen-year-old boys are known to brush against or run into girls just to get physical contact. They're certainly known for making sexual remarks. And no, that doesn't make his behavior any better. But it does mean that his behavior is within normal parameters for a teenaged boy. He's annoying, certainly--but he's not doing anything that most people--well, most men--would consider terrifying, frightening or intimidating. Quite a few judges and lawyers would probably say that he was trying to get your attention because he likes you."
"He doesn't like me! He thinks of me as vulnerable! He said so!"
"And that's creepy, yes. Unfortunately, having creepily bad taste isn't illegal. Or an indication of stalking." Then she sighed. "Look. I agree with you. I think that your intuition is absolutely right--Patch is bad news. And I think that your teacher is an idiot for forcing you to sit next to him. But he hasn't hurt you. He hasn't threatened to hurt you. He hasn't made a series of non-stop calls or emails to your house. He hasn't approached you repeatedly in public places or public buildings--and there's no way that we can stop him from attending school or going to the library. As far we know, he hasn't followed you to your house or camped out on your parents' property. He's creepy...but within widely accepted parameters for young and/or socially clueless men.
"Personally, I'd like to give him a smack with a wet barracuda and then tell him to stay the hell away from you. But he's not breaking Michigan law. Not yet, anyway."
"But none of that applies in your case. You're both here in Michigan. And even if you were in a different state and he followed you there...well, under federal law, it's not enough for you to feel harassed or to be afraid. Patch would have to follow across state lines with the intent to kill, injure, harass, or intimidate you. Proving intent to harass and intent to intimidate is tough; stalkers often don't see any reason for their victims to not welcome their attentions."
"So my best bet would be to hope that he tried to hurt or kill me?" This was insane. I couldn't have heard that right.
"That--and that you had video and audio records of him attacking you at least twice. Twice or more indicates a pattern of behavior, you see."
"That's. Fucking. DEMENTED!"
"Yes. It is."
Hearing her admit this didn't make me feel any better.
"And it gets worse," she continued. "Because he's sixteen, seventeen, somewhere in there, right? Well, stalking in Michigan is a misdemeanor. The penalty for the first offense is one year and/or $1,000 fine, and up to five years probation. He probably wouldn't get a year in prison--not at his age. Unless he hurt or killed you, he'd most likely get a year in juvie, and maybe a year's probation. When he turned eighteen, that record would be sealed. No matter how much stalking and sexual harassment he committed, the case would disappear. There'd be nothing to tell any law enforcement agency that Patch had ever been a stalker...and that he'd probably become one again.
"I'm so sorry, Nora. But there isn't a thing I can do." And she hung up.
I stared at the cellphone in my hand, wondering when my life had turned into a horror movie.
After that, I got the message. Shut the fuck up, little girl, and don't bother boring me with facts because my mind's already made up. Just repeat everything I say and you'll get an A...which, after all, is what colleges look for. Who cares if you've actually learned anything?
Oh, yeah. I was just a little pissed about this. And every quiz just made it more annoying. I really did not need Patch whispering in my ear, least of all in that mock-solicitous tone of his.
"Did you have a rough night?"
I could have told him--though I didn't--that having a car accident that nearly totaled my car and then mysteriously un-happened was preying on my nerves a little. But that was none of his fucking business. The last thing I wanted this creep to know was how rattled I was.
So I tried ignoring him--you know, what parents and teachers always tell you to do to bullies. It doesn't work, of course. Bullies don't think, "Oh, well, she's not interested, so I'll go on to someone else." Their attitude is, "Goddamn it, I'll FORCE you to pay attention to me!"
So I didn't dare wholly ignore the asshole. My car had been destroyed and repaired in seconds; my body--and my life--could be smashed just as easily, and there was no guarantee he'd put either back together so that they worked the way they were supposed to.
"You look so tired, Nora."
Amazing how much "tired" sounded like "weak." And "helpless."
Also, bullies often read someone ignoring them as fear. They're usually right, too.
If there was one thing I couldn't afford to show, it was fear. I'd been silent too long. Never mind that we were taking a quiz and we were supposed to be quiet. And he was crowding me--his fingers brushing at wisps of my hair and lightly touching the skin of my arm as I tried to write, his leg pressing against mine. All of it sending the same signal: I can have you any time that I want. You're mine, bitch.
So I spoke to him. I mentioned that I'd spotted him at the library. I wanted him to know that yeah, I'd noticed what he was doing, no, I didn't like it, and no, I wasn't afraid to call him out on it. I didn't want him to see me as a threat; I was sure he'd take out anyone who was a real danger to him. But someone who was aware of what was going on and who had the guts to say, "Leave me ALONE!" might be more trouble than she was worth.
