intro to abuse

           “James Martin” 

            I turned with anticipation, eager to see who was calling me. Actually, I didn’t know if I’d truly heard it because it wasn’t like a real greeting. Just a name. Maybe I was imagining it—trying to put what I wanted to hear in the air.  I looked and I didn’t see anyone except this black guy dressed in a polo shirt and loafers with rolled up pant legs.  Then I looked again.

“Kevin?”  “Wow!” I said with a smile.  When I shook his hand, I remembered the soft, pudgy flesh that came from using hand cream four times per day.  He had said he did this because black people had a different kind of skin.  Who was I to argue?  The only black people I had ever been around were a couple young kids who had dropped into our school for two months when I was in fifth grade.  His were the first male hands I had ever seen that were not calloused. 

            Kevin gave me a crooked smile. We’d been roommates at Iowa State for only one semester, and we hadn’t gotten along very well. It’s not that we got along poorly—we had standard roommate problems. I thought he was a bit strange—the hand cream thing, excessive enthusiasm, he was a city person—but what the hell, people are strange.  I’m sure he thought the same of me.

Kevin had the unnerving habit of staring right at you.  It was like he was daring you to be real, to tell him honestly what you were feeling. This habit continued till the present day. His can-you-be-real attitude was just the thing that made him intriguing.

            I sat down and his attitude changed. Now it was, “So how ya doooin?” with those teeth that shouted out at you and a movement of his body like he was trying to get comfortable in his blue jeans. His voice was entirely too loud for a computer center. I was thrilled. Someone paying attention to me, happy to see me, turning away from their work just to talk to me.          

            First thing he did was give me his parents’ phone number in Bettendorf. I wasn’t sure why. Actually, I could see myself doing such a thing—when I want to let the person know that they are important to me, to show that I trust them. I didn’t reciprocate. I liked the idea of the other person being MORE interested in the relationship than me. I wanted to see more investment from him.

            After about an hour of chit chat and, Where you been, brotha? he looked directly into my eyes and said, “Are you tortured?”

            “What? Ah…ba…I don’t know.  What do you mean?”

            “Ok. I’m going to be keeping score here,” he said.

            “What is this?  A test?”

            “Are you happy?” he said.

            “Yeah, I guess…”

            Then he said, “Catch a cloud for me will you? Catch a cloud.”

            “What?!? Kevin, what are you doing?”

            He starts counting, “One, two, three, four, five…” When he gets to five, he says, “Ok. Catch a baby.  Here, catch this baby.”

            So I did.  I kind of put my hands out gently and pretended to catch a baby.

            He says, “Ok.  I’ll change your score.”

            “Kevin, I don’t care about my score.”

            He said that he used those questions to judge a person’s capacity for honesty—if they were aware of their true feelings. 

            I thought, “Hmm, yeah, that’s cool.  It’s kind of cool, it’s a little cool—well, somewhat interesting.”  I actually thought those thoughts…that progression from cool to somewhat interesting.  He seemed to be the kind of guy who wants to get past all the bullshit that goes on in society—all the bullshit about impressions and trying to look cool and NOT talk about things. I labeled him a really honest guy.  I was thinking, “Wow, I can get along with this guy.” I was thinking that he would be okay with talking about really important topics.  He’d be okay talking about real relationships with real feelings, talking about sex and masturbation.  That was something I really admired.  …and I was thinking that he was feeling the same way about me—it was like fate coming down to earth or something. I know that sounds pretty dramatic—but I can’t deny my feelings. 

            After 2 hours, our butts were getting hot, sitting in the same place for too long. I knew I had a wedding in Des Moines staring me in the face, but I didn’t want our relationship to end right there. I didn’t want us to just say goodbye and never see each other again. 

“Where are you staying tonight? Do you have somewhere to sleep?”

            “No.”

            “Well you can stay at my house.” My mind was racing, and I was trying to keep up. I wasn’t going to be home…  “So…yes, ahm, you can stay at my house.” Here I was, asking this guy to stay at my place while I hadn’t asked any of my housemates or the landlord. I was living in a fraternity house that had been converted into a rooming house.

“James, don’t back out on this.”  He didn’t say it in a pleading manner, more like a command.  Like someone who had similar offers in the past that went sour. Did he have a history of making a super-pleasant first impression on people, and then something went wrong? “Go with your first impulse,” he said. “Do what you think is right.” 

And I did think it was right. Heck, my room was going to be open, so I’ll just let him stay there.  More deeply, Kevin may be just what I needed.  Here was a person who goes straight for the feelings. I would get my feelings out and it would be wonderful.  Had I found that friend that everyone needs? Maybe with him, I’d be able to cry. I had trouble crying and knowing my own feelings.  I needed to understand myself better. 

So we went back to my house, and I told him the front door code. I went up to my room, got my stuff, took my key off my chain and gave it to him. I was gone. He was there. No problem.  I had instant trust in this guy.  Why? Was it because I was searching for a friend?

            When I returned from Des Moines at 1:00 on Sunday, Kevin wasn’t around, so I was locked out of my house.  I was worried. He showed up 15 minutes later, so all was well.

            “How ya doin’?” I asked.

“Fine, all fine.”  No smile, and he drew these words out like one does when it might NOT be fine.

“What did you do last night?  Any problems?”

“You didn’t tell me which food is yours, but luckily, I found some.”

“Oh yeah?” He hadn’t asked if he could eat my food, but I guess I didn’t care too much.  When I told him he could stay at my house, I thought that he would just crash there. I thought he would do whatever he was doing in Iowa City, and just sleep in my room.  To tell the truth, I wasn’t even sure that I would see him again. We hadn’t made any plans.

What he actually did was sleep in my room for 12 hours.  I didn’t think anyone could sleep for 12 hours.  He said he didn’t feel safe in some places, and he could only sleep if he felt safe.  I was glad that I could offer something to someone who needed something. 

“You know, Kevin, I’m going to a dinner at 5:30. It’s a sort of church group—but I don’t think they are affiliated with any specific church, and they aren’t pushy. If you think you will still be in town, I’d like you to go with me. 

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

“Okay then, I’ll see you at 5:15.” Then I added with a smile, “Now I have a big project so don’t bug me.”

“Okay, no problem.  I have to go down to the computer center and you can pick me up there.”

            I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the last sensible conversation we had. 

            At 5:15, I came down to find Kevin sitting at the kitchen table with Patrick, a housemate.  I saw that he had made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of my stuff. I looked again at the sandwich—did he not remember that we were going to dinner in 15 minutes?

            “Ok, Kevin. I think I want to walk over to the dinner, and if we are walking, I guess we need to go now.”

            He forced a smile onto his face and took on a snide attitude. I got the idea that he was performing for Jeff as he said, “Well, James, I don’t want to take any of your valuable time. Let’s just say that we will meet again sometime when we both have time to talk.”

What? Is he telling me that he’s ready to leave?

            “Well, no, Kevin,” I said confused. “I’m to a very good point in planning my lesson. I feel like I got a lot done, and I’m going to leisurely walk for 15 minutes with you, leisurely walk back—”

            He chimes in with, “—and then you’re going to go right back to work, right?”

            “No I didn’t say that, and I’d really like you to come along.”

            He said again that he doesn’t want to take up my time. I said again that he wouldn’t be.  I didn’t understand how he could construe this as taking up my time when he knew that I was going to this place anyway. Eating is about the most social activity known to man.

            “I want you to come along.  I want you to meet my friends.  I think you are a cool guy. I want to be able to introduce you and say this cool guy is my friend.”

            He said, “Ok. I’ll go.”

            Thirty seconds later, he said, “No, I won’t go.” He added, “Your car doesn’t work?”

            “It does work, but I’d rather walk. I hate starting the car, using the gas, polluting the air…when we can enjoy the walk. And if we are going to walk, we need to go now.”

            “I’ll drive you over in my car.”

            “No…you’re missing the point. I don’t want to do that. I just want to walk.”

I was getting a tad upset, and a lot mystified at this point.

“Now, James, calm down, you are going to have a heart attack.  You’re too uptight, just take it easy.”  His mannerisms and attitude were what was making me uneasy.  He was acting like a psychotherapist.  He was putting me in the ‘bad boy’ spot…like I was the one who was out of line. He was acting like I was going crazy.  In fact, I was upset. I couldn’t understand why he was acting this way.

I felt like we were going around in circles, so I walked over toward the door. “Kevin, are you going to go or not?”  He never did answer, so I turned. 

He yelled, “James, are you mad at me?”

I said, “Yes,” and walked out.

It was already 5:25, and when I got outside, I saw the long walk ahead of me. I realized that since I was going by myself, I could ride my bike.  I turned toward the house, and there was Kevin with his head sticking out the door. He had a sweet smile on his face like I was coming back to him.

“Oh, James, I’m sorry. Everything will be alright.”

I didn’t respond, and walked past the door to my bike. My bike had a flat tire.  I got in my car and went to eat.

I wasn’t exactly fuming in the car…it was like I had just had a conversation with a child in a grown man’s body. What was it that he didn’t understand? We had agreed earlier to go to this place, he didn’t seem to have anything better—certainly not my peanut butter. I guess he didn’t know that when I gave myself the time to go for a leisurely dinner, I made the most of it.  I kind of carved my life into separate boxes. This was work, this was eating, this was fun time. When two of those, eating and fun time, overlapped—life was beautiful.

She already had a mouthful and was leaned over the table reaching for a roll. She had a no-nonsense style of eating. A loose-fitting light blue shirt with puffy shoulders and a bow in the middle. Such a girlie shirt looked out of place on a girl like Kaitlyn. She was nearly to the end of the food table, and she didn’t have anything to drink yet.

“Kaitlyn, can I get you some water?”

“Ahm, sure, I guess.”

I got a couple cups and followed her back to her chair. I hadn’t predicted this, but now I could put my cup down and save my place beside her while I got my food. She didn’t care if I sat by her; to have me hang around pretending to be her friend was nothing. This was just another in constant stream cool events in her day.

I brought my food back. “Oh, hi James,” I guess she had forgotten I was in the room.

I’d met Kaitlyn about 8 months before when I joined a group of people going to Chicago to help Habitat for Humanity build some houses. She and I ended up in the same car.

In the car:  “Does anyone have a bit of paper?” asked Lucy. “I want to get rid of my gum.”

Without missing a beat, Kaitlyn said, “Give it to me.” She took the gum, put it in her own mouth and swallowed it. This girl had just taken somebody else’s cooties AND 7 years of gum sitting in her gut. “This is the girl for you!” was the banner headline that spread itself across that day’s entry in my journal.

Since then, I’d had varying degrees of success trying to get Kaitlyn to pay attention to me. At the meal on Sunday, the people on her other side were much more interesting and entertaining. They were a step above me on the social ladder. I listened intently to every word that she said, constantly trying to find something to add to the conversation. I would always rehearse a comment or anecdote, but then if I decided something was good enough, I was always too late and the cool people’s conversation had moved on.

“I’m going to be in a play with the Black Action Theater,” I said.

Everyone looked at each other, saying nothing.

“Really?” said Kaitlyn. “We did B-A-T two years ago.” Then the conversation returned to the previous topic.

At this point in my social career, I was still aiming above me, and thus, I was in a perpetual cycle of failure and unmet expectations. I needed to learn the basic elements of relationships. Those with the least interest have the most power. When people don’t need me, but I need them, they choose the card game. I will do anything to please them. I will change my plans in order to suit their needs. They can treat me like shit, but I won’t mind. I will doubt my motives. I will wonder about my clothes—“What kind of image do I want to present here? Should I wear the t-shirt to show that I am laid back and unconcerned about my appearance (obviously false)? Or should I wear the new shirt with the remarkable buttons that will stick in her mind?” When I’m around people who have less power, I dress for comfort.  I hadn’t realized that I should hang around other people who worried about their clothes.

On the other side of me was Debbie. She was a nice girl, but she didn’t have confidence, and she didn’t carry herself with any sort of swagger. “Mousy” is an apt adjective for Debbie.  She seemed to be always near me, always willing to talk. She was my counterpoint to Kaitlyn.

Debbie, a person who has MORE interest in the relationship, is the old-faithful puppy that is always there no matter what happens. Kaitlyn is like a gorgeous prim and proper cat that lays on the windowsill in the sunlight just out of reach.  Debbie and Kaitlyn represent the reason God gave Man free will.  Without free will, the Debbie scenario, the conquest is not a challenge.  If Man was designed to love God, God would have no satisfaction when he receives that love, no feeling of accomplishment.  But when he has to work for it, the Kaitlyn scenario, the love is exquisite.

A pause in the chatter. I spoke softly. “Kaitlyn, I asked this guy to come with me tonight, but he couldn’t.  He was my roommate 9 years ago at Iowa State.”

“Really?  And you met him here?”

“Yeah, we just happened to be in the computer building at the same time.”

“What’s he doing?”

“I don’t really know, but he’s amazingly intuitive.  He tries to look into a person’s soul.  During our first conversation, he stopped, looked at me, and said, ‘James, are you tortured?'  Then he asked me to catch a cloud, then a baby.”

            “Wha-hut?” She had a way of laughing genuinely and infectiously, it made you feel like you were silly if you didn’t join in. A master at diplomacy, she never put anyone in a bad situation, or make them feel like a dope.

            “He sounds really interesting.” 

            “I’m glad you feel that way.  Many people would say that he sounds weird.”

I got back to the house at 6:45 and Kevin was still there. I should have come right out with what was on my mind and asked, “Hey, man, when are you leaving?” He might have gotten upset and left, and it would have avoided a whole lot of hassle.  But I had a sneaking suspicion that I was his Kaitlyn, and I had the power. 

Kevin was at the kitchen table looking like a sad puppy dog. He averted his eyes and said, “Hi, James.” Maybe he wanted to explain something.

I said, “Hi,” and went up to my room.  I didn’t want to revisit the whole going-to-dinner scene, and I had stuff to do.  He knew what it was like to be a college student.  Sure, I had been thinking that he might be the friend I needed, but with him acting like his shoes were on the wrong feet, I still needed to maintain some distance. Was he as interested in a friendship as I was? And if he’s going to act like a lunatic, did I really need that shit?

At home on the farm I had found some fairly clean boards without too many nails and built a loft for my bed. Down below, the desk was on one side, the chest of drawers on the other. The computer was on the desk and a single chair. I stepped, ducked, wiggled and I was in my chair; I had just enough room not hit the mattress with my head. It was cozy. In that position, everything said “study.”

At 9:00, Kevin came up to my room and knocked apologetically. He opened the door slowly and stepped in.  “Hi, James. Soooo…how we doooo-in’?”  He said it slowly, with a happy-happy cadence in the first person plural, as if he was talking to a child. 

            Without looking up I said, “I’m alright.  How are you?”

            “I’m good. I’m good.  Whatchadooooin’?” Again, he said this in a sing-songy way filled with cartoonish fake interest.

            “Well, I’m working on my lesson plan, like I’ve been doing all day.”

            “I just thought I’d come to see if you wanted to take a little break.”

            I thought for a minute and decided I probably could take a break, and maybe even should take a break. After the break, I would come back to work with renewed vigor.

            “OK.  Yeah, I guess I can take a break.”  I turned my chair and faced him.  “So what have you been doing today?”

            “Just hanging out with Jeff and Jenny, and stuff.”

            “Oh, yeah? You got to know Jeff, huh?”

            “Yeah, we’re good buds now. He told me about his girlfriend and how she’s coming up next weekend.  She’s from Bettendorf, too, you know.”

            “Oh, yeah? Do you know her?”

            “Ha, ha, ha, no, James.  Bettendorf is a bit bigger than Newell.”

            “You remember I’m from Newell?  I’m impressed.”

            “Well you, ah, told me about it today. Hello. It was when I asked about that Greg Johnson guy. You know, our other roommate?”

            “Oh, yeah, that’s right.  …You know he’s married.”

            “Really?  Well, I always thought that he would get married early.”

            “Yep. Married Lucy, his first and only college girlfriend.”

            “Where they at?”

            “He’s in Ames on the nightly news, talking about sports, of course.”

            “Yeah?” he said, “when did you see him last?”

            “Oh man, I don’t know. Maybe last year.”

            “You know, James, this is how I remember us.  We would have these little chats at night when you would take a break from work and we’d share stories.  You know what?  I think we have really begun something here.  Us running into each other yesterday was like fate.  Now I’ve found a friend. It’s wonderful. I think we can be real friends.”

            “Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I answered. It was amazing that he was saying back to me the same shit I had thought the day before.  But something wasn’t right. The question was the whole equal interest business. I wasn’t sure if we were still walking at the same pace.

My mountain of work climbed back into my line of sight.  “This is great, Kevin, but just like when we were at Iowa State, I have some work to do.”

            “Ok,” he said, and zipped right out. There was no transition between chatting about destiny and skipping out the door. I didn’t know if he was offended, or if he thought I was offended, or what, but it was strange. Whatever it was, I didn’t have time to worry because I truly had a lot of work to do. I was glad the whole dinner thing seemed to have blown over.

Later in the evening, I went downstairs to get a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  Kevin was sitting at the table with Jeff and Patrick.  Kevin was sticking his nose into Patrick’s stuff. 

“Hey, Patrick, what do you got for me down there?  You got some peas, you got some macaroni?”

“Don’t give him anything, Patrick, he’s full of bullshit,” I said. “What’s up here, Kevin? I don’t mind you eating my food, but what’s with asking everyone about their food, too?”

To his credit, Kevin ignored my stupidly insensitive question.  Then he jumped up and said to Patrick and Jeff, “Hey guys, watch this!”  He was talking like a game show host now. Nothing would dissuade him, always wearing a smile.

“James, come on over here,” he says and grabs my hand.  Then he puffs his chest out as if he was in a professional wrestling super-mania smack down.  I wasn’t sure where this was headed, but I played along and thrust my own chest out.  He stepped toward me and we butted chests.

To Patrick and Jeff, he says, “This is what a real masculine relationship is like.”

“Yeah, right, Kevin,” I said, and went back upstairs.