Of course, then he'd probably move on to some other girl who was even more vulnerable and more terrified than I was. And the cycle would start all over again.
Damn, I hated this.
I got up to turn in the quiz, hoping that Coach wouldn't decided that Patch had been whispering answers to me throughout the quiz. Never mind that I was one of the best students in class and Patch's only contribution to class had been the sexual harassment of yours truly. I was a girl. In Coach's eyes, that meant that I was dumber than Patch by default.
I turned to trudge back to my seat--and got a shock.
Patch looked so...boyish.
I don't mean that he was handsome or had a nice smile, though he was and he did. It was if he'd sloughed off the bad boy jacket and put on a charming-boy-and-ideal-student suit. He looked like every parents' dream date for their daughter.
No one looking at him would think of him as a sexually harassing stalker.
His smile grew just a hair wider as he gazed at me.
Okay. That was it. I needed backup.
Reply
I did go to the nurse, and I did lie down. But once I was lying on the cot, I called 911. (After all, I didn't have the regular number of the Coldwater, Michigan Police Department on speed-dial.)
Once I got transferred from the emergency number to the regular one, I spoke to an Officer Lewis. She sounded like a nice woman. She even sounded as if she believed that Patch was sexually harassing and stalking me.
The tough thing was proving it.
"Under Michigan law," she explained, "stalking is defined as 'a willful course of conduct involving repeated or continuing harassment of another individual that would cause a reasonable person to feel terrorized, frightened, intimidated, threatened, harassed, or molested, and that actually causes the victim to feel terrorized, frightened, intimidated, threatened, harassed, or molested.' That's straight from the statute.
"But that is how he's making me feel," I said, gripping my cell tightly. "He creeps me out. And he won't stop!"
"I know," she said glumly. "The problem is that he's a sixteen-year-old boy, and sixteen-year-old boys are known to brush against or run into girls just to get physical contact. They're certainly known for making sexual remarks. And no, that doesn't make his behavior any better. But it does mean that his behavior is within normal parameters for a teenaged boy. He's annoying, certainly--but he's not doing anything that most people--well, most men--would consider terrifying, frightening or intimidating. Quite a few judges and lawyers would probably say that he was trying to get your attention because he likes you."
"He doesn't like me! He thinks of me as vulnerable! He said so!"
"And that's creepy, yes. Unfortunately, having creepily bad taste isn't illegal. Or an indication of stalking." Then she sighed. "Look. I agree with you. I think that your intuition is absolutely right--Patch is bad news. And I think that your teacher is an idiot for forcing you to sit next to him. But he hasn't hurt you. He hasn't threatened to hurt you. He hasn't made a series of non-stop calls or emails to your house. He hasn't approached you repeatedly in public places or public buildings--and there's no way that we can stop him from attending school or going to the library. As far we know, he hasn't followed you to your house or camped out on your parents' property. He's creepy...but within widely accepted parameters for young and/or socially clueless men.
"Personally, I'd like to give him a smack with a wet barracuda and then tell him to stay the hell away from you. But he's not breaking Michigan law. Not yet, anyway."
Reply
"Yes. But only under certain circumstances. A stalker can't cross state, tribal or international lines--personally, by mail, by email or by cyberstalking. And he can't stalk on federal land like national parks or military bases.
"But none of that applies in your case. You're both here in Michigan. And even if you were in a different state and he followed you there...well, under federal law, it's not enough for you to feel harassed or to be afraid. Patch would have to follow across state lines with the intent to kill, injure, harass, or intimidate you. Proving intent to harass and intent to intimidate is tough; stalkers often don't see any reason for their victims to not welcome their attentions."
"So my best bet would be to hope that he tried to hurt or kill me?" This was insane. I couldn't have heard that right.
"That--and that you had video and audio records of him attacking you at least twice. Twice or more indicates a pattern of behavior, you see."
"That's. Fucking. DEMENTED!"
"Yes. It is."
Hearing her admit this didn't make me feel any better.
"And it gets worse," she continued. "Because he's sixteen, seventeen, somewhere in there, right? Well, stalking in Michigan is a misdemeanor. The penalty for the first offense is one year and/or $1,000 fine, and up to five years probation. He probably wouldn't get a year in prison--not at his age. Unless he hurt or killed you, he'd most likely get a year in juvie, and maybe a year's probation. When he turned eighteen, that record would be sealed. No matter how much stalking and sexual harassment he committed, the case would disappear. There'd be nothing to tell any law enforcement agency that Patch had ever been a stalker...and that he'd probably become one again.
"I'm so sorry, Nora. But there isn't a thing I can do." And she hung up.
I stared at the cellphone in my hand, wondering when my life had turned into a horror movie.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment