The Rise & Fall of Neobius

[bar Jonah]

My youngest brother, Rob, frequents a message board for first-person shooter gaming. Over the past few weeks, he has taken it upon himself to set down a significant portion of his troubled life. This story has its ups and downs, its joys and its sheer terrors. Some parts of his story are soul-shattering.

Now, I have decided to bring his shocking story to TW. I have compiled everything so far into a Word doc, and now that he is a few posts away from the end of his story, the whole thing so far makes for over 60 pages, in Verdana, font size 10.

Buckle your seat belts, and do not stand while the roller coaster is moving (unless you want your block knocked off.)

[I have made minor formatting changes and removed a couple of words that would violate board rules, but otherwise, everything not in green is straight from the horse’s mouth.]

P.S. By all means, respond to this thread in any and every way appropriate!

[bar Jonah]

You might say this is a Reader's Digest version of my life, mostly about the last few years... years that have changed me forever. I'm reminded of a quote from Amy Lee of Evanescence (my favorite band):

"Sometimes pain can be a beautiful thing, because without it, how can we grow?"

As I post the pieces of this story into this thread, I encourage anyone to reply with anything they have to say, comments, questions, etc.

I'll begin by giving you a little background from my childhood (this starts out boring as heck, I know, but please bear with me):

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I was born the youngest of three boys in Texas, but my family moved to Denver, Colorado, when I was only a year old. Here, we lived for just a few years until I was about five or six (halfway through first grade, I remember). It was then (for good reason) that my parents decided we would all move to western Colorado (the “Western Slope”), to live outside the small town of Montrose (maybe a population of 15,000 or less), and the three of us (myself, and my two older brothers) would continue our schooling at home.

My parents hit the used bookstores in town, and bought us some old textbooks from various grade levels for us to use. Although they did set up a structured system for us (year-round, four hours a day, one hour on each subject), they encouraged us to proactively pursue our own education. If ever we had a question, of course they were always there, and always helped as good parents do, but for the most part, I spent the majority of my time simply sitting, reading, studying... sometimes staring blank-faced out the window, gazing into the fantasy-world of my own mythical adventures.

At six years old, I didn't go to public school, I didn't have any friends, any peers, any social life at all, really; no peer pressure, no drugs, no bullies, no getting beat up on the playground. There were a lot of good things I missed out on, but also many destructive things I was protected from. I wasn't "innocent" by any means... heck, none of us are... but I simply hadn't yet really ventured out into the world, except for just a few months in first grade, back in Denver.

We lived a few miles outside of Montrose for a couple of years, then moved down to the Four Corners area (Southwest corner of Colorado), a few miles outside the town of Cortez (population of maybe 7,000). There, after living for about a year in a house we had rented, we moved into the house my parents bought, and in that house we lived for about seven years.

As a young teenager (from about twelve to fifteen), I played baseball... honestly, I was one of (if not THE) worst player in the town-based league. Once I had turned sixteen, I decided instead, I would go into martial arts... Tae Kwon do. In the few remaining months we lived in Cortez, I excelled faster than any of his other students... I'd finally found something I was GOOD at. We had some problems in the family, which for the sake of my family I won't delve into... although I will say that, it was at that time, I started drifting further from my mom. We had always been very close until then... but after those problems we all went through, I somehow decided (subconsciously, I think) that I just didn't trust her anymore. I didn't even realize it at the time, but looking back, now I can see it clear as day... because that's when I started the slow, inexorable slide, downhill.

About the time I turned seventeen, we moved back to Montrose, this time just on the edge of town. I went to work at the local McDonald's (yay), this time inching closer to management. It was there in Montrose that I went to the only prom I ever had... someone else's... a friend of mine from work, as her "date" (just a friend, really). I started at a local Tae Kwon Do school, and I did ok, but just never really excelled in my time there. It was also about this time that I started smoking... probably the second-stupidest thing I've ever done.

Shortly before I turned eighteen, we moved back to Denver, right smack in the heart of the Southern suburbs. Again, I worked at McDonald's (yipee) as a shift manager this time, more responsibility, same crappy pay. I bought a "new" car (thirty-sumthin' year old BEAUTIFUL classic, '66 Chevy Corvair).

I was working late night closing shifts, and to escape my parents at home, I'd often go out late at night... sometimes 'till nearly down. I'd go out after work, at 1:00am, playin' pool, smokin', stayin' out as late as I could. Even at home, I avoided my parents as much as possible... I'd already begun building a wall between them, and myself and I was well on my way to reinforcing it. Honestly, my parents were never abusive, never beat the crap outta me, were never even emotionally abusive... it wasn't them that drove me away... I drove myself away from them.

With less time spent at home, I spent more time out with my "friends"... not friends really, but just the people I knew and hung out with... the only people that I could hang with to escape home. I started dating a girl I was working with... Erica; she was Mexican, had only moved to America maybe a year or two before. Her English was a little off sometimes, but she spoke well enough, and we got along pretty well. To be perfectly honest, what attracted me to her at first, more than anything, was her looks...she was absolutely hot, no doubt about it.

It wasn't until we had become (fairly rapidly) very intimate, that I realized that she had wounds that ran deeper than the horrible burn-scars on her shoulders. I never really found out what it was in her life, her childhood, that had hurt her so deeply, but I began to see that she was bleeding inside.

[Queen]

Maybe a wrong reaction......I don't know really how to say what I feel reading this.

You build a wall around yourself, to get away from your parents (for whatever reason). Your wall was staying up as long as possible to avoid them. My wall was the smiling happy young woman/adolescent, leading a double life. At home the perfect daughter. In school the hard working student and in the 'real' world, drinking, smoking and using soft drugs.

How we hurt ourselves. It seems a normal story, but already between the lines I know exactly what you mean.......Innocence and pain, a dangerous combination.

I must admit that I a scared to read about your mexican girlfriend. I am afraid that it is what I feel it is........That must have filled you with a lot of grief.......

Strength, and lots of love and sunshine,
Queen

[bar Jonah]

This is just the beginning, even just a prologue. You ain't see nothin', yet. :ri:

[bar Jonah]

Queen, my brother Rob isn't here, so he cannot see your replies. Just FYI.

(This is his story, not mine.)


Btw, I will post another chapter in less than an hour, just to get this thread started off really well. But usually, I will only post every other day or so.

[bar Jonah]

[And the story continues...]

Things between Erica and I were intense, on both ends of the spectrum... physically and emotionally, good and bad. The closer we became, the more evident it was to me that things would never work between us. It seemed that she was on a path to self-destruction, and life was just a distraction to that. Funny how I had no idea at the time, but I was on that same path; perhaps for different reasons, but the end was clearly the same, carved into stone.

Our fights came more frequently, and more intense. One night, while we were at the home of some friends of hers, I called home... told my parents (begrudgingly... not that I actually wanted to talk to them) that I'd be out late... again. They bugged me about details, and, exasperated, I told them where I was... what cross-streets I was near, etc., anything to get off the phone.

Erica got pissed off... she was mad that I was such a "little boy," that I couldn't go out without telling my mommy and daddy where I was, what I was doing, etc. It grew quickly into a fight, and before long, she was screaming, throwing things at me. I knew that we weren't getting anywhere... it didn't matter what I said if she was that upset... I just wanted to get out of there quietly, before someone got hurt, in more ways that one. I told her that maybe we should just talk about it tomorrow... that we weren't going to end up working it out tonight.

I walked into the living room, Erica following on my heels, screaming at me, in a rage. She went to tackle me, but her friends grabbed her and pulled her back, which of course, only enraged her more. I stood for a moment, thinking... wondering, what the heck should I do? Leave? Stay? ... I didn't know.

The answer came to me in the form of a flying beer bottle. I ducked at the last second and heard it streak past my face, shattering against the wall behind me. I looked her in the eyes, more than a little ticked myself...

... and walked, slowly, deliberately, out the door... out to my car. I sat in the car for what seemed like at least half an hour, thinking... I didn't know what to do... where to go... if I should go. I saw her burst out the door, about fifty feet away; her friends were trying to drag her back inside. Even from that far away, I could tell she was enraged and broken-hearted... screaming in anger, and crying at the same time... but her rage still seemed to be most in control.

I looked away... and drove away. I didn't even know where I was going... just driving... just away, that's all that mattered. I ended up driving straight into the heart of downtown Denver, amidst the skyscrapers, the dark empty streets, the steaming manhole covers, the alleyways beckoning me in. I got out and just walked... for a couple of hours, just walked... right in the heart of the most dangerous part of town, in the most dangerous part of the night. I didn't care if I got attacked, stabbed, shot... that wasn't even on my mind... it was the most peaceful place I could be at that moment... to escape.

I had always been comfortable with the sweet, precious, beautiful refuge of solitude. Although there was undoubtedly a part of me that yearned for close, intimate companionship... there was another place within me that craved the awesome simplicity of being alone. I'd long since become comfortable with long walks... out in the country, where the most foreboding sound was the yeowl of coyotes, off in the distance. Even then, that had come as a comfort... the solitary howling of a fellow troubled soul. It reached me as a message clearer than words... someone offering up their pain in its most basic, primal form... a simple, lonely howl that echoed over the wind's whispering song.

Walking in the middle of downtown that night was in many ways different, but still so much the same. The sounds, the sights, the details weren't the same... but the peaceful quiet of silent song was the same... like a comforting friend that never criticizes, never hurts you, never fails you... solitude.

I walked until about four in the morning, and finally got in my car, headed home. Although I hadn't said the words to her, "I don't want to see you anymore." I felt that walking out the door that night had said it all. She took a vacation for a while, leave of absence, whatever they called it, I don't remember. We probably saw each other at work a couple of times, never exchanged much in the way of words, and then she left; she moved back to Mexico.

Although it hurt to hear that she'd left (I'd heard about a week after she'd already gone), at the same time I knew that there was no other choice for me to make. I wasn't torn by the anguish of not knowing if I did the right thing; I knew I'd done the right thing, but that's never much in the way of comfort.

Shortly after moving to Denver and starting work, I had started in a new style of Tae Kwon Do, Songham style, with the ATA (American Tae Kwon Do Association). I quickly began to realize how sloppy my techniques were, and began working on sharpening my skills. It wasn't long until I was back on track, excelling as I had when I had first started, racing up through the ranks. My new instructor was a woman this time, a fourth-degree black belt, Mrs. Black.

I was about halfway up through the ranks of color-belt, and had to completely relearn all the "forms" (patterns, katas) that I had memorized, due to the new system of Tae Kwon Do I was on. I got to work, and had it down within two months. It didn't take me long to legitimately reach the rank of first-degree black belt. I remember that night, after testing and earning my black belt, one of my brothers took me out for a beer. I wasn't even twenty-one yet (maybe nineteen or so), so I had me a fake beer... like drinkin' freakin' TURPENTINE. Heck, didn't matter... the rest of my life may've been mostly crap, but in that realm, things were awesome. I'd managed to "forget" (as much as I could) Erica, and I'd focused instead on work, and martial arts.

[Queen]

Those anger attacks are horrible. I know....I had them as well. Screaming crying.....using very bad language but inside you scream the words: Help me...please Help me. I need help.

Leaving her was a good thing. It could have been so bad....for both...hurting each other.

Queen

[bar Jonah]

Indeed... it's often scary how we willingly bring people into our lives who we know are a bad influence and who bring other band things into our lives... yet we hide behind the excuse that "love is blind" (or friendship for that matter).

[bar Jonah]

[and the story continues...]


One of my older brothers (the middle one... whom I'd always fought with the most) was having problems, and moved back in with our folks for a while. For a while, things were pretty good between us... distance cools people off over time, and we were getting along well enough. I started working at a local computer store, a little mom an' pop shop a couple of blocks away from us. At the time, I was interested in computers, technology... but I didn't know much about the nuts and bolts. I started working there about a month before the Christmas shopping season... and about two or three weeks later, they let me go. I called in for my schedule one day (which was already several days late), and they basically fired me over the phone. I was ticked, but I didn't lost my temper when I walked in to work that day, turned in my uniforms, took my last paycheck, and left.

Shortly thereafter I started working with my brother at King Soopers (basically the same chain as City Market and Kroger’s … I was a grocery bagger). We still seemed to be getting along pretty well; we'd argue every now an' then, but not much more than you'd expect to brothers to argue.

I continued to excel in Tae Kwon Do, towards my second-degree black belt. We moved out to the southeastern edge of the Denver area suburbs. This put me almost an hour away from my Tae Kwon Do school, leaving me to travel all the way across the city to get to and from, but I kept it up, and during that time, earned my second-degree black-belt... even became a trainee instructor.

I transferred to another King Soopers grocery store out about a mile or two from our new home, and started working there. Within a few months, I was promoted to a bakery clerk position (eh... better pay, at least) within the same store. Soon after leaving the "front-end" (where I'd worked as a bagger), a girl started working there named Amy; she was about my age, maybe a year or so younger, slim, beautiful, and seemed really nice. I started working up the courage to ask her out (women... you don't know HOW hard that is for a guy sometimes, trust me!)... started dropping her little notes an' such... just stupid little romantic stuff.

Unbeknownst to me another working from the front area of the store, Johnny Hagan, had his eye on her two... and within maybe four or five months of me transferring to the back of the store, he'd managed to sow seeds of suspicion and mistrust about me, among my former peers, among management, and to Amy herself. I had no idea about this, until one day a manager drew me aside and said something akin to, "Y'know, Rob... this thing with Amy... well... you're kinda freaking her out; she's scared, an' kinda feels like you're harassing her."

I was shocked... can't a hopeless romantic guy drop notes every now an' then to a girl that he likes? She hadn't said anything to me, really... one way or another. I waited for her to get off work one night, to talk to her. As she walked out, Johnny Hagan had her arm; the two saw me, and started hustling out to her car as fast as they could... as if I was a murderous psychopath. I asked, nearly pleaded, "Amy... can I just talk to you for one minute... just one?" Johnny interrupted her, "I don't think so bud." ... and they walked out. I called out to her, "I'm sorry"; all I'd wanted to tell her, I was sorry if I'd come across the wrong way, I didn't want to scare her, freak her out, or anything of the sort. I'd quit the dropping notes an' everything else, and just drop the whole thing, no sweat.

But I hadn't had the chance... she even seemed like she was willing to listen for a moment, but Johnny urged her away too quickly. I was ticked... what the heck was going on? I stormed over to my car, kicked the door, got in... backed out (slowly, deliberately), pulled out the exit of the parking lot... and once there, I slammed the gas, peeling out and driving away, home.

I get home, and maybe an hour later (a bit late at night) we get a knock at the door. We answer... it's the police, and they want to talk to me. Confused (and scared at this point), I said "sure"... walked out to talk to them. My parents, to their credit, saw what was going on, and didn't interfere, but just left me to deal with it on my own, just as a matter of respect, and I appreciated that.

I went out and talked to the county trooper... he began asking me questions, if I knew this girl named Amy, what I knew about her, etc. I answered everything honestly, still oblivious to what might be going on. He finally leveled with me... told me that Amy was scared for her life... her parents were scared for her as well, even her co-workers and management at the store were "concerned" for her... because they thought I was stalking her. I was shocked... what the heck?!? They went on to explain that a certain unnamed manager at my work (and a little old lady in the parking lot, after 10:00 p.m. a night), had seen me “punch” the side of my car, get it, slam the gas and screech tires while backing up, nearly hitting and killing this old lady... then I peeled out in the middle of the lot right in front of the store.

... which was about 75% bull. Someone had filled in the blanks, changed what they wanted to... made it sound like I'd nearly killed this little old lady backing up. Truth is, I remember seeing her behind me, which is why I backed up slowly and deliberately; I drove slowly to the far end exit of the lot, again for that very same reason... THEN, I peeled out into an empty street at night.

That didn't matter... but thankfully, the cop said, "Well look, I'm not gonna arrest you, ok? Now, we do have a couple of troopers over at her family's house, because they were worried you were gonna come after her tonight. Now, that's not gonna be a problem, is it?"

"NO," I said. I told him that the whole thing was a misunderstanding, that I never intended anything of the sort, and that earlier that same evening, all I'd tried to do was freakin' apologize! He let me go back inside, wrote me a ticket for reckless driving (which is, if I remember correctly, is a near-felony offense in Colorado... almost enough to take your license away)... all for peeling out of the edge of an empty parking lot, at night... no one within sight.

I come in the next day to work, and the store manager draws me aside, takes me up to his office to "talk," with the second-in-command store assistant manager present. They basically told me the same story the trooper had told me, and implied that they were thinking about pressing charges against me, and so were her parents. Again... I was shocked... "Look, I didn't intend that at all! I just tried to tell her I was sorry! Geez, yeah I like her, but... I'm not obsessed. I've already decided (last night, when the cops came knocking on my family's door at night, lights flashing), that I'm not pursuing anything with her anymore... not if she (and everyone else) thinks I'm a murderous psychopath...!"

They wrote me up, an' let me go... I kept my job, kept working there. Amy, as I found out later, was so shaken up by the whole thing, she left the store (and perhaps the company) for fear of her life. Maybe two months later, I start hearing things about Johnny Hagan, from people that I trusted implicitly. I started hearing that Johnny hadn't been able to work for more than one or two years at any given store... he keeps getting into some kind of serious trouble, and instead of being fired, he's transferred to another store; found out his dad's the number-two guy in the entire statewide company. Nobody can fire his precious little son, so he has him transferred instead. One of the handful of stories I'd heard, was the reason why he'd been transferred to this store, away from his last one... he had cornered a female coworker in the back of the store late at night, and raped her.

At that point, things became clearer; I was concerned for Amy, but what the hell could I do? Johnny was still here, an' Amy was gone... all I could do was hope the best for her.

Back home, between me and my brother, we soon started fighting again, and tempers rose to a fevered pitch between us. One day, it nearly came to blows; I was one step away from physically throwing him out the window headfirst. It was shortly after this confrontation that our parents decided it was time for me to move out on my own.

[Alien]

RI, are you in a position to know how accurate your brother's version of the "Amy" incident is? It seems quite possible to me that he really was "stalking" this girl, or at least behaving weirdly enough to justify her getting freaked out. Alternatively, could he have been the (semi-) innocent victim of this Johnny guy as he claims? I've experienced something similar (though less dramatic) myself.

And are you the brother he was fighting with?

[Dee Dee Warren]

/ot Alien you need an avatar.

[bar Jonah]

Alien:
RI, are you in a position to know how accurate your brother's version of the "Amy" incident is? It seems quite possible to me that he really was "stalking" this girl, or at least behaving weirdly enough to justify her getting freaked out. Alternatively, could he have been the (semi-) innocent victim of this Johnny guy as he claims? I've experienced something similar (though less dramatic) myself.

And are you the brother he was fighting with?
I am as positive as anyone could ever reasonably be... that he was not stalking anyone. I was around a lot at the time, and he explained how this other guy was going around making up stories about Rob, so that he could get the girl, himself.

No, I was not the brother Rob was fighting with. That would be our middle brother, Dave, who has always had significant emotional problems, which he has always refused help for and is even now semi-estranged from the whole family (by his own choice).

[Queen]

I will not react to this part. Just saying that I think he wasn't stalking her. I know what stalking is (happened to me twice) and writing notes is not stalking....

The rest....too hard.

Queen

[bar Jonah]

At worst, Rob was naive and didn't handle the situation quite as forthrightly as he perhaps should have. But no way was he stalking her.

In fact, now that I know the rest of his story, and have thought about it a couple minutes more... I would literally bet my life on it.

[Queen]

Nope he wasn't stalking her.......reading it it felt not like stalking just "big crush" behavior.

[Alien]

I am as positive as anyone could ever reasonably be... that he was not stalking anyone. I was around a lot at the time, and he explained how this other guy was going around making up stories about Rob, so that he could get the girl, himself.

Thanks. A person's own account of events where he was shown in a bad light by others is rarely unbiased, and your input is the best we have on the truth of the matter. Incidentally, I put "stalking" in quotes deliberately; I didn't mean to suggest full-blown stalking, just behavior that might have reasonably caused a possibly sensitive girl to freak out (like sending romantic notes when he had not made a "normal" approach to her - if that was the case).


No, I was not the brother Rob was fighting with. That would be our middle brother, Dave, who has always had significant emotional problems, which he has always refused help for and is even now semi-estranged from the whole family (by his own choice).

Ah. OK, that, and your other comments, will help my understanding of the background to Rob's story as it unfolds.

Next episode, please!

:smile:

[bar Jonah]

[My pleasure...]


I'd been in financial debt (mostly to my parents) for a while, and had just barely finished catching up that debt, around the time of that fight with my brother. My parents had talked it over and decided that it would be a good time for me to go ahead and move out on my own. Although at the time I thought they were just edging me out the door because I was finally caught up financially, looking back, I think the timing had a lot to do with that fight.

We found a good (tiny) studio apartment for me (same apartment complex where my brother Jim/RightIdea now lives), and my dad co-signed on the lease to get me into it for a year. I was a few months shy of twenty-one, and pretty excited... out on my own for the first time. It was about that time I got sucked into A-O-HELL (stupid)... no, I didn't know any better; I had no idea that A-O-HELL was the worst/most-expensive ISP on the planet, so I gave it a shot. I started spending a lot of time in chat rooms, more and more... I was practically addicted, spending at least a couple of hours a day, usually more. I'd stay up late at night, chatting until the wee hours of the morning.

I made some "friends" (just online buddies really) in chat rooms, and it got to the point where we'd meet every night just about, raiding one chat room after another, livin' it up. One buddy in particular I spent most of my time with was Linda (no one you know). She was pretty carefree, exciting, and pretty uninhibited. We'd chat online for hours sometimes, and we started getting pretty close... closer than friends; pretty quickly, we'd started falling for each other.

We took things to a more serious level when we started talking on the phone. That first call was pretty nervous, but we worked through it before long. She lived near Nashville, Tenn., and she had one heckuva southern accent. :tongue: Soon we were meeting online every evening, chatting (sometimes among other friends online), then we'd log out and talk on the phone, usually for hours at a time. We were even talking long-term commitment, and we hadn't even met yet. There was just something about her that melted my heart without effort.

She told me about her ex-husband a little... he'd been a pretty good guy when they first got married, but that had changed over time. He had gotten into drugs (cocaine, among other things), and heavily into drinking; he gradually became abusive... both emotionally, and physically. It had become more frequent, to the point where it was a regular ritual for him to go out drinking late into the night with his buddies, come home drunk (and sometimes high on coke), and usually beat the heck out of her.

One night he beat her so long and so badly, she nearly died. When he was finished, he just walked out the door and left her; she ended up in the hospital for six months recovering from the beating. She found out from her doctors, that he'd beat her so badly that she could never have children again. After he walked out the door that day he beat her, he didn't come back... didn't even stop in at the hospital to see if she survived, if she lived more than a few days... he just vanished.

I was shocked, horrified... not that I'd never heard of that sort of thing happening to people before... I'd just never known anyone that it had happened to, especially so severely; this was magnified even more so by the fact that I was in a relationship with her. It was an intimate, online/phone relationship, but it still tore my heart out to know she'd gone through all that.

Our relationship continued, more strongly than before. One fateful night, we met online at about midnight. We talked for maybe twenty minutes or so, when she told me (via chat) that someone was knocking at her door. Linda's last words to me that night were, "hang on... I'll be right back". I waited...

... and waited...

... ... and waited...

... for hours, I waited... until dawn, and she never came back online. I even logged off a couple of times, tried calling her, no answer... logged back on, and she wasn't there. Nothing.

For three days, every minute not spent at work, I was searching her out, by phone and online... and I just couldn't get hold of her. I was past getting concerned... I was scared for her. Did someone break in? ... or was it something as simple as, a friend of hers had an emergency and she had to go help, ASAP? I didn't know, and all I could do was let my imagination run wild with thoughts of the worst.

Finally, on the fourth day, she showed up online again. I almost leapt out of my chair... sent her a message, told her I was worried about her, asked her what was up, if she was ok. There was a long delay before her reply, and when she did, it was brief, very short... like she didn't want to say anything. I knew right away something was wrong, and that she didn't want to talk about it. I'd long since taken to priding myself on being able to, very nearly, read her mind, even when we were just chatting online.

I didn't press to hard at first... I could tell she just wanted someone to talk to, and I was first on the list. Was she just trying to get her mind off something? ... something that had happened? I could tell she was being very subtly evasive about disappearing for three days.

Finally when I could take no more, I asked her again. She didn't respond for a couple of minutes. I asked again, and she said she didn't want to talk about it. I kept pressing, as much as I could without being too aggressive. I knew I wasn't getting anywhere... it was too easy for her to put walls up between us online, in chat. I asked her if we could talk on the phone. She said no... I kept persisting, begging to just talk to her. She made me promise not to ask her about what happened three days ago, and grudgingly, I complied.

I got her on the phone, and the moment I heard her voice, I could hear the pain in it. We talked for a little while more, and finally I broke my promise and asked her again... begged her and begged her to tell me what had happened. What was going on? Why couldn't she tell me? After a long pause, she did...

The knock on the door three days ago... she'd told me she would be right back, and went to answer it. Normally she'd keep the chain on the door, and crack it open to see who it was... especially that late at night; but, she was feeling pretty laid back that night, and hadn't bothered. She had opened the door...

... and there stood her ex-husband. He forced his way in, shoving her inside and slamming the door behind him. Linda stopped talking there, as if she couldn't explain any further. My heart sunk; no... this can't be... please God no... My thoughts were racing into a million different tragedies. Finally, after more time, she told me...

... he'd forced his way in, slammed the door behind him. He had beaten her badly...

... and raped her.

I could feel the life drain out of my heart when she spoke the words. She was crying, weeping when she forced the words out to me, and when she finished she couldn't speak anymore... the tears wouldn't let her.

That was the first time I can remember crying as an adult, when I heard that. I tried my hardest to console her, but what the heck do you tell someone, right then? "It's gonna be okay?" Trying to hold back my own tears was impossible, and it took all my effort to keep them out of my voice. She told me she was sorry, begged me to forgive her. There was nothing to forgive, I told her... but she felt like it was her fault, like she'd wronged me somehow.

There was more... that night, he didn't just do his thing and leave, he was there for hours, beating her, raping her. She screamed as loud as she could, made enough noise to wake the dead. Her neighbors (whose houses were scant few feet away) had heard everything, every scream, every sound...

... and they'd done nothing. All night this went on, nearly 'till sunrise, and they did nothing... they just … listened.

When he was done, he turned to leave, and told her, "If you ever see anyone else, I'll kill you."

Something inside her snapped, and... barely able to move... she was finally able to reach her nightstand. She reached into the top drawer, pulled out her gun...

... and shot him in the back.

When the neighbors had heard the gunshot, they called the police. They didn't call when he beat her, threw her furniture everywhere, smashed out the windows... when she screamed for help, begged him to stop...

... only when she shot him in the back on his way out the door.

[bar Jonah]

[However, all may not be as it seems...]


Her ex-husband (Tom was his name) had lived, although he was hospitalized for a few days. Linda had spent a day or so in the hospital, and then had been arrested and put in jail. Although Tom had been charged with assault and rape, Linda had been charged with attempted murder. They didn't call it self-defense, because she'd shot him in the back. It was kind of hard to know how to feel about that... on one hand, if he had died, at least the $#%&*@ would be dead and she'd be out of danger; on the other hand, she would've been charged with murder instead of attempted murder. She was able to get out on bond, shortly before she showed up again online.

We talked until after sunrise that night. I didn't even know what to say to her, but I couldn't just let her go. I don't even remember most of what we talked about... I just remember the emotions; sorrow, heart wrenching sympathy, sadness... rage. My first impulse was to hop into my car and drive straight out to her, to do what little I could to try and comfort her. My second impulse, was to hop into my car... and hunt down that son of a *gun* and kill him with my bare hands. At the very least, I'd want him to know what a beating felt like... I wanted him to know what it felt like, for someone to utterly destroy your body, one savage hit at a time... to be completely helpless, begging for mercy, but the beating doesn't stop. I wanted to show him new levels of pain that he'd never known before.

... but I didn't go. I nearly decided to drive out to her, cross-country, at the risk of losing my job and who knows what else. She talked me out of it, made me promise not to come out to her. She said she didn't want our first meeting to be that way, and regardless of that, she just didn't want me near, at the time. That hurt a little, to be kept at physical distance from her at that point, but I understood... were I in her position, I probably would've wanted the same.

For three weeks I ate virtually nothing, and barely slept; when I did sleep, I had nightmares... about her... about what he'd done to her. Every time I fell asleep (usually against my will, when my body gave out), I saw her in my dreams, in her home... and the events she'd told me about repeated every night in my dreams. Every time, I was there, but I couldn't do anything... I couldn't move, I usually can't be heard... I couldn't stop him. Every time, I wanted nothing more than to tear his body into pieces, and burn the bloody remains... but I couldn't. Every time, every nightmare... she would look into my eyes, and beg me to help her, to make him stop, to make it all stop. All I could do was scream... often until my own screaming woke me up.

It started affecting my work... I could hardly stay awake, I couldn't concentrate, couldn't do my job as well... soon I started oversleeping for work. It wasn't long before I lost my job because of it. I found work through a temp agency, and started working in the shipping department of a company called Krone (KRON-uh), a German-based business that manufactured and built telecom equipment, shipping them out to various regional Bell companies in the US, and some other telco companies. I worked as a temp (through an agency) for my allotted number of months, and then I was hired by Krone as a full-time employee.

Soon after I started as a temp at Krone, my car crapped out on me. The repairs were too expensive, and I ended up with a vehicle. I started taking the bus to and from work, to Krone... a simple thirty-minute rush-hour drive, turned into a two-hand-a-half hour ordeal, riding the bus. It was the dead of winter here in Denver, and I often found myself standing out in the snow, ten degrees out, waiting for the bus... which every now and then, didn't show at all... but heck, at least I was working.

It was nearly impossible anymore for me to get to and from my Tae Kwon Do school. Riding the bus was out of the question, but thankfully I was able to get a ride every now and then, each way. It wasn't ideal, but it kept me going in that. I was still able to continue competing in some tournaments, still able to at least attend class regularly enough to keep going, and occasionally able to teach students there.

Things between Linda and me settled down somewhat... time always has a way of calming, if not healing. As some time passed (months), we were getting intimate again, back on more solid ground again... as solid as we could, in such a relationship, so far away from each other. We finally got to the point where we were ready to meet, face to face. She told me she was anxious and scared about it, said she wasn't ready yet. It's hard to explain, but somehow, I began to hear something in her voice... something subtle in her pauses responding to me; it felt like she didn't want to meet met (yet, or ever), because she was hiding something from me.

[Alien]

Hmmmm, the thot plickens....

(Just to let you know I'm still following along. Powerful stuff.)

[bar Jonah]

Oh, you have no idea where all of this is going to go.... in directions you can't even foresee yet. :shifty:

[Jaltus]

Then keep posting, you big tease!

I have been avidly reading this since day 1.

[bar Jonah]

Why didn't you say so? I jsut didn't want to rush anyone...

[bar Jonah]

[For Jaltus, another chapter... And for any detail-oriented folks who care, I am maintaining the various, small elements of formatting, such as use of italics, etc.]


I kept insisting, and finally I talked her into it. I flew out there from Denver, and met her in Nashville. From the moment we met each other at the airport, I detected the same thing I had before... she was hiding something from me... likely, a lot of things. I won't go into the details of everything I found when I went out there, but suffice it to say... she had lied to me about virtually every element of her life, and herself. What was worse than that, though, was the feeling that I couldn't trust her anymore. I didn't know if I could trust anything she'd told me before, about herself, about us... even about her ex-husband's attack. I flew home, not knowing what to say. I didn't confront her with it while I was out there with her in Tennessee, mostly just because I wanted some time to think it over... a lot of time.

I did just that... thought things over, spent a lot of hours just sitting, thinking about her, about things between us. I knew that there was only one decision to make... to leave her. I didn't know if she'd been telling me the truth about the beatings, about her ex-husband, about him coming back to rape her that night... and to this day, I still don't know. My mind wants to mistrust her and say it never happened... but my heart wants to believe her; even though there was no chance for a future in a relationship between the two of us, my heart still wanted to believe her somehow. If you asked me today, if I believed that Tom had come back and attacked her that night, if I believed that she'd told me the truth about all of that... I'd say, yes... I do believe her about that. I had begun to see where she was lying to me, what she was lying to me about... but I don't believe she was lying to me about all of that.

... which led me to the question, how in the heck could I leave her just like that? What the hell was the matter with me? Did I have no sense of decency? YES, she lied about most of the major elements of her life and herself... but after that son of a ** had done that to her, how could I have walked away? How could I leave her in that moment in her life, in all that pain, in that misery, when it seemed there was virtually nothing to life for?

She'd mentioned suicide to me before, in the days following her ex attacking her. Every time she did, I felt a stab through my heart... I wasn't doing enough to help her, I should've been out there to do what I could, I should've just taken her away from there... I should've hunted down the bastard and--

... but it was too late; I'd already told her goodbye. I had called her up one night, we talked on the phone, and I told her that I wasn't going to speak to her anymore. She couldn't stop crying, screamed at me that she was going to kill herself if I left her, if I never spoke to her again. She told me that she would put her gun to her head and pull the trigger, because there was nothing left to live for anymore. Just when she thought her life had started to become something good, her ex had come back and dragged her back into hell... and in the midst of all of that, I was the only thing she had, that was worth living for. She got up every morning and went to work, because I loved her; she kept going when she felt like quitting because I loved her; she made the concious decision every day, not to stick her gun in her mouth and pull the trigger... because I loved her.

I begged her not to do it... not to kill herself. There were other things to live for, besides me... but for the first time, I couldn't list one of them for her. I kept telling her the lie, there's more to live for, you shouldn't kill yourself... but I couldn't tell her why. It was then, in the midst of our tears, that I had begun to lose my faith in the general goodness of people. I kept thinking about her neighbors, who had not only done nothing... they had listened to everything... they just listened. How in the heck could anyone do that? I couldn't imagine it, letting someone suffer like that, listening to it ring in your ears all through the night, knowing that perhaps they're going to die...

... when I realized I was doing the same thing. I could hear the suffering in her choked voice, I believed her when she said she might just kill herself if I left her... but I just kept listening to her, unwavered, telling her goodbye, listening to her die inside...

... because I didn't love her anymore.

Not only did I lost much of my faith in the basic goodness of people... I also lost much of that faith in myself. I was no better than her neighbors... I was letting her suffer, and not only that... I was the reason for her suffering.

I finally hung up the phone on her. She called me back... I hung up as soon as I heard her voice. She kept trying to call... and I unplugged the phone. I sat up until sunrise, then noon, afternoon, until evening the next day... shaking. I felt like, for the first time in my life... I may have just killed someone.

[Queen]

There were other things to live for, besides me... but for the first time, I couldn't list one of them for her. I kept telling her the lie, there's more to live for, you shouldn't kill yourself... but I couldn't tell her why.

True, it is a lie

[bar Jonah]

Aw, Queen, that's not true! And the fact that you're alive today proves you know it's not true. :smile:


:flowers:

[Queen]

*shrug*


maybe you are right...

[bar Jonah]

You know it's not true. :ri:

Otherwise, you wouldn't be here talking to us. Obviously, you have a reason to live. :smile:

[India]

RI - Keep the posts coming! I too am an avid reader. I had a friend once who was in a similar situation - she wanted to break up with her boyfriend but he threatened suicide if she did. Finally they broke up anyway and he didn't kill himself.

[bar Jonah]

I don't want to rush the story either. Some people may not be able to follow it as quickly as others, and I don't want to swamp everyone. This story won't be over in a week, or even two. This is a long tale. So, buckle in for a long ride!

:ri:


Btw, nobody has to do this, but I'd love for anyone who is following this story avidly (and hasn't already), to post here and let me know you're watching. No obligation, just interested in knowing who is reading.

[AVmetro]

So when's the next get posted? :smile:

[bar Jonah]

I posted yesterday and today... I wasn't going to post again til Tuesday.

But if enough people demand it, I can post more often.

I wasn't going to let y'all know, but honestly... there are a little more than 30 chapters remaining. So, it's ultimately up to you guys!

:ri:

[AcousticJS]

I'm reading it, RI.

And I reckon we could cope with at least one posting a day...

[Xmansmommy]

:popcorn:

[Jaltus]

Just e-mail me the whole thing.

I hate waiting for good books.

[bar Jonah]

Nope. :tongue: This is serialized for a reason. It sucks you in, keeps your interest alive, keeps you intrigued and hungry for more.

Some big slab of text 60 pages long in a Word doc hardly does that. This is much better.

What do you think, folks? Is anyone not in favor of me posting roughly once a day rather than once every couple days?

[Jaltus]

I knew you wouldn't, but I had to ask.

I am patient in nearly any circumstances. The only thing I can recall that makes me impatient (other than waiting for my wife to get ready so we get somewhere on time for once) is waiting to read something.

While I appreciate these posts, RI, I think I hate you now.

Don't worry, it is nothing personal. :wink:

[bar Jonah]

:egad:

Well, just don't throw me in the briar patch! :wink:

[Sakarja]

I read this whole thread today and am very interested. Thanks for posting this RightIdea.

[bar Jonah]

[Here you go... more for the hungry masses]


That was basically the end of things between Linda and me. Although she tried to contact me several times over the following two weeks, I refused to speak to her. I didn't know what the heck to do, I only knew that speaking to her again was the one thing I couldn't do... that I wouldn't do. On one hand, I knew that if I never spoke to her again, I would be hurting her, perhaps driving her over the edge into suicide; on the other hand, if I had stayed with her, that wouldn't be an honest relationship; there would always be that haunting cloud over my heart, afraid that I would hurt her, say the wrong thing, drive her to suicide.

Not long after that, in the process of selling some furniture, I met someone who lived on the other side of my apartment complex... Deanne. She was pretty intoxicating... very attractive, vivacious, lively, a single mom with an incredible little kid. She was in her upper thirties, but hardly showing it... looked twenty-something, to be sure. Her son Daryn was I think the most angelic child of four I've ever met; he had a great smile, an infectious giggle, he was polite, courteous, sweet, thoughtful, smart... every parent's dream. She told me that she wasn't Super-Mom... she'd just been blessed with Super-Kid. :tongue:

Having recently come out of painful times with Linda, I could hardly see getting into another relationship; but at the same time, my heart longed for someone to fill the void that was so suddenly put there. Deanne and I were friends, although at times we took things to a much more physical level. “Friends with benefits.” It seems shallow to say that even though we had become physical in our relationship, that we weren't in love or even interested in love... but at the time, she and Daryn were about the only good things in my life. On one hand my heart needed someone close... on the other hand, it couldn't stand the fear of being hurt again, or of hurting someone. Our relationship, if you could call it that, lasted for a very short time, but ended on good enough terms.

I quit my job at Krone (shipping department) for several reasons, none of them very concrete. I was sick of traveling so far by bus every friggin' day, to and from; a couple of times I'd missed the last bus, and found myself walking home halfway across the city at night... a little under three hours walk to get home. Enough o' that. Another reason was that some execs at the office had already announced that they were moving local operations down to El Paso, Texas. (barf) Of course, anyone who wanted to relocate to El Paso Texas was welcome to come along, but how many were those? ... None that I knew. They announced this move several months in advance, and soon I (along with many others) just stopped showing up for work.

The last of my reasons for quitting was my emotional state; it was about this time that I began my slow, steady downward fall into depression. Although I couldn't possibly have known it at the time, looking back, I know that was about when it started; perhaps more specifically, I think it had started when Linda was raped.

I had been forced to give up Tae Kwon Do; I couldn't even get to and from anymore, and worse, I couldn't afford it. I had steadily begun to fall behind on the bills... rent, utilities, everything. I'd gotten a credit card (out of greedy desperation, as much as anything) from my bank... and of course ended up abusing it thoroughly. I maxed out the balance, and couldn't pay it back. As things began to look worse, something else walked into my life that changed things forever.

My older brother (the middle one, with whom I'd fought the most) had begun to come around more lately, sporting a new live-in girlfriend... Angie. It saddened me that, before I ever got a chance to meet her, the first thing he told me about her (before he even told me her name), was that she had AIDS. It was saddening of course, that she had AIDS... but it was also saddening that my brother had to notice that first, especially when telling someone about her... like apologizing for something right before you say it. She was a redhead, nineteen years old, and an incredible sketching artist. Her nickname was "Smiley"... smiley-faces adorned her car, some of her clothes, her necklace, and all of her artwork... which was always signed, "Smiley."

One evening they invited me out to a local bar/dance club called Stampede, and I obliged... my first chance to meet Angie. Upon meeting her, the first thing I noticed about her wasn't the fact that she was sick... that she was dying young... She seemed more alive to me than most people I'd ever known. She was lit up inside, inspired, living for the moment, smiling (of course). We had some drinks and played some pool (billiards) that night, pretty late... talked, really just had some fun. At the end of the evening, I told my brother that he had one heckuva woman there, lively, inspired, interesting... and interested in living. Other than that, we didn't say much on the subject... it just didn't seem right to say anything more than that.

My depression had worsened, but I'd managed to keep it out of everyone else's sights, out of their lives. My family didn't know, my friends didn't know, no one did. I had managed to bury it deep enough inside myself, that no one was troubled with it. "I'm tough enough to handle it... I'll take care of it myself; I'll just tough it out." Although it really didn't sound like bull at the time, that's exactly what it was. I was well on my, digging myself deeper into depression... soon the hole would begin to look more like a grave.

[Queen]

I was well on my, digging myself deeper into depression... soon the hole would begin to look more like a grave.

And all you have to do is close the grave.....

That can be done so easily and it get's an obsession.........your mind plays with it all day and you seek other ways to fill your mind.....no matter how great the sin...you at least don't think about the end

[Alien]

Queen: And all you have to do is close the grave.....

That can be done so easily and it get's an obsession.........your mind plays with it all day and you seek other ways to fill your mind.....no matter how great the sin...you at least don't think about the end

A few thoughts on suicide ....

Those that threaten it as "Linda" did in the story rarely follow through. It's most often an attempt to manipulate someone. That doesn't mean the person isn't desperately unhappy and in need of help, of course.

Something that I've found helpful in times of depression ... I remember that I have felt this way before and later felt better. I tell myself that if I just hang on "this" episode will pass too.

RightIdea:

The way you are "serializing" the story is just fine by me.

Do you know what he found out that made him realise that she had been lying to him?

[bar Jonah]

He is completely tight-lipped about what happened out there. Whatever it was, it had to be pretty major. And he said it wasn't just one thing... virtually everything she said to him about her life and who she was... was a lie. I do know a couple minor details beyond what he's included here, but they aren't important to the story and are intensely private. (Which infers that what he won't tell me is even more shocking.)

[TheAnalogman]

I just started reading. Once a day is enough, I guess.
Don't you owe me some info, Right Idea??

[bar Jonah]

Trying to find it, bro. Didn't expect it to be this ridiculously difficult. :no:

[TheAnalogman]

Yeah. I felt I had to go public. :fight:

[AVmetro]

I think once a day is a good idea. However, I'd post a bit more. The last post was too short! :-) Maybe max out your 24K. :brow:

[TheAnalogman]

:bonk:
Hey! its almost 2 days now! chop chop!

[Jaltus]

I need my fix, man!

[AcousticJS]

yeh, come on. :whip:

I avoided reading this earlier 'cos I figured that it'd be a new chapter and didn't have time then...

[AVmetro]

C'mon, we're overdue

[bar Jonah]

Jaltus wrote on Today 10:57 PM:
I may have to physically beat you to death if there is not another portion added to the story.


:egad:

[Well, after that PM from Jaltus, I guess I better snap to! LOL]


I started working at a temp agency (had to find work fast), in a vain attempt to bail my way out of my self-inflicted money-troubles. It was a half-hour walk to the bus stop from home, an hour-long bus ride, and that still left me with a good hour or so walk to get to work on the other side... in the middle of winter. I was working as a filing clerk, doing filing, stapling, data entry... lots of wonderful crap I couldn't stand.

Towards the end of my three-month tenure there as a temp, I also started working at the McDonald's near my apartment, as a night-shift manager. I began to have problems catching buses... more specifically, my buses weren't showing up to get me from one job to the other... they just didn't come by at all sometimes... driver missed the loop they were supposed to take. I wasn't getting half as much sleep as I needed... working two full-time jobs, five days a week... my body couldn't handle it anymore. I was oversleeping for my day (temp) job, and was quickly fired after the third consecutive day of being late.

This left me working at McD's, as a night shift manager... barely more than minimum wage, but all the responsibility they could pile on me. Screw it... it was work, income... something. Frankly, I was pretty good at it; I remember that was one of the few things I was proud of about myself, at that point... maybe the only thing. Yeah it was a crap job, with crappy income... but I did it pretty darned well.

I had fallen so far behind on my bills, that one day upon coming home, I found an eviction notice on my door. I looked at my bank account... virtually nothing there. I was really in the negative, on the bills, and definitely on the rent.

At about that time, my friend Tracy (single mom, three kids) whom I'd known on and off for a couple of years in college classes, contacted me. She said she was looking for a roommate; she had her eye on an older two-bedroom condo, full basement, and she needed a roommate to help defer the cost. It didn't take much thinking about it. A scant three days before my eviction at my apartment, I moved in with her (and her three kids) in the condo we found. It was definitely an older place, pretty run down, but it did the job. Her three kids lived in the full basement area, Tracy in one room, me in the other.

Concerning Angie and my brother, I began to spend a little more time with them, mostly over at their apartment. I remember one evening I spent over there, late into the night... listening to music, looking at Angie's artwork, talking late into the night. Angie and I went for a long walk together after dark, around the complex (I don't remember where my brother went to, but I think he had to head off to work that evening).

We spent a lot of time talking, just taking our time... talking about her relationship with my brother, talking about ourselves, each other... one of the most comfortable conversations I can remember having with someone, up to that point in my life. In one of the grassy areas near the pool, I showed her a few Tae Kwon Do moves; I remember her trying a spin-kick and landing right on her butt. We laughed, had a lot of fun, and just had a great evening together as friends.

A short time later, my brother and Angie had some serious problems in their relationship together, and ended up breaking up over it. I heard what had happened, and came to her defense. Angie and I met with my brother and a friend of his, one night. My brother had chosen the place to meet, at one of his favorite bars (probably one where he knew the bouncer well). I walked in, and told him that I wanted to meet him out in the parking lot. (I wasn't exactly there to talk.) He insisted on meeting inside.

It was an angry conversation, a lot of accusations leveled, hurtful things said all around, and generally not much positive progress made (if any). Angie and I walked out of there that night and left the issue (and him) behind. For a short time after that, Angie and I were just friends, but without any warning, our relationship became much more serious, very quickly.

It happened one night, shortly after Tracy and I had moved into the condo. Angie had recently met Tracy, so they knew each other at face value, at least. I had Angie over for the evening, just to spend some time together, talk, whatever. We ended up somehow “falling in love” that night, throughout the course of the night. (That's what I would've called it at the time, although frankly... I didn't know yet what love really was.) Sometime late into the night, we kissed for the first time... and ended up falling asleep in each other's arms. No, we didn't do anything more than that, there was no groping, no passionate first night together... we just fell asleep next to each other, and woke up together.

There was something within Angie that I'd never quite encountered before... something that stirred within, drove her to live passionately; although I thought I knew why, I found out much later that I was right, but in a darker, more painful way. I thought she had such a passion for life because she didn't have much time left, and wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. As it turns out, it was more that she was driven to live desperately, running from the vision of death that chased her in her dreams... its laughter echoing in her mind long after she woke up.

Within only a few days of that fateful night, we decided that she would move in with me, to my room. Tracy, of course, talked to me about it... how could I: A) have a romantic relationship with someone who was terminally ill; and B) actually have her move in? She was willing to accept my decision (heck, it was her home too... and her kids' home), but she did warn me.

I didn't care. My depression (still well-hidden, deep within my heart and soul) left me with a sense of truly not giving a darn about anything. It didn't matter what I did anymore... if life was gonna screw me over, then to heck with it... I was gonna throw caution to the wind, an' who cares what happens.

A part of me still screamed within my mind... "WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU THINKING? You KNOW where this will lead you!" But my heart didn't care. I've heard it said recently that "you don't choose love; love chooses you." I knew that I was heading into an arena filled wrought with pain, but in I went... into the lion's den. I was still afraid that it might very well kill me, but in a way, I felt a kinship with Angie. Although my depression, and the troubles of my heart, certainly weren't on the level she had to deal with... we still shared something of a bond in the sense that we were both dying. She was dying on the outside, and I was dying on the inside... we made an interesting couple.

"BUT WHAT IF YOU GET AIDS?!? You'll DIE!!" my mind screamed... and again, my heart didn't care. I'd come to grips with the fact that this woman had AIDS, that she was obviously contagious (through obvious means), and I'd made my decision. It was a decision I made solely with my heart... to die with her... slowly, or however it took me.

[Queen]

The silly thing is that friends are one soul in two bodies. I heard that one and indeed you don't coose who you love. It happens, hits you, smacks you in the face and you can't think clearly.....and guess what?....That is okay. I love someone who is HIV+....I could not live without him.....never. It is killing me that he will live too short....and because of what? A darn virus! It is not about the body, but the heart and soul. If it was about the body...would people love me? I wonder...

Queen

[TheAnalogman]

Ok, its been thirteen hours, lets go! More now!
(and I thought I had gone out with interesting women) :shocked:

[bar Jonah]

[Gosh, 13 hours already? :lol:]


Angie moved in with me, shortly after Tracy and I had moved into the old condo. She didn't have much in the way of possessions to move in with her, but she brought what she had... a couple of posters, personal things, and her art, mostly. Although she did have AIDS, she seemed to be doing relatively well physically, although she went through times of pretty severe pain, discomfort... a lot of which I never knew the exact source.

Our romance flourished, becoming stronger and more passionate with every week that went by. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was even thinking about marriage... just thinking long-term. Part of me felt that the thought of marriage was ludicrous... "She IS gonna die young, ya know!"

Another part of me didn't care... she and I could go down into darkness together. At least, in a way... I wouldn't leave this world alone. That part of me needed someone to be close to me, who also suffered in her own way. At least then, I wasn't alone. On top of all that, we seemed to be falling very passionately in love. It wasn't the most romantic take-your-breath-away romance I'd ever dreamed of, but was still very passionate, very strong... a need I felt at a soul-level.

Angie began teaching me how to draw, to sketch and do artwork. Up to that point, I'd never been able to create art in that way, or in any way, really. When it came to drawing, I just didn't have the patience, and when it came to poetry, I was too much a perfectionist. Heck... I couldn't even do half-decent stick figures on paper.

She lent me her drawing utensils, taught me some good techniques, gave me good tips... had me start out drawing something fairly simple, something perhaps that was already in the room. My eyes swept over our bedroom walls and found an ICP (Insane Clown Posse) poster... a nasty evil wicked-looking clown with a big black top-hat, clawed hands... one turned upwards, the other down.

I drew the hat. Yeah, it was a pretty simple little thing to start with... replicating a top-hat on regular ol' letter-size drawing paper... but I figured, what the heck, why not. She sat next to me, watched me draw, encouraged me as I went... helped me with the patience to not rush through it, kept me going on it. I drew for an hour, and finally came up with the coolest looking top hat I'd ever seen... like a snapshot right off the poster on the wall. I'd gotten the right lines, the shape, even the shading to give it that 3-D look.

I couldn't believe it. I was an artist! I'd drawn something. It wouldn't have been such an amazing feat, except that I'd never been able to create on paper like that before. She told me another couple of important things... 1) "Sign your name to it!"... I had to sign my name on the bottom; and 2) "Keep it"... don't just toss it aside, don't throw it away, never get rid of it. I did. I may actually have it to this day, although I'm not sure. (Writing this makes me want to go through old boxes and look, just to see if I can find it.)

On money matters, we seemed to be doing okay... except that I was still secretly in huge debt. Upon leaving (being evicted) from my apartment, I'd left the debt behind. I hadn't given it much thought at the time, but I'd stuck my dad with the bill... over a thousand dollars. I was such a coward, I never even told him, didn't even drop him a message, "Oh, by the way... a collection agency is gonna come after you for over a thousand bucks... yer welcome." Although money isn't by far the most important thing in the world, I really did screw him over with it. I wasn't upset at my parents, really... I just had two problems: A) I wanted to handle all my problems by myself; and B) I didn't have the guts to tell them I'd failed on my own. Also, there was the embarrassment that went along with it, the shame. Although I knew in my head that they wouldn't be truly ashamed of me, I somehow felt that I couldn't face my own shame, while standing before them with it. I didn't have the guts.

[Queen]

Darwing is healing!!

Gosh, love is so beautiful, but so destructive as well.......I know.

:Q:

[bar Jonah]

[Love is not what's destructive... It's the things that people confuse for love.... Lies and selfishness and hate and loathing... and fear! Those things are destructive. But love? Not love of a good thing, not a love that's right.]

[Queen]

Maybe you are right.....but that darn thin line...

[bar Jonah]

[It can be difficult to discern the difference sometimes... it's true.

[AVmetro]

Who's that in your avatar? :huh:

[bar Jonah]

It's my lovable movie villain for the theme week -- Steve Railsback as Ed Gein. But I do need to change it, now...

[bar Jonah]

Another shorter-than-average post...]


I was doing daytime childcare for my roommate Tracy, taking care of her two youngest kids (her littlest one, Crystal, age four I think; and the middle kid Andrew, who I think was about seven or eight). Although I'd known her kids for a coupla years, spending so much more time with them drew me a lot closer to them, and them to me. Some time during the late summer, her oldest son Chris came home as well (from visiting his dad over the summer).

Angie's health began slipping. I took her to her doctor, for a checkup, and to see what could be done. The two of them met alone for her checkup and such; afterwards, he drew me aside for a moment and asked me, "Um... you are aware that she has some... medical problems, right?" Yes, I told him... yes I knew. Yes, we were sexually active, yes we used protection, yes I knew that I could still get AIDS from her, and no I didn't care if I died young, thanks doc... B'bye.

We took home with us another bag of meds to add to the meds Angie already had... heaping it up into a full-size paper bag from the grocery store. She had a mountain of meds that she would take, various pills for various things... and none of it really did her any good. Truth be told, the only thing that helped her was smoking marijuana. That was the only thing that helped her, that eased the pain and suffering a little. I freely admit, I went out with her more than once, and we smoked pot together in the evenings, every now and then. Do I think it should be legalized? Frankly, yes... and not just for medicinal purposes. Will I ever touch the stuff again? No... For the vast majority of people that smoke pot, it ruins their life one small step at a time, and I don't need that. Heck, I'm not even interested it anymore... wasn't all that interested in it at the time, really.

Then, Angie's health then suddenly took a very dramatic downward turn... she had only a fraction of the energy that she used to. She would sleep sometimes sixteen hours a day, and when she was awake, often she barely had the strength to move around much. I remember more than once, carrying her up and down the stairs because she couldn't do it on her own. She couldn't work anymore, we couldn't go out and do much anymore... she was rapidly becoming disabled by the disease within her.

As she told me one night... when you've got AIDS, it's always a downward slope, which you can only try to keep level as much as you can. When anything changes in your condition, it doesn't get better... it always gets worse. When you lose something, you know that you'll never get it back... it's gone forever. When the neuropathy hit her, and we talked about this, it hit me a little harder than it had when I'd thought about her condition before. I realized what it must be like looking through her eyes, staring at the downward slope ahead of you, descending into the mists of your death; no longer far away, but frighteningly ever closer each day that passes. It's almost like being a leper, when your body starts falling off of you a piece at a time. Whoops, lost an arm there... well, I'm not gettin' THAT back again, it's gone. Her body was shutting down inside, and there wasn't a darn thing I could do to stop it.

She was suddenly very cold, very distant with me... although we'd sometimes talk about things (anything other than her dying body), we almost never connected with each other anymore. She didn't even want to be touched anymore.

I never knew the importance of human touch, until it was gone without warning. Even something as simple as putting my arm around her would elicit a reaction, as she shrunk away from my touch. It reminded me a little of how rape victims react to human touch, for some time after the event; it's a gut reaction, don't let anyone inside your personal space, don't touch. In Angie's case, she wasn't afraid that I would hurt her... she was afraid that she would hurt me. It wasn't a rational thing... she didn't actually think that she would infect me with AIDS by just letting me touch her shoulder... it was just a gut reaction, deep down inside. She began building newer bigger walls around herself; not just around her heart, but around her body as well... she didn't want to let anyone into her suffering.

Lying in bed next to her at night, I'd watch her sleep. It hurt... laying next to her, watching her sleep, listening to her breathe, laying a mere one or two feet away...

... and I couldn't touch her. I couldn't even just reach out and put my hand on her shoulder, her arm. It was virtual torture, to be so close to someone I loved so dearly, watching her die... and all the while unable to touch. Unable to send that simple message without words, to put my arms around her and give her a hug that says that I love her.

It was about this time, that the nightmares began...

[Faramir]

Just read the whole thread. Keep 'em coming RI.

(and quickly or else I help Jaltus hunt you down)

[AVmetro]

RightIdea:

It's my lovable movie villain for the theme week -- Steve Railsback as Ed Gein. But I do need to change it, now...

I knew it! I watched most of it at my parents one night while bored. I don't watch horror movies (anymore) but because this was the Ed Gein thing, it caught my attention. I think it could be considered blatant dishonesty to say that TCM was based on a true story if THAT was the story it was based on :lol:

...err..back to the topic..

[AVmetro]

Yeah, that was posted yesterday and now today is....."today" :smile: Since we've been good, can we have a 24Ker' ? :bigear:

[Em7add11]

I just read this whole thread.

I am now impatiently awaiting the rest.

[bar Jonah]

I'm sorry I have been unable to post something new! As I type this, I am at my folks' place. I am unable to get online at home, at all! Netzero is giving me serious grief, and I am beyond exasperation even trying to get through to a living human being for technical support! A nightmare! :argh:

Tomorrow, I'll be here again for my weekly Sunday dinner with my folks. I will try to remember to bring two more chapters of the story to post at that time, back to back. (I'm guessing the mods won't hit me for doing that, although if one of you posts in response to the first chapter, really quickly, it won't be an issue!) :wink:

LOL

See you then! Thanks, all, for committing some real time to experiencing this incredible story. All I can say is... what is to come will far outshadow anything that has happened so far.

Much love from Denver! :ri:

[India]

RightIdea:

All I can say is... what is to come will far outshadow anything that has happened so far.

You say things like this, and then you wonder why you have everyone drumming their fingers impatiently and sending you nastygrams...

<drums fingers impatiently>

[Queen]

That is what I fear most. That my friend is leaving me, because he doesn't want to see me hurt. Silly really, I guess it is not the fear of infecting the one you love...it is the fear that they shrivel up and die when you are dead. That kept me from stepping out myself. That and God who gave me the strenght to fight these thoughts with my own "logic"

AIDS is horrific, a slow painful death.......All you want to do is to take it away from the one you love....

Queen

[bar Jonah]

I've had four different kinds of dreams before, in my life. Good dreams are, well... good, sometimes uplifting in a way. Bad dreams could get pretty bad, but never enough to leave me feeling disturbed over it for long periods of time. Weird dreams are fun... had a lot of those; I used to dream in cartoon, but not for a few years now. Nightmares... are something totally different.

I'd had some nightmares about Linda's rape, shortly after it had happened. They were extreme, violent, torturous, but what disturbed me the most was the emotion in them. Linda was screaming, begging for mercy, begging it to stop, and I could do nothing. The nightmares that now began about Angie were different... worse.

I'll relate a couple of them here for you. Please know that these are very graphic, bloody, disturbing. This is not for young kids. Talking about them is hard, but in a way can also be somewhat therapeutic or cathartic.

In these nightmares, every sense was heightened to superman levels; I could sense things in a way that just wasn't possible in reality... especially sounds; the sound of bullets whizzing past my head, tearing through flesh; bones snapping and crunching into fragments, flesh tearing, rending; blood gushing from a wound was like the roar of powerful river. Perhaps worse than that (and more chilling to me), was the fact that, after waking up... I could remember everything, every detail. It was as if every minor scrap of pain and suffering were branded into my mind, never to be lost. I could run through the entire thing in my head, see the details, remember the sounds and the sensations... weeks after having them.

One nightmare I recall, one of the earlier ones, was a short one. In the dream, I was laying next to Angie in our bed, watching her sleep. That was pretty normal for us lately... I wasn't sleeping as much, and would often lay awake at night watching her sleep, listening to her breath, unable to touch her because she didn't want to be touched anymore; even a gentle stroke of her cheek elicited a cringe from her.

As I was laying next to her, she was laying on her side, facing away, to my right. I whispered to her, "Are you awake?" ... no response. Again I whispered to her... nothing. I spoke softly, a little louder, trying to get her attention, but she did nothing. Something within my heart began to race in fear... something was wrong; I didn't know what, but I knew something was terribly wrong with her. I reached over to put my hand on her shoulder...

... and it was cold.

I rolled her over towards me, so I could see her face. Her eyes were closed, but suddenly flashed open, nearly causing me to scream... the look in her eyes was pain... fear... horror. She opened her mouth to scream, and her face began to rot.

It all happened to fast, all in a matter of seconds... her face was rotting away, decomposing as if the hands of time were stripping away her flesh as fast as it could. Her eyes melted away, running down what remained of her face. I can still remember most of the gory details of it all... her skin melting away from her bones and running along the sheets... her organs coming apart and spilling out in front of me. Although her mouth was mostly gone already, I can still remember the scream... unlike anything I've ever heard. Pain, suffering, paralyzing fear, terror that struck me immobile as I watched her die. The scream was quickly lost in a gurgling cacophony of blood rushing down her throat. The cry that welled up within me could not escape, trapped by the fear that it too would be consumed by the Reaper's wrath upon her.

I woke up in a panic... looked over to her side of the bed...

... but she wasn't there.

She was probably out with some "friends" of hers. She'd taken to doing that a lot lately, sometimes not coming home for one or two days at a time. I think she was trying to get away from me... not because she was upset at me, but because the instinct within her forced her away; she couldn't bear to "infect" me by being near.

I was covered in sweat, and shaking from head to toe. I sat up, lit a cigarette, and waited up until sunrise. I didn't even want to think about going back to sleep, no matter how tired I was. I tried to think of something else, anything else... but the images plagued my mind... they just wouldn't leave me.


More in a few minutes...

[bar Jonah]

And the next frightening chapter...


NOTE: Some of this post is very graphic and violent in nature; please use your own discretion in reading.

Continuing...



Another nightmare I remember in vivid detail, felt like it had lasted for maybe eight or nine hours. It started out normally enough, like any other weird dream; a friend and I were driving around some neighborhoods among houses, driveways and alleyways. Although the area wasn't anything I'd seen in real life before, in the dream, it was familiar... I knew it by heart. It was a residential area, spread throughout a heavily forested area, with tight rolling hills. The person in the car next to me wasn't anyone that I knew in real life, but in the dream, he was my best friend.

I remember as we drove down a small street that went under an overpass, we came out the other side lost... we didn't have a clue where we were. The vegetation was much heaver, and nothing was familiar to either of us. We kept driving for a long time... eventually we came out into open prairie flatland, our highway cutting a straight line through the middle of it. After a few more minutes of driving, we came upon a turnoff, and took it.

The tiny road we'd turned off onto was old black cobblestone, and gently curved its way to a large building at the end. In front of the building, the tiny road circled back onto itself, creating a driveway out in front of this building... all black cobblestones. A small stand of huge dead trees stood in the middle of the circle, leafless arms splayed out in every direction. I remember looking at the building snuggled up next to the circular driveway and thinking... what in the heck is that? I couldn't tell if it was a convenience stop, or a huge haunted mansion; it had a very indefinable quality about it, as if its true purpose was something I'd never even heard of before.

We parked next to the building at the outer edge of the circle, and got out. We shouted "hello", but no one answered... only the painful moaning of the wind. We found the front door, made our way inside, still empty... no one home. We kept poking our way around inside this huge building (somehow much bigger on the inside, than the outside), and finally ran into some people. A few minutes of conversation didn't yield much in the way of directions, so we were on our way out...

... but we couldn't find our way out. We began to see more and more people along the way, and over a course of time (maybe an hour, hard to tell) the people began to look different... changed. Very quickly they began to morph into something I could only describe as demons... chasing after us. They used to be human, we could tell... but not anymore; something horrifically evil had taken and twisted them into walking horrors.

We sprinted down one corridor after another, only to find ourselves more hopelessly lost. The "demons" were on our heels, snapping, snarling, clawing at us. They began to look more deformed, less human... some were absolutely monster-like. Many of them looked like something right out of the "Alien" movies, and many were even much worse. ... and not only were they chasing us, they were tearing apart any other humans they could find, who were not already turned. Soon, they began tearing each other apart as well in their fury, gorging hungrily on the blood and remains of their brethren in a frenzy.

The two of us found some weapons... shovels, really, and we began to fight our way through the chaos. It was as if we'd casually strolled through the gates of hell, and hell didn't want to let us leave. We fought them as fiercely as we could, smashing heads, chopping off arms... but they still came. I remember one woman off to my left, and we fought the demons back... she had been shackled by her hands and feet, and the look on her face hold my gaze. She wasn't staring at me... she was staring straight ahead at something in front of her, obstructed from my view.

The monstrosity before her lunged at her, coming into view. It had to be over ten feet tall, black skin with spikes protruding at the shoulders and back. Before I could do anything, rent her body wide open, splattering the remains of her onto the two of us. The sheer force of it slammed us into the wall.

I frantically wiped her blood out of my eyes, and looked around for my friend... he was gone, nowhere to be seen. I wanted to go look for him, but the demons were coming... so I ran. I sprinted through the onslaught of creatures before me, tearing through them with my bare hands as best I could, just to keep moving. Eventually, I heard my friend's voice again, down a distant corridor, and I followed it.

As I turned the corner, I stumbled into a room... maybe thirty-feet square. The walls were lined with something I couldn't quite make out... the remains of something that used to be alive, I couldn't quite tell. Blood was everywhere, sliding down the walls, dripping from the ceiling, splattered all over the floor... and there in the center, stood one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen.

It looked like it used to be human, but whatever had made it human before was long gone. Its skin was a medium gray, splattered in blood all over. Torn shredded clothes hung from its body, as if left over from a fierce battle with some animal. Black hair stuck out in random directions, and where its eyes should have been... was nothing.

As horrific as it looked, I was gripped by a fear that was greater than its savage appearance. I was locked by its empty eye sockets... they looked as if they'd been torn out. Inside them was darkness so black, it was almost tangible. I could almost see something moving inside, as I felt an icy touch grab my heart. It was standing at least ten feet away, it hadn't touched me with its hands, but I could feel it reaching out with invisible arms, squeezing my heart inside my chest, freezing it in place.

It dropped its arms down to its sides, fingers splayed out. In seconds, its fingers grew into two-foot long jointed spikes, sharp at the ends. A sickening look crawled onto the face, as if it was smiling and grimacing at the same time. It raised its arms up, slowly... fingers pointing up into the air. Just as I found my voice, I screamed, "NOOOO!!!"... but it was too late.

At the sound of my scream, it plunged all ten fingers deep into its own chest; I could hear the puncturing tears as they went in. With a grunt, it drove them deeper, up to the knuckles, curling the fingers around inside. I tried to scream again, but my voice was gone... I could barely breath; my feet refused to take me away from this horror.

A sick twisted smile spread across its face, as it tightened its grip. With a tremendous rending sound, it pulled outwards, ripping its own rib cage wide open. A wave of blood gushed out onto the floor, and all over me; organs popped and split, dropping into the pool of blood at its feet. I can still remember the sound of bones snapping, crunching, as it tore itself apart... and the splattering of entrails that followed. Just as it tore itself apart, it reared its head back, mouth wide open, and made an unholy sound... like laughter crossed with screaming, echoing through the room.

I remembered how to use my feet again, and I did; I ran from the room as fast as I could, slamming through anything in my way. It was some time before I finally, somehow made it to the outside. I could see the driveway not far away, and the car parked there. I sprinted for the car, got inside, frantically started it up and slammed down on the gas, heading for the tiny little road that had brought us here off the highway.

In the road ahead I could see a pickup, taking up most of the little road, heading straight for me. I punched the gas down to the floor and barreled right for it... there was no other way out. At the last second, I yanked the wheel to the side... and in that instant, my view changed from first-person (through my own eyes) to third-person (at least fifty feet behind me), as if I had been pulled out of my own body at the last second.

The truck turned to match, and the impact was nearly head on. I saw myself die in the crash, torn apart by the force of the truck. I remember seeing my left arm sticking out the driver's side window... rent off by the impact.

There was a bright flash, and suddenly I was back in the car again... as if I'd been throw a few seconds back in time, to relive the impact once more. Again I punched the gas, did the same thing... swerved at the last second. I was pulled out of my body again at the last instant, and saw myself die once more.

Another bright flash, and I was back in the car again...

... driving peacefully along the highway in the gather dusk. My best friend was in the front passenger seat next to me, talking about something, I didn't notice what. I was breathing hard, heart racing... but somehow, everything was okay now. I sighed in relief, and focused on driving again... looked over at my friend... he looked normal, just fine. Somehow I sensed that I had jumped forward in time, a few hours. I glanced again out of the corner of my eye...

... and something was wrong. He looked different... darker. I turned to face him, and gazed straight into the eyeless sockets of the demon that had torn itself apart before me, seemingly hours ago. Its mouth dropped open nearly to the floor, and it screamed that unholy noise...

I woke up, screaming bloody murder.

[Alien]

Woooohoooo!!!

What a GREAT horror movie that would make! All you need is a surrounding plot .... how they got to be there, some reason for it all .... then sell it to Hollywood and all Rob's financial worries are over!

BTW, that thing about suddenly becoming a spectator in a dream when things get really bad is familiar. I think its a defense mechanism..... <shudder>

[bar Jonah]

[Makes sense to me. For your insight, another chapter!]


Since moving into the condo, I'd had to figure out some transportation. Tracy's boyfriend (who'd been away from some time) had an old car that they let me borrow. It was an old Chevy Nova, beat up, rust-colored red all over, and was generally a total piece of crap... but it ran. It had no car insurance (which is unfortunately required here in Colorado), and the plates were long since expired, but it was all I had. In order to avoid being pulled over, I sneaked into another apartment complex late at night, and stole the tags off someone else's car, and stuck them to the plates on the piece of junk I was driving. It was legal (or ethical, frankly), but I didn't really care.

I got a call from my parents one day... they told me that my grandmother (Grandma June, on my mom's side) had passed away. They were driving down to Texas (Wichita Falls) for her funeral, and offered to take me with them, so I went. I took the weekend off and drove down there with them for the funeral... a good sixteen-hour drive (more or less).

I'd always felt pretty distant from my grandmother, not just separated by miles, but separated by totally different lives. She was such a different person; we had virtually nothing in common. She was fairly poor, kinda scraping by, very active in her church, and she seemed to me to be very much a strict, traditional, stiff-necked Southern Baptist Christian. Ugh. She was all about discipline, being strict, doing the right thing, blah blah blah. I'd always gotten along with her well enough, but I felt like we had absolutely nothing in common, and I never really wanted to go visit her.

In going to her funeral, I knew that, although it didn't really affect me very deeply, it would be very hard for my mother. I'd managed to keep a distance from my own family since moving out, not being around any more than necessary only showing up when I had to, etc... But now I knew, it was time to be there for my mom, however I could. It was a fairly short trip, and not one that really impacted me at the time... but a year or so later, I would look back at the whole event in a very different light.

After coming home from the trip, I went back to work. Just a few minutes after showing up at work (night shift manager, McDonald's), a store assistant manager pulled me aside into the office for a moment, and closed the door... told me he needed to speak with me in private.

By the sound of it, I thought they were gonna fire me or something, but that wasn't it at all. He (Aric, who was kinda my mentor at work) told me that the store had been burglarized while I was gone... ! Someone had smashed in a door (those useless glass doors ya see at every fast food place), opened up the safe (they knew the combination!), and taken all the money inside (about $1000, more or less).

I was shocked! Geez... I go outta town for a few days, an' the store is burglarized while I'm gone. After thinking about it for a minute, I thought, "Eh... yikes... that makes me look a little suspicious, doesn't it?" I told Aric that, and they dismissed that quickly... he knew I hadn't done it, geez... I just "wasn't the type." They figured it was probably someone who saw a manager opening the safe, and memorized the combination. (It was one of those old-style spinning combination locks.) All they had to do then, was come in after hours, smash through a glass door, sneak in, open the safe, take the money and go... easy.

That night, I began keeping a close eye on security. Heck, everybody around work was pretty edgy. Most people there didn't talk about it, at least not openly... like a dirty little secret everyone wanted to forget, pretend it'd never happened.

For some time by then, I'd been enjoying going out after work with the guys, to shoot some pool. We'd close the store, finish everything up... by the time we left, it was usually about midnight (sometimes later, on Fridays and Saturdays). There was a bar/pool hall right across the street from us (can't even remember what it was called). We'd head across the street to the bar probably half the time, after work each night... usually Aric, Dean (a close buddy of ours that worked under us), myself, and sometimes a couple of others. We'd shoot pool an' drink like fishes 'till they kicked us out; after that, we'd make the one-block-long drive across the parking lot (and across one intersection) to the Denny's. There, we'd eat like pigs, an' talk shop 'till almost sunrise. From there, we'd be long-since sobered up, and we'd all drive home.

I had turned into one heckuva good pool player (under Aric's teachings), and a pretty heavy drinker as well. I wasn't really addicted... I was sure I wasn't an alcoholic... I could go days, weeks without a drink, no problem; but I was definitely drinking a heckuva lot when I went out with the guys. I'd often down one whole pitcher of beer, plus two mixed drinks, by myself... sometimes more... and repeat that three or four times a week. At the time, with the depression I was in, going out for pool and drinks was just about the only escape I had, that felt good. It was the only time and place when I truly felt like I was away from my problems, my troubles, everything wrong in my life... it didn't matter, I was kickin' back, havin' fun. It obviously wasn't the healthiest escape, but it was the only one I had, and it worked. To some degree, for now at least…

[bar Jonah]

It's surprising how self-reinforcing, and how tempting depression can be when you're in the middle of it. Years before, I'd always thought defining depression as a medical condition was pretty silly. "C'mon... what, you're depressed? Feeling down? Gimme a break... that's not a medical condition. Jus' snap out of it."

Wrong-o.

It began for me with screwing up my own finances... falling steadily behind on money, on my bills, until I'd managed to screw myself into a corner with no way out... except to slough it off onto my dad, and slink away as if nothing had happened. That, for me, was probably the first nail in the coffin.

The second nail was a loss of faith in the general goodness of people. The whole cacophony of circumstances surrounding Linda's previous abuse, and then her recent rape, tore from me any belief that people were, in general, good. I just couldn't fathom the idea of her neighbors sitting there all night, listening her torture. My brain couldn't register it... so my heart took the blow instead.

The third nail followed closely after; the beginning of losing any faith in myself. I couldn't do a darned thing for Erica... for Linda... and now, for Angie. That was probably one of the driving forces behind my nightmares about Linda, and about Angie. No matter how hard I fought, I couldn't do a darned thing.

The fourth nail... I was worthless. Experience had taken its toll on me. I couldn't do that which I wanted to do most... help the woman I was closest to, and loved... so why bother even trying anymore? It didn't matter... life was crap, and I was powerless to stop it. Her suffering would continue, would worsen... and all I could do was watch... spectate.

The fifth nail came after having spent some time slipping subtly into depression, one small step at a time. After some time, it becomes comfortable in a way. Along with the realization that I couldn't do anything right, that I would always fail in what mattered most, was the fear that if I tried, things would be even worse. And so, I had resigned myself to my depressive state, allowing myself to slide ever slowly downwards, toward my own destruction... my own death.

It's a lot like playing poker... and folding every hand you play. Sure, you know you're going to lose every hand, you know you're going to steadily inch your way to losing everything... but at least you know the pace. You know you're only a little... you're not risking anything. Risking, anymore, was so terrifying a thought that I'd banished it from myself. No... better to slink slowly into the dark, without a word, without a sound, and die.

For me, it reminded me of having an old hated friend nearby, at a time when the rest of my world was out for my blood. Sure, I may hate the guy's guts... he may be killing me one small piece at a time... but the rest of the world is after me more savagely, so I'll choose the lesser of two evils. I knew I would lose every hand... but I knew how badly I would lose. That came as a sort of comfort... that deadly thing we call “routine.”

For me, it was an empty meaningless routine that got me nowhere, and had no meaning. I had no meaning, no purpose in my life... which brings me to the next nail in the coffin... a loss of hope. It's amazing how profound hope is upon people... or a lack thereof. I had no hope left in me. When I looked to my future, all I saw was the same gray, empty, meaningless suffering I'd come to know very well. I no longer even had a purpose, a reason for living. Even as bad as my circumstances were, I may have been able to survive, if I'd had any hope... but there was none.

Sarah McLachlan wrote about depression in her song "Angel". A beautifully written and performed song that captures the heart of it for me. In the verses of the song, she's talking to someone mired deeply in depression, empathizing with them; the choruses are a message of comfort from her to them. I had no such comfort in my state of depression, but the verses resonate so well:

[b]it don't make no difference
escaping one last time
it's easier to believe
in this sweet madness
oh this glorious sadness
that brings me to my knees


One day, in the midst of this, I made the decision to the single stupidest, most cowardly thing I've ever done...

[AcousticJS]

You can't end the chapter like that, and then leave it a day (at least) before posting... :argh:

[bar Jonah]

[Ain't he just a stinker? ... and like brother, like brother.] :lol:

[bar Jonah]

[Hmmmm...... Whaddya think? Maybe I should just let that hang until after Christmas.

Or after the whole Christmas/New Year's holiday season?] :tongue:

[Xmansmommy]

:ri: :whip:

[bar Jonah]

:egad:

[Okay! Okay!]


I began thinking about my self-inflicted money problems. I was deep into debt, I'd screwed my father over for over a thousand dollars, I had long-since gone delinquent on my first and only credit card... which had been subsequently cancelled. Given my current income, I had no nope in sight. Well... since I'd dug myself into that hole, I'd finally try to weasel my way out of it.

One night, planned several days in advance, I drove out to the McDonald's where I worked, after hours, after everyone had gone home for the night. I acted upon the idea that had blossomed into my head... I broke into, and burglarized my own workplace. There was about $1,000 cash there that I took, cash and a huge bunch of change (rolled coin). I made sure to stick to the same M.O. as the last guy who'd done it. I busted a glass door, opened the safe with the combination, took the money, etc etc... made it all look exactly the same.

Sneaking out of there that night, I was shaking all over. Admittedly a part of me was kind of excited... I was doing something dangerous, something I shouldn't be doing, and that provided me with a feeling of power, in a way. The rest of was scared... what if they found me out? Would I go to jail? I was terrified of what would happen to me, even though my life was already crappier than I'd ever imagined it could be.

More than anything, I was scared that my parents and family would find out. THAT would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to me. I'd rather flee the city, leaving everyone I know behind, and hide out in some distant city... than face my family... my dad's eyes, if they ever found out.

A small part of me actually felt bad about what I'd done. "This is WRONG!" that part of me cried... but I had already squashed down that voice inside me that could only be called the little angel on my shoulder. It was the silent voice that had always tried (sometimes in vain) to steer me in the right direction, convince me to do the right thing. Not anymore... now it wasn't much more than a squeak.

I got home with the spoils... pretty late, almost dawn... and stashed the money away. I could hardly sleep that night/morning (not that I wanted to anyway), despite the fatigue that had plagued me for weeks, even months. I hadn't told Angie about it beforehand... but I told her after the deed was done. She was a little surprised, but not deeply shocked; she didn't have the moral/ethical upbringing that I'd had, and wasn't so easily wavered by the thought of flat-out burglary, breaking and entering, and theft, as I was.

Tracy never knew... I didn't have the heart to tell her, and did everything I could to hide it from her. I didn't want her (or Heaven forbid, her kids) finding out what I had done.

The funny thing is, I didn't even use most of it to pay off debt. Angie and I blew it on stupid stuff... beer, entertainment, a new stereo... etc etc. Although I did use a little of it to catch up on some past-due bills, I flushed the vast majority of it away on stupid junk.

Literally overnight, I had become... had made myself into a criminal; and not only that, but a felon. This wasn't some misdemeanor I'd committed... it was a felony. Sure, I hadn't been caught, but deep within myself I still knew the truth of what I was... nothing more than a common criminal.

... and I was good at it. Yeah... I was actually pretty good at skulking around in the dark, sneaking in and stealing things... when I knew the store by heart... when I knew the combination to the safe, etc. In a way, I'd found the solution to my money problems.

Of course... I didn't want to become a career criminal... heck no; but I could do it for a short time, just enough to recover and catch up on money, couldn't I? Sure! I would work! I'd just do it one more time... an' that's it! Or, maybe twice more... that'll certainly be enough, right?

"I'm not a criminal," I'd told myself... I'm just doing what I have to do, to get by for now. I'm just trying to get back on my own two feet again, 'cause there's no other way... and this is the only way! Besides... it's not like I'm actually stealing money from my workplace... I mean, this money is all insured, right? Sure... I'm just stealing from some rich greedy insurance company, an' nobody likes them! Hey that makes it okay... or at least, okay enough to talk myself into not hating myself for it.

I had every excuse in the book down pat... I was making excuses for what I'd done... not to anyone else, but to myself. I should've known it at the time, but I didn't care enough to even think about it... all I wanted, was to somehow climb my way out of the hell-hole I was sinking into. Still... I was addressing the hell-hole as if it were something affected by money, when the truth is... that was just the first big thing that set it in motion.

It wasn't about money, or anything else external... it was about me, trying to forget that I was dying inside... and that Angie was dying on the outside.

[AVmetro]

:spam:

[Xmansmommy]

I know what we need to do guys......We need to :spam: :ri:'s email until he posts more often! Anyone with me on this? :brow:

[bar Jonah]

I will try to keep up with regular posting... but I will not post the whole thing at once like you've asked me to, Linda. Ain't gonna happen. :lol:

This story is written to be serialized... and that is how it shall be presented! :ri:

[Xmansmommy]

Jim, I'm not the only one who requested it. :frown: It's all good though. I'll just quit reading for a few days and then there will be more than just enough to make me mad. :wink:

[bar Jonah]

You do whatever you like. :lol: I know that if I post 60 pages worth of story, even if people do make it all the way through, they're not going to be drawn into it as much as they will this way. I shall not repent of my decision to serialize Rob's story. :tongue:

(I will, however, post again tonight, in an hour or two...)

[bar Jonah]

[For the voracious Linda...]


At work, things remained pretty tense. Everybody knew the store had been robbed, and no one wanted to talk about it... they preferred to pretend it hadn't happened. Everyone thought that it was the same person who had burglarized the store before... but it wasn't. The first wasn't me... the second one was.

After seeing how "easy" it was the first time for me, I continued making excuses for myself, and for my behavior. About a month later, I did it again... broke in after hours, stole the money, and left. Soon, the owner had detectives working the case thoroughly; they were interviewing everyone who worked there, in detail... most of them right there in the store, down in the lunch room.

At home, things continued to get harder. Angie was increasing distant, seldom at home, and when she was... it was as if she had locked herself up inside, unwilling to let anyone in.

Somewhere around that time, shortly before she shut herself off completely, she finished a self-portrait she had been working on for months. She had spent many hours on it, and hadn't even told me (or anyone) about it until it was done. When she gave me the finished product, I was stunned... she had captured her own face in artwork on paper so realistically it was almost like a photograph in black and white.

I was so inspired by it, that I wrote the first and only poem I've ever written, and put it together on my computer with her self-portrait. I called my poem "Angel," derived from her name. It was pretty simple, nothing fancy, and something I've shared with only a handful of people in my life since then... but I'd like to share it with you now... not out of a sense of pride (it's not that great a poem), or to show off some fancy piece of artistic poetry I created... but just in the spirit of complete honesty, to share everything with all of you, no holding back.

Here it is...

______ANGEL

Hair of soft silky strands,
__And skin like velvet smooth,
Cannot express the beauty within,
__Or hide the inner truth.
To look into an Angel’s eyes,
__You fly upon the wind,
You see on past the outside face,
__And know what’s truly within
The makeup only changes such
__As colors, hues and tone,
But cannot tell you truly that
__She is the only one.
When you see within her soul
__And feel your spirit begin to fly
It shakes your soul straight to the core,
__And heaven jealously cries.
And that is when you know inside,
__Just who it is you see
When you look beyond the outer shell
__And know any Angel’s beauty.

Angie was soon absent for long periods of time now, sometimes for two or three days at a time. She'd stay with some "friends," a group of people (mostly guys) that I'd never met, or even talked to. I truly felt as if she was slipping through my fingers, and I'd never get her back. It was as if I was losing her, before she died. It was bad enough that I knew I was going to lose her to death... but now, I was losing her sooner than that... losing her to the distance between us.

Although I'd never known her pain first-hand, I knew what it was that drove her away from me. On the outside, for so long she had maintained a happy exterior, trying to soak up every hour she could in her last days, to "live it up", be happy... or at least try to look happy, and smile. She had confided in me, though, that the reason she was always smiling, was because she had to. If she didn't, she'd remember that something was wrong with her, that her body was failing.

I think it was when the neuropathy had set in, that she took her sharpest downward turn; not just physically, but emotionally as well. Knowing full well that you've begun to lose control over your own nervous system... how do you handle it? When you hardly have the energy to walk, when you can't even climb the stairs without being carried up... you feel like you're already dead. There's no escape from the cold grip of death... like the Grim Reaper himself is riding your back, digging his cold bony fingers into your flesh, and you never get a moment's peace.

That, I knew... is what drove her from me. She knew she was dying, she knew I loved her... and she didn't want to hurt me by being near. What she didn't understand was that I would rather be at her side while she died, so slowly... than to see her drift away from me before it happened. Yes, it would have hurt to be near her... but it hurt worse to be away from her, to feel nothing but the cold absence of her in our room, the empty bed next to me at night when I sometimes slept, sometimes laid awake... hoping that somehow she would come home to stay. Hoping that she would share her pain with me, instead of driving it within herself until it ate away at what remained of her heart.

At work... they put in a new electronic lock on the safe, fully computerized. Each manager was given their own code, and a small electronic key to use. Hopefully, they thought, this would either A) deter the perpetrator from doing this again; or B) nail him dead to rights when his code and key were recorded, in opening the safe.

Despite this new setup, I did it again... a third time... using my own code, and key... burglarizing my own workplace. Before making off with the loot, I pried the electronic control unit off the front of the safe, and destroyed it. I figured, if I destroyed that, then there's no way they could pull the info off of it, and find out it was me.

This made the third time I had committed a felony, stolen from my own employer, in a cowardly act of supposedly trying to get back on my own feet financially. Truth was... I didn't spend the majority of the money on debt... I spent it on trying to forget the hell in my life. Usually, I would do this by going out and drinking myself silly with the guys from work, sobering up at Denny's, and coming home at nearly dawn. Sometimes, it overwhelmed me, and exploded from within me. My temper was very short... I had virtually no fuse at all... just the littlest things would set me off.

At times, when I was home alone... I'd think about killing myself. Suicide seemed the only way out; nothing else could break the vicious cycle I was trapped in, nothing else would change the day-to-day hell I was living. It didn't even feel like living... more like surviving an onslaught of misery, in a total absence of hope. In looking to my future, I found no comfort; I didn't even see the chance of being able to spend Angie's last days by her side, to see her slip quietly away into death.

I remember being in the kitchen, finding the longest kitchen knife I could. I pulled up a chair and sat down at the dining table, knife in hand. I rested the base of the knife handle on top of the table, and slowly leaned forward until the tip of the knife touched the top of my throat. All I had to do was lean forward and downward, in one hard swift motion... and that would be it. I could drive the knife through my throat, my mouth... up into my brain, and end it right there.

My palms were sweating... I could hear the ringing of my nightmares screaming in my ears, tearing at my heart... urging me to do it. "There's no way out... you're dead already," they whispered to me. I thought about Angie... no, there was no hope there. She hardly even came home anymore. If she loved me, she had a heckuva way of showing it. I had invested my heart in her, and made my own happiness dependant on her... and now, I was losing her.

I sat there for what seemed like an hour or more, just thinking about it, wanting to do it...

... but I didn't. I couldn't. I didn't stop myself out of any sense of hope... but only because I didn't have the guts to go through with it. I couldn't make myself do it. One thought that stopped me was the thought of my family, my parents and brothers at my funeral. They would blame themselves for my suicide, as if it was their fault somehow.

Heck... I couldn't do anything right! Even in killing myself, I would end up hurting my family, and those others that I loved.

[Alien]

12-24-2003 @ 10:35 PM post located here (http://www.theologyweb.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&postid=354439#post354439)
RightIdea:

You do whatever you like. :lol: I know that if I post 60 pages worth of story, even if people do make it all the way through, they're not going to be drawn into it as much as they will this way. I shall not repent of my decision to serialize Rob's story. :tongue:



I agree Jim. This is the best way to do it. I read every episode carefully, rather than blast through it as I would if I had the whole thing. (Sorry Linda!)

[Faramir]

Yesterday @ 12:09 AM post located here (http://www.theologyweb.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&postid=354427#post354427)
Xmansmommy:

I know what we need to do guys......We need to :spam: :ri:'s email until he posts more often! Anyone with me on this? :brow:

Count me in :brow:

[bar Jonah]

[I'm super busy these days, though hopefully not for long. Doing my best! Here you go... bon apetit!]


Things were getting more tense at work. The police were still "interviewing" with employees, but now the owner of the establishment was there for these interviews as well. They interviewed me one day, just before the beginning of my shift. The questions they asked didn't really seem to hit home; apparently, they didn't have anything much to go on... nothing concrete.

A few days later, the police called me up at home... said they wanted to talk to me; they wanted me to come down to the station as soon as I could. I told them I was pretty busy that week (I wasn't), but I could go seem them Friday afternoon, before work.

I drove down to the police station to meet them, that Friday afternoon, made my way inside, and found the right department. I let them know that I was there, that I was ready whenever they were... and sat down in a waiting area... and waited... and waited, for what seemed like hours. Finally, a detective came out for me, and ushered me inside, back into their offices. He guided me to a side room, and we sat down inside. There was a woman already sitting there waiting for us... the other detective. It was a small room, white walls all around, a solitary door leading out, and a huge mirror built into the wall behind them... which could only be one-way glass. The table was cold... the chairs, just a little uncomfortable... and the atmosphere was as tense as I've ever felt.

They started asking me questions... pretty vague at first, then more specifically about my work, my job responsibilities, duties, etc. After some time, the questions became much more specific. Exactly how did I keep track of my keys at work? Have I given out the combination to the safe to anyone I work with? Have I ever loaned my keys to anyone at work, or outside of work? ... Ever given anyone my combination to the electronic lock on the safe?

My answers were all pretty honest, really... no I never loaned my keys to anyone, never gave out the combination, I was always good about making sure no one could've figured out the combination by watching me key it in, to open the safe. I put up the best front I could, to maintain a responsible image.

As the "interview" went on, they were both becoming gradually more assertive, bordering on aggressive. Up to this point, they hadn't told me what they know... they just asked a very specific, carefully orchestrated set of questions. None of the questions were leading... I didn't feel as if I was being led into a trap... until it was too late. Of course, they didn't need to trap me at all... my actions already had.

Finally, the male detective who'd led me in there confronted me with a chilling piece of evidence. They told me that the electronic lock that was installed on the safe before the last burglary was linked by satellite to an office located in another state. Every time an electronic key was used, and the accompanying combination keyed in, it transmitted that info to the manufacturer's out-of-state office complex... to their network, where it was always stored.

They confronted me with the fact that the last person who'd opened the safe, had opened it well after-hours, after everyone had left for the night. They electronic key used, and the combination... were mine.

I felt my heart drop... I knew I was caught, but I couldn't give in to it... I couldn't admit anything... that would be legal suicide. Both of them asked me, several times, if I wanted to change my story... if I had any "new information" for them, any corrections to make on what I'd told them. I didn't want to look like an idiot (which I already did... a guilty idiot), so I told them no... Everything I had told them was accurate. They kept on, surprisingly giving me every possible chance to weasel my way out; every time, I declined... and stuck to my story, even as it sank.

I reached the point where I knew my back was up against the wall, and I just couldn't say anything more. Mumbling through the lump in my throat, I told them that I refused to answer any more questions until I had talked to an attorney.

They looked at each other briefly, and without another word, the male detective stood up. "Well then I'm afraid we're gonna have to arrest you."

My head was swimming... heart racing... I couldn't believe he had just said it. He walked slowly around to my side of the table, told me to empty my pockets. I felt like I was gonna pass out or throw up... maybe both. Once I'd finished emptying out my pockets, he searched me briefly, and told me to put my hands behind my back.

I did... and a moment later, felt the cold metal of handcuffs on my wrists. As they clinked into place, I felt like I'd just been shot... like my life was bleeding rapidly away, and I couldn't stop it... there was nothing I could do.

It was as if I had managed to die well ahead of time, reminding me a little of Angie in an odd way. Before the life was even gone from me, I had already lain down in my own grave, and started pulling the dirt in over me.



My life was over.

[Faramir]

:pray: Thanks for the fix RI :ri:

Now I can sleep tonight.

[bar Jonah]

He's a multiple felon! He just got arrested, nailed dead to rights!

And you can sleep at night. :shifty:

I'll be sure to pass on to him just how much you care... :hrm:



:lol:

[bar Jonah]

[Continuing...]


The male detective led me out of the room, through the offices, to the stairs... down the stairs, and outside the building. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe... it was enough just to make my feet move, carrying me on towards the end of my life. As we went through the door, heading outside, he lit up a cigarette. I asked him if I could have one. He thought about it for a moment... then gave me one, lit it up for me.

Even to this day, I'm surprised at their demeanor through the whole thing... both detectives. Yes they were doing their job, but it almost seemed as if they were reluctant... as if they hated having to cuff me and lead me away like a common criminal. The detective who led me around the outside of the building was professional, but relaxed enough to give me a lit cigarette. "I'm really not supposed to do this, but... here ya go." It's amazing how important the little things become, in some situations like this one. My whole life was draining away with each step I took... but darn it, at least I could have a smoke along the way. It felt like the last request of a man standing before a firing squad... they offer the man a last smoke, before he's gunned down.

We walked most of the way around the police building, to the back... to the jail. He led me inside, to a holding area... sat me down in a room by myself. A little time passed, and they led me to another room, emptied my pockets, took my clothes, searched me, and gave me an orange two-piece jumpsuit. Blue was given to those arrested for misdemeanors... orange was given to those arrested for felonies. I would almost have rather walked around naked, then wear the shameful clothes that labeled me as a felon. Sure, I hadn't gone through the legal process, been convicted, etc... But I was guilty, I knew it... and now, so did they; soon... so would everyone.

I spent a few hours there, sitting in a somewhat large room by myself, staring at the floor. I couldn't even bring myself to watch the tiny TV that was bolted to the wall, up in the corner of the room. Thoughts of family began running through my mind. What would they think? How could I tell them? Heck... how could I face them? I would rather rot in jail, in prison for the rest of my life, than see their faces again... to know the shame of it all... to see the disappointment in my parents' eyes... the heartbreak.

Taking a nap was out of the question... I was tired, but I couldn't sleep. The one bench my cell felt like concrete. I managed to choke down some food when it was offered. It wasn't unsafe or unsanitary by any means... it was perfectly healthy... but the taste was something I'd never forget. It had the taste of something I'd never experienced before. I couldn't put my finger on it until much later, when I began to realize that all the food in there tasted the same. Didn't matter what it was... it all tasted the same; it was almost like the taste of the jail itself, the taste of confinement, of the utter absence of freedom.

A few hours later, they moved me around a couple of times, to different cells, eventually with a few other prisoners. Most of them were wearing blue, not the felonist orange I was trapped in. They were pretty conversational with one another, but I didn't want any part of it. They asked what I was in for... the one darned question I was waiting for... and didn't want to answer.

I wanted to tell them, "I ripped a man's face off and stuffed it down his throat... now leave me alone... " That'd do the trick... but I had no bravado left in me. And so, I just sat... untalkative, unresponsive, unwilling to interact with anything, any more than absolutely necessary.

They finally shackled our hands together tightly, as well as our feet, and led out to the outer door, where a police van was waiting. They walked us outside, and up into the van, sitting us down one by one... slammed the door shut, and began driving. I tried to peek out the windows to get a glimpse of where I was, but it was getting late into the night, and the darkness outside was heavy. I didn't know where they were taking me, but it didn't make much difference anyway.

We arrived at our destination... the main county jail, a few miles from the main police station. They loaded us all inside into a holding room, and left us there... for what seemed like a couple of hours. We were moved from room to room, one or two at a time... finally seperated one by one. I was left in small cell, maybe five feet by ten feet... all concrete. The only window was a small square reinforced panel set at head level within the door, a big metal slab that was slammed shut, locking me within.

A little more food... that same crappy taste that I couldn't stand, but I choked it down. Another man was locked into the cell with me, for temporary holding... maybe an hour or two. He tried to strike up conversation, but I wasn't interested. He asked if he could have the cot... I gave it to him without a word. It was really more of an uncomfortable, crappy tarp with some flattened stuffing inside; almost as comfy as rock to lay on.

I just lay on the floor... zoned myself out... tried to block everything out. It felt like, if I let anyone in, if I let my guard down and actually spoke to someone... the whole experience would invade me. I did my best to keep it all out, pretend it wasn't happening, although there was no escaping it. It was all I could do, to count the seconds as they ticked by... then minutes... then, hours. The reverie was only interrupted by either food, or an order that I was being moved... neither of which offered any appeal.

Being arrested, at that point in my life, was the closest I've come to the feeling of actually dying. I'd wanted to die for some time by then, but this kind of death seemed much worse... I was dead, but not truly dead... like a zombie, forced to walk around, sit here, eat this, wait there. I felt no life left within me, no will, no purpose, no smile... not a shred of dignity or identity.

[Jaltus]

Keep them coming, RI.

[AVmetro]

These posts seem like they're getting shorter each time. :nsm: How about 23999 characters? :troll:

[bar Jonah]

[Here ya go...]


Eventually I ended up being moved into a "pod," as they call it... a huge, three-sided, two-story room surrounded on two sides by cells, each designed to hold two prisoners. The entrance/exit was within the remaining third wall, above which was a large bank of one-way windows; on the other side, obviously, were officers monitoring the "pod."

I was settled into a cell that already had two other prisoners in it. There were two "bunks", each really nothing more than a slab of metal sticking out from one concrete wall. Each of them was taken, so I laid out my pathetic excuse for a cot on the floor, and tried to sleep. I don't think I slept more than five minutes at a time, all night... I could only lay awake, thinking to myself of how in the hell it had all come to this. The floor was hard and cold, as everything else in there seemed to be.

The next morning, breakfast was the same ill-flavored kind of crap I'd eaten the night before; healthy enough, no doubt... but sickening to my stomach. Hours passed... and finally, I was called by one of the officers. I had visitors. I knew who the visitors would be, and I wasn't looking forward to it. Looking at myself, I had never in my life more desperately wanted to just... change into some other clothes. So simple a thing, to change clothes... to wear anything else but that... the orange jumpsuit that marked me as a felon.

I was guided in stages to the visitation area, where I waited for a short time. When it was my turn, I was sat down at a chair, a tiny desk before me, a glass window... and a telephone to my left. Tracy and Angie were there, but thank God her kids were not. Tracy spoke first; although she wasn't able to say much, her face... and her eyes, said it all. She was pretty shocked, to say the least, hurt, angry, disappointed... a confused mix of emotions she didn't know what to do with. She told me that they were working on getting me out on bail, maybe even that same afternoon, and taking me home.

Angie was next at the phone. Although she had managed to mask her emotions well, I could see a little guilt in her eyes... as if she felt partially responsible. The first time through, doing what I'd done, she didn't know until afterwards... but the second and third times, she knew in advance what I was doing... she knew I was stealing the money. Because of that, I think she felt partially responsible; she'd known about the whole thing, and although she hadn't committed the act herself, she was involved in that way... and yet there she was on her side of the glass, and I on mine. There she was wearing her own clothes... and I, wearing that accursed orange jumpsuit... the most shameful thing I could possibly be forced to wear.

Conversations were short, curt... mostly to reassure me that they were working on getting me out on bail. Honestly, I didn't even know if I wanted out; that meant seeing people again, people I knew... looking them in the eye, and answering for what I'd done. That meant experiencing the loss of dignity, in the presence of those I knew, loved, and respected... and the thought of that was unbearable. More than anything, the thought of my family, my parents finding out... was unthinkable. I would rather have rotted in jail for the rest of my days, than have to face my parents one more time... to look them in the eye and answer the obvious question, "So... did you do it?" Yes... yes I had... I'd stooped about as low as I possibly could have, when given the chance.

Several hours later, I was moved (in stages, of course), and finally outside to daylight... to "freedom." It's strange... it felt a little like freedom at first, stepping out into the world again from jail... but at the same time, terrifying. I was "free," out of jail for the time being... but from that moment on I began to feel an ominous threat hanging over me... the threat that one day, one day very soon, it would all be over anyway. I wasn't truly free... I'd just been relocated out into the world, where I couldn't hide from friends and loved ones anymore. Sure, the food was better... no more sleeping on cold concrete, in a cramped cell that stunk of captivity... but now that the pressure of jail was off of me, I felt the fear of doom hanging over me, like I never had before.

The first thing I remember doing once outside, was lighting up a cigarrette. I had only spent one day in there, from the moment the cuffs went on, to the moment I walked out... but I swear it felt like weeks. My hands were shaking as I lit it up, sucking smoke into my lungs... a bittersweet reminder of what life used to be like, only twenty-four hours ago.

They took me home. Once there, we tried to talk about what we should do, but there didn't seem to be much in the way of answers, anywhere we turned. Tracy managed to express some of her hurt to me, but I think she stopped before the tears flowed too far. Her kids were probably oblivious; no one had told them, but I've wondered since then if they really knew. Thinking back to when I was a kid, it scared me a little... I knew more than my parents ever thought I did, about what went on inside the house; listening through the walls, the vents. Although I often didn't know the specifics, I always knew the heart of it... that something was wrong.

Angie was obviously pretty badly hurt, but not shocked. I think she still felt guilty inside, because she hadn't been arrested, she hadn't been cuffed, stripped, clothed in the garb of a felon, chained, and locked up... while I had been. We spent a lot of time in silence, unable to say very much to each other. There was an unspoken thought hangin’ in the air... that I was screwed. My life done, and even talking about "what we should do" seemed absolutely stupid... like suggesting to someone whose legs were just cut off, "well maybe we should put a band-aid on that."

They told me something that drove a spike of shame into my heart... one of my brothers had found out, the oldest, Jim. He had called our parents afterward, who were out of town on a short weekend vacation. I don't even remember how he'd found out... I think the police had contacted him; I'm not even sure. Regardless, he knew... and now, so did our parents. They had already started driving back home, a full day's drive to be sure... and by then, it seemed the might even be home already. I knew what was coming, but I didn't want to face it. Any left fire inside me had been thoroughly extinguished, smothered by the experience of the past day.

A few hours into the evening, it happened... the phone rang. My dad was on the line.

[AVmetro]

Thankee :smile:

[Jaltus]

The dreaded call from the parents, it had to happen, but it still sucks.

[bar Jonah]

[Btw, yes, I did receive a phone call from the female detective in his case. I had to call our folks who were on vacation at the time (ain't that grand?) at a hot air balloon festival down in New Mexico. They had to drop that and drive all the way back to Denver for this. So, yes... in this case it was even a tad worse than your typical "dreaded call from the parents."]

[AVmetro]

Just out of curiosity, RI, how much do you have left to post? When this ends it'll be like a bus hitting you. I'd kinda like to know when it's comin' :smile:

[bar Jonah]

Wouldn't that be kinda cheatin'? :wink:

All I'll say right now is... it's not almost over. There's a good stretch left.

[Faramir]

AVmetro:

Just out of curiosity, RI, how much do you have left to post? When this ends it'll be like a bus hitting you. I'd kinda like to know when it's comin' :smile:


RightIdea:

Wouldn't that be kinda cheatin'? :wink:


All I'll say right now is... it's not almost over. There's a good stretch left.

Well, how about a compromise. When it is close to the end, give us a countdown. 5 4 3 2 1 sorta thing. :ri:

[Xmansmommy]

:ahem:

[bar Jonah]

[more...]


I picked up the phone... talked to my dad. He was surprisingly calm; it reminded me of the calm someone has about them, when they're so stunned by what's going on, they can't even react to it. He told me that they wanted to talk to me, in person... not just over the phone. There was no veiled rage in his voice, no threat of explosion... just that wounded calm. He insisted that I come over that evening to talk to them, right away... but I wanted to buy as much time as I could; I didn't want to face the situation... much less face them.

I agreed to come over to see them the next day, Sunday afternoon. There wasn't a hint of accusation from them... just a very hurt, solemn quietness in the conversation. It was hard for me to look them in the eyes; the shame was too much to take. They told me that they had talked to the detectives involved, and that I had only once chance for getting through this without getting buried...

... I needed to move back home with my parents, drop every friend I had immediately, leave everyone I knew behind, and completely start my life over again. As painful as prospect as this obviously was, my parents were insistent that this was the only way I stood a chance of reclaiming any of my future. Of course, since I'd been so distant with them, they never really knew about me and Angie; they'd heard a little bit, but they didn't really know.

They both knew a little about Angie... just all the bad stuff, really... but they knew that she had AIDS. My mom asked me flat-out (which isn't typical of her) if Angie was living with me... I said yes. She asked if Angie and I were sexually active... I told her the truth... yes. She was crushed, I could tell. Who wouldn't be? Her youngest son was sexually active with an AIDS patient, flirting with death as if it was nothing; even worse than that... more like asking for death to come take you.

They kept insisting that I needed to move back home, start over from scratch... and that I needed to do it now. There wasn't any time to waste here... every day mattered... every hour. I deflected them as best I could, making as little eye contact as possible. I was in the biggest state of denial I'd ever known, and it was obvious even to me... the horrible shame of everything is what kept me from going back home. They kept on... I deflected their offer again and again. Eventually, I got them to settle for, "Let me think about it tonight; I'll let you know tomorrow". They didn't want to let me go without an answer; they knew the danger of letting me go slipping through their fingers. If I did, they might never see me again... and they could lose their son forever.

Once I was back home with Tracy and Angie, the lump in my throat started setting in. I sat up for hours that night, thinking about it. Tracy stayed around the house, but wasn't too persistent in trying to help; I knew that she was torn inside... between wanting to help me, and wanting to strangle me. Even putting our friendship aside, her own life was heavily affected by this... and more importantly, the lives of her kids. I was paying part of the rent there, which of course I'd agreed to many months before. If I didn't pay my part of the rent, she knew that she couldn't afford the place on her own, and that she would lose their home. Angie obviously wasn't able to work, and couldn't contribute anything to that; besides, once I was gone (whether I left, or was taken to prison), Angie wouldn't be sticking around. I signed an agreement with Tracy that evening that she typed up... to ensure that I continued paying my part of the rent there, until the end of the year that I was already committed to paying, and thanks to my parents, I ended up honoring that agreement.

Angie stayed nearby, but of course she didn't know what to say. There was nothing she could do to fix things, to make them better, or to comfort me in any way. I don't know if she sensed this, but I felt as if there was almost an unspoken feeling between us that night, coming from her; almost as if she was thinking, "Now you know what it's like to have your life falling apart around you." She never said that to me... heck, I don't think she was even thinking it... but I think the feeling was there within her.

For the most part, I knew what she was feeling, was an onset of loss, seeing it coming before it happened. I was leaving, one way or another... either in chains, or back to my family if I accepted their offer. Regardless, she wouldn't be in the picture anymore. I explained my parents' offer in more detail to her, and she became much more upset. "How could they ask you to do that?!? Do they hate me that much? Am I a bad influence? Why do they need to take you from me? Why do you have to say goodbye forever?!?"

As reality continued to steadily sink in, I began to realize that if I left, it would hurt like hell... but if I stayed, I would die. There was no way I'd end up weaseling my way out of this one. Ignoring it wouldn't make it go away, or make it easier in the slightest.

I even considered the possibility of just running... literally leaving the state and going on the run... but the more I thought about it, I realized that doing that would obviously make a bad situation worse; that was no life at all.

Suicide crossed my mind again... but I quickly dismissed it. I'd already faced that demon, even almost given in to it... but I didn't have the guts to kill myself. Mostly it was the thought of my family, weeping at the news of my suicide that kept me from doing it. That wasn't an option; not because I was afraid of death... but mostly because I didn't want my last act on this Earth to be the most destructive to my friends and family.

There was only one option left... and I could hardly say the words when it came time that night to tell Tracy and Angie; I had to move back home with my parents... leave them all behind and start over... leave Tracy, her kids, even Angie. They were a little outraged, but mostly just upset. They felt as if they were being blamed for corrupting me somehow... that my family saw them as common criminals, as a destructive force in my life. There was a little truth in that... my parents had never really liked them much from the start... but that didn't really matter.

I made my way down to the kids' rooms in the basement... to say goodbye. I couldn't explain anything to them; as far as I knew, they were oblivious to most everything that was going on with the trouble I'd gotten myself into. I just told them that I had to go away, and that I wasn't sure if I would ever be coming back... that I loved them, and I would be thinking about them.

Chris, the oldest (at eleven years old, I think) wasn't hit as hard by this news; he had been spending a lot of time with his dad, out of state, and had only recently come back home with mom, so he and I had never really bonded much. Crystal, the youngest (at about four years old) was hurt; she didn't have a full grip on the whole situation, of course, but she knew what was going on... I was saying goodbye. She began to cry when I told her; I gave her a hug, told her that I'd miss her. Andrew, the middle son (at about seven years old) probably had the hardest time. He had always been a troubled kid, very wild, never fitting in much, getting in trouble a lot, he had a nasty temper, etc... reminded me a little of me when I was his age; he was very driven, and it often pushed him to extremes that only caused him pain and got him into trouble. I remember, as he began to cry, so did I. I gave him a goodbye hug... told him to be good, respect his mom, never give up trying to be better.

[QuantaFille]

Wow... I just read this whole thread, and... wow. I certainly can't wait to hear what comes next...

[AVmetro]

RightIdea:

Wouldn't that be kinda cheatin'? :wink:

All I'll say right now is... it's not almost over. There's a good stretch left.

You're online! <Oliver twist>Plaze suh, I wont sum mor'</Oliver twist>

Or was that a redneck oliver twist? :hrm:

[bar Jonah]

[FYI, all of the following was posted by Rob in the original.]


I want to take a moment to thank all of you who have read this, whether you have posted or not. Much of this is extremely hard for me to talk about... and even harder to spill out in such vivid detail. A lot of old ghosts have been coming back to me lately, painful memories that I've had buried for a long time.

It's hard to bring them all up again, but in a way it's somewhat therapeutic. More importantly, I hope this can be therapeutic to those of you who are reading.

And in case you're wondering... yes I'm past the halfway point, but no way am I finished yet with this story.


Continuing...



After saying goodbye to the kids, I went upstairs to Angie's and my room; she was sitting there waiting for me. Saying goodbye to her was the hardest of all of them, of course. I felt like I was taking away from her the only part of her life that seemed good anymore... our relationship. I tried to reassure her that it was only temporary; that after everything had blown over, and the smoke had cleared... we would be able to get back together again, but those words felt as empty to me as any I'd ever said. I knew in my heart that it wouldn't happen, but my own cowardice wouldn't let me speak the words. I couldn't accept leaving her forever, although I knew deep in my heart, that's exactly what I was doing... and she knew it as well as I did.

I didn't sleep at all that night; Angie slept a little, occasionally drifting off, and later quietly waking up again. We hardly said a word to each other all night, spending almost all our time just laying there, not moving, not touching... watching the seconds crawl by as we waited for the inevitable. I'd already arranged for my parents to come pick me up and cart me off in the morning, to take me back to live with them. They would be arriving early in the morning, about seven-ish... a little after dawn.

I spent the entire night just watching her, needing to say something but now knowing what to say. I could sense a silent feeling from her, whispering that I was ripping her heart out. Until that night, I never knew what it felt like... tearing the heart out of a dying person.

I waited for the dawn, and finally it came. Soon after sunrise, Tracy started heading off to work. She never was very good at goodbyes, but this one was harder for her. She said a quick tearful goodbye, turned and left in a hurry. Although I didn't follow after her, I know she must've broken down the moment she closed the door behind her to leave.

Angie was much more subdued. I think she'd run out of tears a long time ago, probably long before we'd ever met... and tears wouldn't have done justice to the moment when it was time to leave. I gave her a hug and a kiss, but there was no response, almost like she was comatose. I think she refused to let this touch her heart, although she knew that was impossible. She said goodbye through a choked whisper... and that was the last moment I ever saw her face.

My parents (and my oldest brother, if I remember correctly) helped me pack what little things I had, and we left. I don't even remember the ride back home with them; I know it was only a fifteen-minute drive, but I can't even remember it... the drive, arriving there, unpacking; I was in a daze through the whole thing.

I remember that afternoon and evening, they sat down at the table with me to discuss the situation... to discuss the next few months of my life. Although I don't remember much of the conversation, I do remember something my dad told me. He said, "Son you have no idea how good your life can still be; a month from now... six months from now... a year... five, ten years from now. You have no idea how good your life can still be." My eyes were fixed on the table between us. I didn't believe a word he'd said... but to this day I haven't forgotten his words.

At that point... my life had sunk about as low as it ever had so far. I felt as if everything that had been good within me was gone, as if my heart and soul had been sucked out of me, and torn apart before my eyes. Thinking back over my whole life, that day I began my new journey was the most hopeless time I've ever known.

They'd managed to coax me back home with them, with promises that tomorrow would be a better day. I agreed to do it, but not out of any sense of hope, of even wanting to believe. I'd long since lost any desire to believe anymore; wanting meant believing, believing meant having hope... and hope was a sick joke to me, anymore.

That day, at the bottom of the grave I had dug for myself... I was just quietly waiting for the end. And the following few months would shape my life into something none of us ever expected.

[Faramir]

Today @ 02:40 PM post located here (http://www.theologyweb.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&postid=358285#post358285)
RightIdea:

And the following few months would shape my life into something none of us ever expected.

What a tease.

:grin:

[bar Jonah]

Yeah he is...

[Faramir]

It runs in the family? Huh? :ri:

[Jaltus]

:bring:

[AVmetro]

:yipee: :clap:

[Jaltus]

Well? Waiting for my daily dose!

[Em7add11]

It's new year's eve and Jaltus wants to read.....:haha:

[Jaltus]

Well, my wife is working with her mom on sewing and my father-in-law is out right now. Reading is, of course, the natural thing.

Of course, you are mocking me while you yourself are on TWeb reading these posts.

[Em7add11]

Jaltus:

Of course, you are mocking me while you yourself are on TWeb reading these posts.

Hey wait, uh......no fair................I mean......



LOOK OVER THERE!!!!!




/me runs away.

[bar Jonah]

Likely some time tomorrow, maybe middle of the day. I'm at my folks' place, and don't have my doc file of his autobio handy. Spending the night here. But I'll post as soon as I'm able.

:ri:

[Faramir]

I guess we'll just have to wait. :shocked:

[bar Jonah]

[Here's a biggy to sate your appetites!]


My dad very quickly found me a lawyer. I'd always had a pretty negative view of lawyers; frankly, today I still do... but this guy was an exception. He wasn't the typical Hollywood, flash-and-dash, wacko lawyer we often see of TV... he was very conservative, laid back, reasonable, not overly ambitious. He knew the system and the people well, knew the ins and outs, and he was well-experienced... just exactly the kind of lawyer I needed.

My dad and I met with him for a brief 45-minute consultation... thirty minutes for us to relate our situation, and fifteen for him to give us his take on it. After telling him the Reader's Digest version of everything that had happened, it was his turn... and the news wasn't good. He was pretty honest about my chances; I was definitely looking at some jail time... maybe a year, maybe twenty. Although he advised us that we had the choice to go to trial if we wanted, he believed my chances of winning were slim to none... and if I lost in a trial, I'd be nailed with one heckuva nasty sentence.

My dad told him that he and my mom were going to do everything they could... that they'd already taken me back home with them, and I was living under strict conditions (which was very true). We were going to start looking for a new job for me, perhaps some new friends who could be a positive influence in my life, and even start going to church.

Church?!? I was surprised, shocked even; we hadn't been to church more than once or twice since I was a little kid, almost too young to remember. Although I knew my mom was a Christian, she never talked about it around the house really, never pushed it. I figured my dad was a Christian as well, but I knew that neither of them made an issue of it with us. Apparently it wasn't very important to them.

My dad's motivations for going back to church weren't very spiritual, however... he felt that if they were to start taking me to church regularly, every weekend, if I made some friends there, if we talked to the pastor... maybe we could establish a steady record with them over the next few months. Maybe they could vouch for me when I went before the judge, and if I was really lucky, if everything went perfectly for me... maybe I'd only see a year of jail time, and many years of probation, plus thousands of dollars of restitution to be paid back to the people I'd stolen from. He didn't seem to be thinking spiritually at all, really... he was thinking practically.

I was adamant about one thing with this lawyer; I was not pleading "not guilty." I knew my chances at a trial were horrible, but that wasn't even a factor; I knew before we went to see him that I would be pleading guilty to what I'd done. What we needed was a lawyer on my side who could do his best for me, maybe with his help I wouldn't spend too much time in prison... who knows. We ended up hiring him as my lawyer that day.

My parents helped me find a job, which I found very quickly, at a company called Navigant International... a corporate travel agency whose world headquarters was here in Denver. We found the ad in the paper for an entry-level accounting clerk... basically stapling, filing, boring office work. I interviewed with a short little blonde lady, Shayna. The interview went pretty well, although my job history for the past several months was pretty vague. I did my best not to lie, although I know I twisted the truth quite a bit. I obviously couldn't use my previous job at McDonald's as a job reference.

"May we contact your previous employer?"

"Oh sure! No problemo... I'll call 'em for ya. 'Course, they'll probably tell ya I'm a friggin' THIEF, but sure... "

Despite the missing time of employment, and vaguery on the subject, she hired me on. Besides, it wasn't a high-level job really... just a friggin' paper-pusher, not even any mental requirements to the job. I started the job in mid-October of 1999, just a couple of weeks after I'd moved back in with my parents to live as their prisoner.

Things went pretty well in this new job. It was pretty menial work, but it was a totally different environment for me. I think that being in completely different surroundings helped me quite a bit, while at the same time, giving me some good old-fashioned work to do. I obviously didn't have any transportation, so my mom was taking me to and from work. That alone was embarrassing, but nothing compared to the shame I'd recently put myself through. I sucked it up and pushed onwards. I was doing well in my new job, even managed to impress management and coworkers just in the first few weeks there.

On other fronts, my parents started "church-shopping." I thought the whole thing was absurd, but I'd go through the motions if it helped me a little. Just the idea of becoming a "born-again Christian" was laughable... I wasn't in this for the long-haul... just long enough to maybe help convince the judge that I was in good surroundings now. Maybe then he wouldn't throw the book at me. I didn't have my hopes up, but sure... what the heck... we'll check out some churches. Friggin' yippee.

They soon found the place, a church just a little over a mile away called Eastern Hills Community Church. As we were dressing up in fancy clothes to go the following Sunday, I remember thinking, "This is a waste of time. I'm going to prison, and there isn't a damned thing anyone can do about it." ... but I went anyway.

Voluntarily walking into a church, and surround myself with a bunch of hands-in-the-air suit-wearing God-freaks wasn't my idea of a good time. I knew like everybody else does... Christians are a buncha hypocrites, nuthin' more than a bunch of holier-than-thou, finger-pointing purist wackos.

I didn't enjoy that first Sunday there, no doubt... I tried to shrink inside myself, very much like I had during the day I was in jail. I didn't want any of it touching me, for fear I'd be infected. As I first walked in with my parents, I remember rolling my eyes. Still, looking around, the place looked pretty normal... for a church.

We entered the sanctuary... a huge high-ceilinged room that looked more like a convention hall than a church sanctuary. Where was the stained glass? Geez, these people didn't even know what a church was supposed to look like. As we sat down on padded chairs (no wooden pews?), I tried to avoid any eye contact with anyone around me. "This is stupid," I thought to myself, "but I guess it's a part of the bargain. I refuse this, and they'll probably kick me out on my own again."

There were a bunch of instruments on stage. "Huh?" It looked like a concert about to start... no organ, but a piano, some guitars, electric guitars, bass, drums... ? Weird. The band came on stage, started playing... sounded kinda... normal. I sat through a few songs... no organ, no choir... no chanting... until the pastor came up.

He wasn't wearing a suit, but was clad in casual slacks and a polo shirt. I felt like I'd walked into a country club or something. He looked like he was in his early forties, tall dude... about six-foot-four. There was no pulpit... he just wandered back and forth at the front edge of the stage. Even stranger... he didn't really preach... he talked. There was no fire and brimstone in this guy; he was friendly, amiable, likeable, interesting... and really seemed to know what he was talking about. He was very practical, very realistic, personal, thoughtful, and generally seemed to be a nice, genuine guy.

After the whole ordeal, we went home. As I was alone in my room for a bit, I remember being surprised, even shocked at the experience. I couldn't believe it... a church without a pulpit, a pastor who didn't pound his Bible every five seconds, no organ/choir music, but a friggin' band with drums and everything. I wondered comically to myself if we'd just stumbled upon some freaky suburban cult, and that made me laugh. It certainly wasn't what I'd expected. I could tolerate this for the time being, I figured.

Although I was doing quite well at work, and church didn't turn out to be the stiff-necked ordeal I'd anticipated, I was still struggling. The hardest times were when I was alone. It's strange to remember, I had always cherished my private time, and even though at that time my hardest times were when I was alone... I still needed that somehow. I needed that sweet painful solitude, maybe as a reminder that I hadn't died yet. Sometimes pain can remind us in a way that we're still alive.

I would often gaze out my window at night (which had been nailed shut by my clever parents), letting the thoughts drift through my mind. Many things would find their way into my thoughts; sometimes thoughts of the future, of where I'd be in a few months, in a year, five years, ten years... everything my dad had said. Yeah, right... I'll be in prison, dad. Accept it... my life is over.

Although the future was often hard to think about, my past was worse. Looking forward, I saw an open-shut case, my future was sealed, and I was beginning to come to terms with that. But looking back, it was worse; regret, loss, pain, shame... I'd screwed everything up. It was my past that had ruined my future, sealed my fate forever. Every time I looked back, all I saw was everything I'd screwed up. I saw a few things I'd done right, but they'd been destroyed by everything I'd done wrong. Everything in my past was, "if only I hadn't... ", or "if only I had... "

Of all the things that pained me in those times alone, staring out of my window at night, the strongest was Angie. I thought about her on a daily basis, wondering where she was, what she was doing, how she was handling everything. I didn't know if she'd stayed with Tracy, or if she'd left. If she had left to go out on her own, there was no way she could make it on her own... which brought me to the final thought that hit me every night...

... was she even still alive? Would I ever speak to her again, see her face, touch her hand? I still loved her, even though I had destroyed our chances. Love doesn't need hope to live, but without hope... love becomes torture. I knew it wouldn't work, we would never get back together again... but that didn't stop my hand from resting on the glass of my window every night, reaching for someone that I was afraid I would never touch again.

[bar Jonah]

[Here you go...]


Continuing...

I must make one correction... I had earlier mentioned that I would never see Angie's face again, but I did see her face to face again, as explained below.



Over the following couple of months (through December of 1999), things for me were good, and bad. I was getting better no doubt; work was going exceptionally well, I was learning a lot, becoming more involved at my work... even got an early promotion into a higher accounting position. Of course, nobody at Navigant (my workplace) knew about my predicament... I didn't really feel like sharing the details of my own self-imposed destruction, with everyone I worked with. Then they placed me at a desk, within a double-cubicle that I shared with someone else I worked with... I found something under the desk that gave me goose bumps, and made me laugh, all at once... a safe. It was uncomfortable working with a friggin' safe under my desk, after all I'd put myself through... but I couldn't help but laugh when I first saw it.

"Fate, it seems... is not without a sense of irony."

At home, things were sometimes good, sometimes horrible. I started out just moody much of the time, but I gradually began to ease out of my depression. I still didn't have any hope for the future, but I managed to distract myself from it most of the time. Frequently though, I would explode at my parents, usually over something small, trivial, and stupid. I was pretty volatile, but managing to hang on somehow.

I didn't hear anything from Angie during those few months, through the end of December 1999. I thought about her often, but knew that if anyone caught me trying to contact her, I'd be in deep trouble. One night, it got to be too much to handle.

I arranged for Angie to meet me a couple of blocks away from the house, at about eleven o'clock at night, after my parents had fallen asleep. Although I couldn't sneak out my window (dang thing was nailed shut), I did manage to sneak out of the house. I walked a couple of blocks away in the dark of night, and found Angie in her car waiting. I hopped in, and we drove off, to just a few blocks away, to talk.

Although it wasn't as painful a silence as when I'd said goodbye, the tension was obvious... we both felt like we had to say something, but hardly knew what to say. I asked her how she was doing; she answered that things weren't the same since I was gone. Things between her and Tracy were more tense than before, and she was thinking about moving out. (After all, I had been the only reason she had moved in there in the first place.)

I tried to reassure her that we could not see each other until everything was decided in my legal case. What would the prosecution think if they found out that I'd been sneaking out at night to see my old girlfriend, who had been wrapped up in the whole scenario? ... Who had known what I was doing, and even helped me in some small ways? There was no way I let them find out. I was on such thin ice already, I knew I would fall through; I couldn't jeopardize myself any more than I already had.

That obviously didn't do much for her, of course... things kept getting harder for her, physically, emotionally, and even at home. She was upset, angry that my parents had told me to leave her, that they had "taken me away" from her... told me flat-out that I was never to speak to her, or Tracy and her kids again. "Why do they hate me so much? Why?" All I could do was try to calm her, reassure her that once all this blew over, we'd get back to together again... but until then, she can't call me, she can't contact me at all, and I can't contact her.

She told me she didn't know how long she could wait. If it had been anyone else in the world telling me that, I would've been upset. Angie didn't know how much time she still had left to live, and I couldn't blame her for feeling like her last days on this Earth were being ruined. It may seem a bit selfish at first glance, but when I asked myself what I would've felt in her place... I was forced to realize I would've felt the same. Her life had already steadily gone to hell... and I had made it all worse by cutting us off from each other.

We parted ways that night on those terms... nothing settled, nothing comforting about us meeting that night. As she drove away, the night air seemed to get a bit colder around me. Again, I felt the guilt well up within me, as if I'd already stabbed her through the heart, but now I'd twisted the knife in a little deeper.

It was worse not even having anyone to talk to about it. Normally, she (or perhaps Tracy) would've been the person I'd talk to about something painful like that, but the fact that I couldn't talk to either of them, was the source of much of my pain. Talking to my parents was out of the question; besides, although things between them and me were less strained than before, I couldn't talk to them about it, just for practical reasons. I had acquaintances at work, but no friends... no one that I could share something like this with. And so, after spending some time just walking around alone that night, I made my way home to bed.

At church, things seemed to be going well enough. I had gotten used to the idea of going to church on Sunday (gasp!), and I was much less uncomfortable with the idea. I'd even begun to enjoy the Sunday experience somewhat. The music was uplifting (a positive change I needed), and the pastor was incredible. I'd begun to actually open my ears a little, and listen for a change. He never preached hate, never encouraged a judgmental attitude against those who were "fallen." (For the first time, that was the most fitting word I could see to describe myself.) I always encouraged open acceptance of people, regardless of their sin; while he did teach the wrongness of sin, there was no condemnation within him. He seemed to me like the kind of person I wish I knew as a close friend, and his words of encouragement and hope every weekend were beginning to take root within me somehow.

If I remember correctly, it was sometime in early December when my dad took me to meet with Pastor Shawn privately. We met in his office... my dad did most of the talking (I could hardly muster up the words), and he explained to Shawn the situation that I was in.

After my dad finished the story (short version, of course), Shawn looked at me with a smile on his face. (Huh?) I don't remember what he said exactly, but he asked me something conversational like, "So, that's how you guys came ta be here, huh? That's one heckuva testimony." (Yeh great thanks... testimony... yipee. I'm so glad to be here I just can't contain myself.)

My dad mentioned that we had some legal help, that he'd hired a lawyer to do what he could for me in getting me through this, purely on the legal side. Of all the drastic changes I'd agreed to, going to church was one of them. My dad admitted that we first starting going to Eastern Hills, just because I needed to establish a track record of "goin' ta church" every weekend, as that would help my case in court. He even mentioned that we might make this our "home church". (Ack... just because I was getting comfortable with the services didn't mean I wanted to brand myself a Christian yet... geez!) Shawn said that he would do whatever he could for us, and that he would begin praying for me. (Prayer... whupee-do... that's useless.)

Towards mid-December, my dad started pestering me about joining a "small group". (What the hell is that, and why do I care?) He told me that a "small group" at EHCC, was where a handful of people gathered together as friends every week, or every month, spent some time in Bible study (I rolled my eyes), and spent some time just having fun. He said it would be a good idea for me to make some friends.

I wasn't interested in making friends... my fate was already sealed; it was just a matter of how much time I spent in prison, not a question of if. What's the point of making friends, if I'm gonna be locked up in a coupla months? Why bother? He persisted, said that if I didn't want to make any friends that was my business... but I needed to make myself known at EHCC... show my face around enough people, regularly enough that someone could show up at court for me and say, "Yeh, he's been coming to church."

I fought him on it as far as I could, but finally he said that it wasn't a matter of my choice... this was something I had to do, as a part of the whole deal of living with them. I knew that moving back home and submitting to some discipline wasn't gonna be fun, and I'd have to do some things I didn't want to do. Begrudgingly, I agreed (darn it)... I'd do it. (Man, I'm gonna hate this... I can already tell.)

[AVmetro]

Thanks, RI. -AV

[bar Jonah]

[And it just keeps getting more interesting!]


The following events occurred in early 2000.

One weekend at church, my dad hooked me up with the leader of a small group, the "20s Singles Group". (That's it... I've finally sunken into the pathetic.) His name was Adam; I recognized him from playing on stage... he was the drummer for the worship team. Upon meeting him, he turned out to be a pretty cool guy... nothing really weird, freakish, or cult-ish about him. He didn't push me into joining the group, but was very welcoming, inviting me to drop in anytime when they met on Wednesday nights at the church.

Once we'd left to head home, I still resisted the whole idea as best I could; the last thing I wanted, was to be dumped into the middle of a buncha "Jesus freaks," doin' who knows what... praying (out loud?!?), chanting, holding hands, etc. I felt like enough of an outcast as it was, because of the things I had done... I didn't want to rub salt in the wound by allowing myself to be drafted into a cult of Christian wackos.

Somehow, that didn't sway my dad from his decision in the matter. When the next Wednesday evening came along, they dropped me off at church to meet with the "small group" (ugh). It was early January when I first met with them, and my oldest brother came as well. I found them in a small, cozy side room with a table and chairs, fireplace, and plenty of room for everyone. There were about a dozen or so people there, all about my age. (They do look normal, at first glance.) Adam started things out by telling everyone that there were a couple of newcomers, myself and my oldest brother, Jim.

People introduced themselves one at a time, starting with the guy sitting to my left, Micah. He said a coupla brief things about himself, ending with, "... and I'm a black belt in Tae Kwon Do."

Whoa! I was intrigued... did they allow martial artists in church here? Geez! People continued introducing themselves... Kim (Micah's sister), Connie, Leah, Adam, Antonia, Lori, and a few others, then my brother, then myself. I ended with, "... and I'm a second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do." I caught a gleam in Micah's eye at that, and we started joking around about doin' a little one-on-one sparring to start things out.

The evening went on, and as time passed, I became more comfortable with these people. All of my preconceived notions about this group of people was quickly dispelled. I had a good time while I was there, and I became very hopeful about meeting with them again. It felt less like "Bible Study" per se, and more like hanging out and talking about the important things in your life. I wasn't pressured to share anything, but everyone was encouraged to offer up anything they felt they wanted to. The evening ended with everyone taking some time in silent prayer. Although no words were said, and I wasn't completely changed inside by that short time of prayer... that was the first time I had taken seriously the idea of praying.

In other areas at church, my parents were (again) pushing me to become more involved in any way that I could. "Like it or not, you need to involve yourself as much as you possibly can, if you want to establish a track record for the judge, to show that you've at least been going to church." So, I started doing a little work on a small team of people after the services each Sunday, stacking up and moving around all the hundreds of chairs that were used for the services each weekend. I made a little money, met some new people... got more involved.

I then started becoming involved in the technical ministry, two words that up to that point didn't seem like they belonged together. (Church... technical?) I had already been impressed by the two giant projection screens in the sanctuary, used for projecting the words to the music, and sermon notes, up for everyone to see during the services. In order to get me sucked into the technical ministry team, I was hooked up with Steve... whom I later dubbed, "The Great and Powerful Technical Yoda of EHCC."

Steve took me under his wing, and started training me for the sound team; a handful of sound engineers that provided all tech backup and support for the band and services. Each weekend, one sound tech was assigned to handle the job solo, for a dozen or so people on stage, singers, musicians, plus mic-ing up the pastor, etc. When I laid eyes upon the Soundcraft Ghost 32-channel sound board (the "Holy Ghost", they called it), my eyes popped out. I felt like I'd just walked into a professional recording/mixing/remastering studio... more complicated than I could ever learn.

Steve handled my training personally, training me into the job. It took about 150 to 200 hours of hands-on training before I was ready to go solo, and even then, I was pretty green. It took me a long time to really get comfortable with the job; it was a lot of responsibility, and a heckuva lot of technical understanding to take in, but I did well with it.

Even in the midst of all that (small group, chairs team, sound engineering), I joined another team on the technical squad... the Powerpoint team. Training me into that position took about 30 minutes; it was stuff I was already familiar with (Microsoft Powerpoint, slide shows, etc), and was exactly the most complicated thing I'd ever seen... nothing like running sound, but still quite cool.

Within about a couple of month's (from December 1999, to January 2000), I'd become involved in four new areas at church, diving in headfirst. Getting involved in most of these areas wasn't my idea, and I wasn't interested at first... but the more deeply involved I became at Eastern Hills, the more I wanted to do it.

Over the course of the next few months (early- to mid-2000), I continued my involvement in all of these areas... technical (sound/Powerpoint), work (moving chairs, etc), and small group. I was doing about as much as I possibly could, delving deeper into the church, deeper in getting to know people there.

Upon continuing to meet with my lawyer, the time soon came to start going to court to handle the process, one piece at a time. We only expected having to show up at court two or three times overall; this was a pretty simple, open-shut case. I did it... I was pleading guilty... nothing to contest, really, except a few minor details for the lawyers to sort out.

Suddenly, the time came for the last court appointment before my sentencing, and it began to sink in again. I began to feel the pressure bearing down on me, the unstoppable momentum of events, carrying me on towards who knows how many years in prison. Even with my recent heavy involvement at church, the people I'd come to know, friendships I had gained, time spent there, etc... all of that suddenly seemed pathetic compared to the weight of the things I had done, the crimes I had committed. How could anyone look at this whole situation, and let me off the hook?

My lawyer had come to the same conclusion; I was screwed... it was just a matter of how badly I had screwed myself. Given all the years (decades, even) that he'd been practicing law there locally, all the criminal cases he'd seen, all the people he knew in the legal system... judges, prosecutors, everyone... the absolute minimum I would get, would be a year in jail or prison. If something miraculous happened, maybe I would only get six months, and regardless, I'd be on probation for ten or twenty years. Yup... I was screwed... my own lawyer had it that very clear.

He did advise me that, as we got closer to my sentencing, I should write down a list of people close to me (people I'd recently come to know, at work and at church) that could vouch for me. I needed a list of people who could possibly show up at court with me, and make a brief statement on my behalf. I needed eyewitnesses to prove that I had changed my ways, that I was a different person, that I was no longer a threat to society, as I had been before.

The problem was... I hadn't told anyone about my situation. I had made friends, begun to develop real friendships within the group of friends I'd come to know, and made a positive impression on some influential people within the church... but none of them knew what I had so recently been through... none of them had the slightest idea that I was a criminal, a felon, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Even though I knew what I had to do, it was a hard decision to make; even more so, I knew it would be hard to do. I had to tell some people that I'd recently come to befriend, the whole thing... tell them that I was a thief, a felon... a petty criminal... and then ask for their help.

[Jaltus]

Wow, this is heavy stuff.

[bar Jonah]

[You're telling me! It's not easy facing so many years in prison.]


One day at work, right out of the blue, I got an unexpected call... it was Angie. When I heard her voice on the line, I felt everything come rushing back to me at once. I told her that she couldn't just call me like this, that we couldn't talk until after my sentencing, until after everything had blown over... and when the dust had settled, I would call her. I couldn't afford the risk of being caught sneaking around on my parents, of secretly talking to her. If that got out, the judge (and district attorney) wouldn't see much effectiveness in me moving back home to start over. What good was it, if obviously my parents didn't have me in a disciplined, controlled environment? ... and of course, if I'm caught sneaking around and lying, I obviously can't be trusted to reform, now can I? I was already walking on a razor's edge... I couldn't afford a slip, of any kind. Angie and I had talked about all of this when we had last met, in the middle of the night.

At first, I was mad at her... what the heck was she thinking? Was this doing us any good? What the hey? I could hear something unidentifiable in her voice... something different, as if on the inside she was holding back tears, while on the outside she was maintaining an assertive front. I knew something was wrong.

She didn't take long to get to the point... she didn't have much time left to live, and she didn't want to wait anymore... she couldn't. As assertive as she was trying to be, she danced around it as best she could; it was tearing her apart inside, and in order to hold herself together, she was trying to look decisive on the outside.

I looked around, saw a couple of people nearby. Darn it, do I have to have this conversation now?!? There wasn't much I could safely say, sitting there at my desk at work, surrounded by various coworkers. I tried to quietly talk to her as best I could, convince her that it would only be a few months more to wait...

... but it was then, more than ever, that I knew how empty my words were. I had never really believed that we'd get back together, that everything would turn out okay, and life would be livable again... but the denial was part of what kept me hanging on. I surely didn't see any hope ahead of me, but at least I could lie to myself about her, and maybe I'd even begin to believe that we'd be together again. It wasn't very convincing, but it was the best I could to do survive.

She said goodbye, we both hung up... and I felt like I wanted to puke. I didn't know if I should feel angry, heartbroken, bitter, sad, hopeless... I was being torn apart by a mixture of all of them. My head was spinning so bad, I don't even remember the rest of that day.

On different fronts, my life at church was soaring. My time spent volunteering in the sound/video ministry was really beginning to affect me. I spent about twelve hours a week doing it, almost every weekend I could, just to train on everything. Within a couple of months, I was soloing... running the technical team (all two of us) each weekend, a couple of times a month, and when I wasn't running sound, I was running the video/Powerpoint station.

It was an amazing experience, one that I hadn't known until then. Even then, I began to see the wisdom of Jesus' words... dying to myself, taking up my cross and following Him. The more I focused on giving of myself, the less energy I had to dwell on my own misery. Giving, volunteering in ministry... even in something entirely technical... was transforming me inside. I could look back upon each day, each week, each month... and see time and work I'd invested, that actually made a difference. My life, in a small way, began to mean something again... and it wasn't focusing on taking care of myself that did it... it was caring for others that changed me.

I had made friends in the Bible study group I was in. I'd quickly overcome the paranoid "Christian-wackos" phobia and realized these were normal people... as normal as I was. They weren't perfect, and didn't claim to be; they had problems just as I did. They didn't look down their noses at sin, at failure... at me. I'd had "friends" before, but not like this... these friends quickly became more like family to me, and I knew then as I do now, that I’d never forget any of them as long as I live. They were a tremendous force in my life. They helped break through my pig-headed, stubborn nature... and show me a path I'd never seen before. More importantly, they walked alongside me on that path. Meeting with them regularly, spending time with them talking about real life issues, began to change me as well.

"There's a difference between knowing the path, and walking the path."

At home, things were getting better as well. Although I'd still explode at my parents from time to time, it was becoming less frequent. The pressure of hopeless began to lift from me; steadily, hope began to seep into the corners of my life. Over weeks, and then just a few months, I learned how to believe again, to climb my way out of the grave I'd dug for myself... and I was beginning to believe in a way I never had before. Although I hadn't completely changed 100% inside and out, I was rapidly becoming a very different person... and for the first time, I began to feel like I was becoming myself.

On the legal front, things still looked as bad as ever. Although my lawyer did see some amazing improvement in me, in my life, my friends, my environment... there was still the unfortunate fact that I'd committed multiple felonies. Convincing the court that I'd changed would be hard enough, given my crimes... but convincing them not to send me away and lock me up for years, would be impossible. He was hopeful, but very assertive about the fact that I wouldn't escape this without significant jail/prison time. I knew back then my future was certain.

It was strange hearing him say it... this time I didn't feel the sinking feeling that I'd felt before. I didn't feel the life draining out of me, as my future was snatched away from my grasp, by my own shaded hand. There was a peace within me now that I'd never felt before. I could sit there and listen to my own lawyer, as he spelled out my doom... and it didn't faze me. Sure, it sucked... but I was content with it, I'd somehow come to terms with it, without realizing it. Somehow I knew... everything was gonna be okay.

One night, as our family was in the middle of peacefully eating dinner... the phone rang. My dad answered... it was Tracy, asking for me. My dad gave me the phone, and I propped it against my ear as I shoveled another bite of food in my mouth. What Tracy told me, nearly made me spit it out.

Angie had tried to kill herself, that afternoon.

I nearly fell over when I heard it, even though some part of me deep down inside, knew that this call would come. Somehow, I managed to keep a poker face. I could not let my family know about this... not yet. Tracy knew that I wasn't in a position to talk, right in the middle of dinner, so she didn't press me too much for any response. I kept my composure, gave Tracy a few meaningless responses, said g'bye, and hung up the phone. My dad asked me what she'd called for; I told him it was something to do with the rent... making sure I still kept paying my part, until the end of the lease. Nobody that evening had any idea what had just happened.

I knew what I had to do. I went to bed on time, pretended to fall asleep... and waited until everyone else had drifted off. I sneaked outside at about 11:00pm (very much as I'd done it before), out into the cold. It was snowing heavily that night, big flakes and lots of 'em, and the temperature had dropped to about ten degrees. The wind had also started kicking up, gusting to about thirty miles an hour or more. I had bundled up well, but the cold still stung my face when I stepped out into the wind.

I turned up the road, and started walking.

[bar Jonah]

[FYI, all of the below is what Rob originally posted a few weeks ago at his own message board, not written specifically for this TW thread. Just so you know.]


I hadn't mentioned this before, but this story as I'm telling it now, is the most detailed account I've ever given anyone. I've never told the story of the past few years of my life, in such detail before... or so deeply.

My wife knows all the broader aspects of this already, but this is the first time she's had the chance to hear this in such detail. She's been reading this as I post it, at the same time that all of you are reading it.

Continuing...



It was a long walk through the snow that night. I knew the way, and just followed the road as best I could see it. The wind started dying down after about an hour; soon afterward, the snowfall started thinning out. It was still cold, but easier to bear.

Although the weather seemed intent on turning me back, I barely even felt it. My heart was racing, asking questions that begged to be answered... and my mind could only fear for the worst. Tracy wasn't able to tell me much on the phone... she only told me that Angie had tried to kill herself that day, but apparently hadn't succeeded. I feared that Angie had perhaps taken a turn for the worse over the last few hours, since I'd heard the news. A lot could happen in the space of a few hours.

Worse, was wondering what was going through her mind. Had she finally given up? Had I driven her to this? Somehow I knew it was my fault... I'd begun by giving her hope... and then I'd taken it away.

I pushed onwards as fast as I could manage, and finally reached my destination after two hours of walking. It was eerie looking at the place I'd called home only a few months before. Seeing the condo that Tracy lived in, that I'd lived in for about half a year, sent a chill up my spine. I'd finally arrived, but almost couldn't bring myself to go inside.

I checked the front door... it was locked. Around back, the back patio door was locked as well. Although I couldn't slipped quietly inside the basement window wells, the last thing I wanted was to wake up the kids after midnight for this. I finally just picked up a pebble and threw it way up at Tracy's window; thankfully, she was a night owl. After a couple of hits, she opened the window and motioned for me to come around front so she could let me in.

I asked her if Angie was there, but she said no... Angie was still at the hospital. My heart sank at hearing this... I wanted more than anything to see Angie, to talk to her. I considered walking to the hospital that same night, but it would've been too far... I'd never make it back home before morning.

Tracy and I stayed up late that night talking... about Angie, about me. Apparently Angie had taken a bottle of pills that afternoon... she found the deadliest of all the dozens of drugs that she'd been prescribed, and she'd taken the whole bottle. They'd found her, and had her taken to the hospital, where they'd pumped her stomach. She was weak, but alive. Apparently Angie had more guts than I'd had, eight months before. She'd tried, but had succeeded in going through with it.

I don't even remember most of what we talked about that night, exactly... there was too much to say, and no way to say it. I would rather have died myself that day than know that Angie had tried to commit suicide. I knew that Angie had been going through hell recently, but I knew virtually nothing of the details. Tracy filled me in on some of it.

After I'd left, Angie began to spend more time "out with friends," and virtually no time at home. Before long, she had moved out, and moved in with some new guy that she'd started seeing recently... at about the same time that she'd called me at work, to end it between us. Angie had remained mostly out of touch for quite a while, although Tracy had heard a few things about her.

Angie had soon started seeing two different guys, dating one and living with the other, and physically (sexually) active with both. The guy she was living with knew that she had AIDS... but the other that she was dating, didn't know. I asked Tracy the obvious question, and she answered yes... Angie and her boyfriend had been having unprotected sex, and it was quite possible that he had contracted HIV. She hadn't even told him, but somehow he found out. When he did, he was crushed... he may have already unknowingly signed his death warrant, all because Angie had never told him that she had AIDS. He had taken tests to see if he was HIV positive, but hadn't yet seen the results; even then, you have to wait for six months, then have yourself tested again, to be reasonably sure.

He had also begun taking legal action against Angie, for threatening the lives of himself... and his son. He had a four-year-old boy, just about Crystal's age (Tracy's youngest daughter)... a little boy who might become fatherless because of this. It was shortly after all of that came out that Angie had tried to kill herself.

After spending an hour or two there that night, talking to Tracy... trying to find out everything I could, I had to leave to head home. Tracy offered to drive me there, but I needed to be alone. I began the long walk home at about 2:00am; the weather had calmed quite a bit, and I'd had a chance to thaw out.

I turned down the street, and began walking back towards home, alone in my thoughts. A feeling of failure began to sink in, as I followed the moon towards home. I couldn't see exactly how it was that I'd failed, but I knew that I'd failed somehow... that I'd somehow done something wrong... or more likely, that I hadn't done something that I should have. I should've done more. I should've tried harder.

I also felt betrayed... Angie had left me for some other guy, without any regard for what kind of mess my life was in; and not only that, but she started seeing two guys at the same time! She'd stabbed me in the back... or worse, in the heart. I may've screwed up everything, but she was the one who'd given up... gone and run off with any guy she could sweet-talk into bed.

It was then, about halfway through the walk home, that I realized something. As mad at her as I was... as betrayed as I felt... I still loved her. Hearing everything that Tracy had told me that night, about what Angie had done... had ended my love for Angie; I didn't love Angie in a romantic way anymore... not even a little. That passionate feeling died that night completely, but was replaced by something more profound... a different kind of love.

I still loved Angie, but not as I had before. I had no romantic interest in her, but I was still concerned about her, worried... even terrified. Despite her betrayal, despite spitting all over what she and I'd had together... I felt more compassion for her that night that I'd ever felt for her before. I would've given my very life, if it meant taking away her pain and suffering. Picturing her laying in a hospital bed, I no longer saw my betrayer... I saw someone in agony inside. There was no excuse for what she'd done... but for some reason, there was no condemnation left within me... there was only a love for her, a compassion that only hoped she could find healing.

As I arrived at home that night (morning), and started quietly warming up my frozen body, I considered contacting her at the hospital. After thinking long and hard on it, praying over it, and searching within my heart... I somehow knew that I couldn't go see her, or talk to her. I knew on a deep level, that any kind of relationship between me and Angie was over. That chapter of my life had finally, quietly closed... without answers, without any resolution... just silence. The questions didn't scream from within me anymore... WHY?!? WHY did this happen?!? What should I do?!? There was only a silence, that told me to let it go.

From that moment on, I never spoke to Angie, nor heard from her again; I never heard any news of her, never again spoke to Tracy or her kids. That chapter of my life truly did close that night... quietly, and without notice.


As my life rolled slowly onward, something else happened that I'd been dreading for over a year...

[Em7add11]

Why does it feel like there's still a huge bomb waiting to be dropped?

[bar Jonah]

[Uhm, did you miss the part about the certainty of many years of prison?] :huh:

[Jaltus]

No, he missed those 14 paragraphs.

[bar Jonah]

:lol:

[Queen]

It is not easy to read........not easy at all.......I just can't seem to finish reading each 'chapter'........too hard

[bar Jonah]

[It's worth it, Queen... we're most of the way through! :smille: ]


As my life rolled slowly onward, something else happened that I'd been dreading for over a year... my dog died. His name was Benji... and he was a purebred mutt; :tongue: mostly a mix of terrier breeds. He got his name from the Benji of the movies, because he was almost a spitting image of him. I'd had him for about fourteen years... most of my life... and all that time, he'd been a constant friend to me, and our family. He had begun to grow old lately... age was finally starting to catch up to him very quickly.

He was having trouble walking, probably severe arthritis, and had virtually stopped eating. I knew that this day would come soon... I just didn't want to see it yet. One evening, my dad and I drove him down to the vet's office, to have him put to sleep. He slipped away quietly, as we stood there with him. We took him home right after; my dad and I had dug a hole in the back yard. We buried Benji there, and planted a tree over his resting place.

As soon as we were finished, it was time for me to head off to church to meet with my Bible study group. It was hard for me that evening, trying to focus on what the group was talking about, but I think it helped me to be there. The loss of Benji never really hit me until the next day when I came home from work. In the mornings, I'm usually in such a hurry (and half asleep), that I don't take notice of anything in the rush to get out the door. But when I came home from work that evening, I started to do what I always did when I walked through the door... calling my dog. Just as I was about to call for him, I stopped... and that's when it hit me. That constant, never-changing friend that I'd taken for granted for about fourteen years... for the first time wasn't there. I know it was hard for my mom too... she was about as close to Benji as I was. It took us some time, but with time the feeling of loss began to ease. To this day, he's probably the best dog our family has ever had, and he'll always hold a special unique place in my heart.

On the work-front, I knew there was still something I had to do... I had to tell them about my legal problems. Thus far I'd managed to take a day off here and there, to go to the various court appointments that I had, and I'd managed to do it without anyone at work knowing what I was doing, on those days off. They had no idea, the legal predicament I was in. One reason I had to tell them was very much the same reason I'm writing this... honesty; not honesty as in the abscence of lies, but a complete honesty that doesn't leave anything out. It was a matter of principle to me... I owed them the whole truth.

The problem was, telling them could very well cost me my job, and I knew that full well. It wasn't just the fact that I'd committed multiple felonies... it was the fact that those felonies were burglaries against the company I'd been working for at the time. I had used my knowledge of day-to-day operations to break in and steal a truckload of money... not just once, but three times. Now, where was I working? ... in accounting – Accounts Receivable! I was working in the department where the money came in! There was a small safe sitting under my desk! Telling them that I'd stolen from my previous employer wouldn't go over very well.

The other reason I had to tell them was more practical. So far, I'd been going to these court appointments, knowing that it was all just a part of the process, and I'd be going back to court to show up for the next step, maybe a month later... but I was rapidly getting to the point where I would soon be going to my sentencing. Once I pled guilty at my sentencing in court, the judge would decide my fate... and it was entirely possible that I would be handcuffed and taken away right there on the spot. If that happened, I didn't want them at Navigant to wonder what on Earth had happened to me, when I take a day off and suddenly stop showing up to work forever.

I talked to Shayna (my boss, who had hired me onto Navigant), and Charlo (trusted a co-worker) about it. They were both shocked, "You don't seem like the type!" Yeah well, I obviously was the type, or had been at least. Shayna told me that she had to talk to the Human Resources department about this... and to the regional vice-president of Navigant as well. I laughed when she said, "Damn Rob... if only it was just about smoking pot, or something stupid like that... then we could just let it go." Nope... this was about workplace burglary... breaking and entering... theft.

She talked with Human Resources, and set up a meeting with me, Shayna, and Kathleen... the regional vice-president (yeah, no pressure). As Shayna sat there and listened to it again, I told Kathleen everything I'd told Shayna. Her reaction was the same... pure shock. When she'd picked her jaw up off the table, she told me that it was obvious that I'd changed, even in that relatively short time. She could tell that I'd become a very different person, truly a changed man... but this was still serious enough that they had to make a decision on this... on whether or not to let me go. I only had to wait overnight for their decision...

They decided to keep me on... they weren't firing me. They very well could have, but thankfully they didn't.

I worked my way up from minimum-wage filing/stapling clerk, to IT Operations at what is now our world headquarters. I would start to handle day-to-day operations, tasks, backups, etc... on the most critical server in our entire company... the AS400. I'm glad they kept me on at that point.

The time came also, to tell a few friends at church what was going on as well. I didn't spill everything out in the middle of our Bible study time, but I met privately with a few members of the group... my closest friends; I also met with their parents, who I'd come to know as friends as well. Again... very much the same shock I'd seen at work when I told them... but when I talked to the parents of two of my best friends at the time (Antonia and Micah), there were two things I was there to tell them that night.

The first thing to tell them was my story, plain and simple. I wasn't asking for help... enlisting people to show up at court to support me, but they volunteered to do so anyway at my sentencing. As I went on to the second thing I was there to tell them, I choked up a little. Antonia and Micah were downstairs, probably out of earshot. I told them, "Thank you, for your sons and daughters." They had become the closest, truest friends I'd ever had, and they had been probably the most instrumental in changing the person I was. The blessings, the hope, the joy that they'd brought into my life was unlike anything I'd ever known before. Because of them, I now had hope.

Something else happened in April... I finally accepted Christ and was baptized for the first time! Since our church doesn't have an immersion chamber (tub for dunking people in) for baptisms, we arranged it with one of the two churches next door... a small Baptist church. It was an incredible morning... my family was there, my closest friends... and some unexpected visitors.

We stopped in at EHCC and borrowed a video camera from our church to film the whole thing. I talked briefly to the tech team and the band, then we headed over to the other church next door. As we were getting everything ready, we saw a small army marching from our church, over to the church where I was getting dunked... the entire worship team. They had stopped band practice that morning, and all walked over to this church next door to show up for my baptism.

As I came out to be baptised, my oldest brother was filming, my mom was taking pictures, friends and family were there, and Mark and the entire praise team band were singing. I remember that morning well... for the power of the event that day, for formalizing my commitment to Christ... and for the water I was dunked in. We'd tried to heat it up with some hot water as much as we could, but the moment I stepped in up to my hips, my legs froze... I felt like I was standing in solid ice, the water was so cold. The pastor sat me down, an' WHOA... I started having trouble breathing. My hands were clenched onto the rail on each side. Pastor Shawn said a few words, laid my head back into the water, and brought me back up out of it. All the while... I was so frozen, my hands stayed clenched on the rails... I couldn't let go. To this day, my hands have never been baptised. :tongue:


There were a few people who would come to my sentencing, to say something in support of me... Shayna (my boss from work); Mark (the music minister at church that I'd been working alongside for months); Keith and Vicki (Micah's parents, from church), and my dad (I knew that one would be a doozy).

I remember meeting with my lawyer, and my dad; my lawyer advised me that I'd been making incredible strides... it was inspirational how I'd changed so drastically, but bottom line... I needed more time. Although my transformation was amazing, what we really needed was just a little more time, maybe just two or three more months would help. I needed more time to keep demonstrating the changes in me.

Three times, my lawyer (as well as the DA and the judge) thought we were ready to schedule my sentencing... and twice, it was postponed for some weird reason. I don't remember the reason the first couple of times through... it was something unusual each time, causing them to postpone everything for another month. The third time, the judge was just about to say the words to schedule it, when he looked down at some paperwork in front of him, and paused. A frown appeared on his face, as he looked up and spoke into the microphone. Scheduling my sentencing would be postponed again, because (get this)... some legal clerk had circled the wrong box on the paperwork. I couldn't believe it... and neither could my lawyer. This was ridiculous; under other circumstances, I'd be upset... but this was exactly what I needed, just a little more time.

Soon however, the time came, and my sentencing was scheduled. There was no more sigh of relief that things were being pushed out another month of so... now, there was a date marked on my calendar. On one hand it was a relief... for so many months (it seemed like forever), I'd been praying for more time, as much time as I could get, to prove myself... to prove that I'd changed. My prayers had been answered with a resounding "YES," … not once but three times in a row, just when I needed it... but it was wearing on me. Waking up each day was like opening my eyes in the morning and seeing a guillotine poised over me. I knew it wasn't falling yet, but I also knew that it would fall, and the time would be soon. I couldn't stand to wait anymore.

On the other hand, I had been dreading this day since I'd been arrested, at the end of September of 1999. This was the day my future would be decided, when I would find out how time I would spend in jail, in prison... would it be a year? Ten? My lawyer had advised me it could realistically be as much as twenty years. The three acts I had committed each had three felony charges associated with them... burglary, theft, and malicious mischief.

They were also charging me for one act of burglary that someone else had committed (before me); that made a total of twelve felony charges against me... nine of which I was guilty of. I couldn't put the picture out of my head... the judge accepting my plea of "guilty," sentencing me to ten years in prison... and ordering the bailiffs to handcuff me. I didn't want my parents, my family, my friends, to see that... and I didn't want to feel that cold steel against my wrists again. But... you don't always get what you want.

[Jaltus]

Ahhh, he did get stuck with the other one. I wondered about that.

[bar Jonah]

Yup. He couldn't exactly just start claiming, "Oh, but that one wasn't me... :shifty: He was pretty much stuck with it.

[AVmetro]

All the while... I was so frozen, my hands stayed clenched on the rails... I couldn't let go. To this day, my hands have never been baptised.

If that was me that would really bother me. Not for any theological reasons at all but because I'm weird like that ... :teehee:

[bar Jonah]

Kinda like Achilles, if you think about it! :lol:

[Jaltus]

RI, that is exactly what I was thinking.

[emulator]

i hate cortez i had to spend a whole week their; it was like being fed to pygmies (they take such small bites you know). i gotta remember to tell my wife my story ...somehow ive managed to overlook that.
tears and comforts:
that story is touching it's funny how well things can go if you just admit your wrong like ("a man"<?>)
...i've been listening to evanescence non stop for the last 3 hours digesting your column....damn you!!!!
intrigue is the most insatiable of beasts...
btw your brother is in denial...he is an excellent poet.
i pray that God willl ease your brother''s pain...remembering those kinds of things has to hurt very much...especially since it is all so recent...
i await the terminus. :eww: <----that's me holding my breath.

[bar Jonah]

[Emulator, you lived in Cortez, Colorado? Where are you, now? I am in Denver.]


The day finally came for my sentencing at court, after so much waiting. With me were my parents, my oldest brother Jim, my lawyer, Shayna (from my work), Keith and Vicki (parents of one of my closest friends), and Mark (the music minister from church). Of those that would be speaking on my behalf, all of them had prepared short written statements that they would be reading to the judge; my dad's statement was the only exception... it was quite a long one.

I remember telling my dad that I had butterflies in my stomach that morning... probably the understatement of the century. As I woke up that day, I took a moment to reflect on things; as I looked at the time leading up to my fall, I saw it all very differently... I could see that all the screw-ups, all the wrong choices, all the loneliness, the pain, the depression, all the hell I went through... had led me to this point. For the first time, looking back at all of it... I believed that it had all happened for a reason. Before, I had just seen it mostly as nothing but "bad things" that happened to me, and bad things I did; but that morning it hit me different... it wasn't "bad" things, it was hard things. I had been so entrenched within myself, so incredibly stubborn, that I'd refused to listen to reason... but it seemed that it had all happened that way, because that's how it needed to happen for me.

That was what I needed to go through, in order to come to a place where I could surrender my failed broken self, to a God who's been trying to teach me since the very beginning. I hadn't been listening, but He'd been speaking to me my whole life. Looking forward, my lawyer and I were both knew that I'd be going to jail/prison... it was just a matter of how long I'd be locked away. As I reflected on that, I felt a powerful feeling of peace come over me. I didn't know why... there was no reason for it... but I felt that sense of peace that seemed to whisper to me in God's voice, "Don't worry... I know what I'm doing here."

I prayed back, "It sure doesn't look like it to me God, but you've done miracles in my life already... I'll trust you with this one."

So, we got in the car, and drove to court. Waiting in the courtroom was slow and painful... listening to the seconds tick slowly by, as if time had slowed itself down just for me, to draw out the whole experience into an eternity. After an hour or two had passed, it was my turn... and they called my name.

My lawyer had briefed me on how everything would flow that day. Although as I write this, I don't remember 100% of it from memory, I do remember much of it very well. First my lawyer and I would stand up, walk up to the microphone, and we would together enter my plea of "guilty." Next, the District Attorney would stand and read off the complete list of charges against me, in pretty significant detail. This would be hard to endure, my lawyer reminded me... standing there in front of everyone in the courtroom, as the DA detailed everything about the charges that had been leveled against me. All I had to do, was stand quietly, let them finish, and don't let it get to me... just focus on what I had to do.

Then it would be our turn again; my lawyer would stand and speak briefly, then would tell the court that there were a few people there to speak on my behalf. He would motion for them to come up, and they would... one by one they would come up to the microphone and read aloud their written statements for the court; my dad would be the last to go.

Once they were finished, it would be my turn to speak; if I had anything to say, now would be the time... my last chance to speak. Any last words? Unlike everyone who was there to speak on my behalf... I hadn't written anything down ahead of time. I did have a pretty good idea of what I wanted to say, but whatever I said, it wouldn't be rehearsed or memorized... it would be straight from the heart.

After me, the owner of the establishment I'd burglarized would speak. This would be worse than the DA reading off the list of charges against me... my lawyer warned me that he would be out to demonize me as much as possible, in a short time. He would probably focus on the money I'd stolen, the impact on business, the damage I'd done, etc etc.

Last, would be the judge. My lawyer knew the judges, DAs, and other lawyers in the Denver area very well... knew them all by name, and knew how they worked. This judge, he'd told me... was pretty "squirrelly"... very moody. One minute he'd be the nicest guy in the world, if he was havin' a good morning; the next, he'd be Judge Dredd. My lawyer recalled seeing this judge in action several times before; on one occasion, the judge had been on a happy benevolent streak all morning, when suddenly the next defendant came up and said something that set him off. It wasn't even an intentional thing on the part of the defendant... he'd just inadvertently said something that ticked off the judge; he ended up throwing the book at him, giving him the maximum penalty for his crimes. The rest of that morning, he went on a rampage... nailing defendants left and right, to the fullest extent of the law.

"Great... I've got Judge Jeckyll and Mister Hyde,” I thought to myself.

Sitting in the courtroom, waiting for an eternity... my name was finally called. I joined my lawyer as we together walked up to the stand.

[India]

GAH! We finally get to the sentencing, and now we have to wait around to find out what it is!

[Xmansmommy]

:rant:

[TheAnalogman]

hey, Hey, HEy, HEY!!!! More!!!

[Xmansmommy]

:yes:

[bar Jonah]

:lol:

[Jaltus]

I may be coming after you RI, but I will not admit it since evidently stalking and murder are against the law.

[flips through his law books]

DANG!

So is breaking and entering, I was just going to sneak in and grab the file from ya.

[Alien]

I know its coming, I just know it.

He'll post the last episode but one then demand 100 pearls from everyone to release the last one. (Hmmmm, maybe the price will be 10 votes for AotM.)

(If he does, I will make a counter offer to write a fictitious, but entertaining and emotionally satisfying last episode for only 50 pearls each.)

:teeth:

[bar Jonah]

Alien:
He'll post the last episode but one then demand 100 pearls from everyone to release the last one. (Hmmmm, maybe the price will be 10 votes for AotM.)
Hmmmmm, interesting idea! :grin:

[bar Jonah]

[Another of the several remaining installments...]:grin:


My lawyer and I stood and walked to the stand. He did most of the talking, although I entered my own plea of "guilty" when I was asked. The plea bargain we'd struck knocked it down to two felonies to plead guilty to; only reason it wasn't more was because of the "three-strikes" law, so pleading guilty to only two of them, was really more of a formality... I was still gonna be locked up for quite awhile. If I were found guilty of three felonies… it would be life in prison. Twelve down to two? How could I have possibly been so lucky?

Listening to the reading of the full list of charges brought against me was hard; it was being done as a legal formality, but hearing it all fleshed out nearly felt like being verbally whipped... not because it was intended as an attack against me, but because my own guilt had convicted me.

When it was my lawyers' turn to speak again, he announced that there were a few people here to speak on my behalf... to bear witness to the changes I'd gone through. I had severed contact with everyone I'd known when I get myself into this mess; these people at court, were new friends/colleagues that I had come to know, since moving back home and starting my life over again.

Shayna (from my work) was the first up. Although I don't know if it was noticeable to anyone else there, I knew her well enough from work to tell that she was pretty shaky. She, like everyone else there on my behalf, looked a little like a deer caught in headlights. Thankfully they had all come prepared with written statements to read aloud. All things considered, I think Shayna (and the others) did pretty well. I had put them in a heckuva tough position that day. Her statement was pretty brief, as were most of them... she spoke of my positive experiences and impact at work since I'd started there.

Once Shayna finished, it was time for Keith and Vicki (from church). She read the statement that they'd written together; again, I could tell how scared they were to be up there... but I know they weren't scared for themselves... they were scared for me. The weight of the situation was weighing more heavily with each speaker that came up. They spoke of the friendships that I'd formed with their son Micah, and the mutual strength that Micah and his friends had gained from the new friendships.

Next was Mark, the music minister from church. He usually carried with him a cheerful, happy-go-lucky personality, but in court that day he was much more somber. For the first time since I've known him, he was truly at a loss for words. He managed to make his way through it, verbalizing his written statement for the court.

With Mark, as with all the others... I was (and am) eternally grateful; not just for their words, but for showing up. As you read this, ask yourself... if you were throw into that kind of situation... if you were standing before a judge, who was ready to condemn you for the things you've done... would you be standing alone? Do you have the kind of friends and family who would write a statement, and mail it to the court? ... or do you have the kind of friends and family that show up. Showing up was hard as heck for them, and I felt incredibly blessed that day for it.

The last to stand up and speak was my dad. Unfortunately, his is the only written statement that I still have. It was a letter that he'd written to the DA only a couple of months after I'd moved back home and started attending church. Although there are a couple of minor inaccuracies, I'd say my dad was right on with most of this letter, and he was brutally honest…

[Stay tuned for our Dad's speech in court!]

[Jaltus]

Bum bum bum....

[bar Jonah]

Faramir:
Well, how about a compromise. When it is close to the end, give us a countdown. 5 4 3 2 1 sorta thing. :ri:
Let's just say we're fairly close... :grin:

And Linda, I wouldn't go on a fast if I were you. It'll be concluded in less than a week... :ri:

Also, y'all might invest in some tissues... The ending may not be easy...

[emulator]

your brother is so right on....
i went to court in my home town of Flagstaff....
nobody went to bat for me at all...
a couple of people showed up...
but spectators don't score touchdowns...

i live in Las Vegas now...
with my beautiful pregnant wife and our amazing one year old...
i will be amazed when it get's better...

hmm...I knew this guy in county...he was up for armed robbery...
he was such a cakeboy..pastor's son...married...
just desperate for cash when he masterminded that scene...
they got caught in the middle of a forest with the safe....
what are the chances of that huh??
anyhow point is he got the smallest sentence of all his cohorts...
3 years in prison.

[studyhound]

:flaming:

Ok I am the dences person at Tweb. . . . . . Every Day I saw this posted up or I saw it in RI's tag line and I thought I should look in to that!!! :whack:

RI your brother should work on his writing skills he got major talent.



:studyhound:

[bar Jonah]

Well... I cleaned up a lot of typos and grammatical mistakes. LOL

[bar Jonah]

It has come to my attention through both Shoutbox, PMs and IMs tonight that at least some of you (if not many) are assuming lots of things about the ending of this story!

Some of you somehow got this crazy notion that he doesn't even do time! :doh: I thought I was clear... he does do time. I just haven't said how much! Perhaps because I commented that he originally posted this at another message board? I hate to break it to you, but they do have Internet in prison.

Some of you, on the other hand, have responded to those in that group (but in PM to me) that those folks are way off because obviously he spends 10 or more years in prison.

I won't comment on that, but let me just say that you should not be assuming anything about how this turns out. Except you need to have tissues handy.

(Folks, they DO have Internet in prison, you know... and as I pointed out to Emulator in PM, yes ... inmates do get married. My gosh, look at Richard Ramirez -- unrepentant Satanist and schitzophrenic serial killer, and he got married after being sentenced to life without parole. If I recall correctly, so did Bundy!)

Take nothing for granted. Only assume that the last chapters will be hanky time.

Thank you.


-- the Mgmt :ri:

[Faramir]

Today @ 04:45 AM post located here (http://www.theologyweb.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&postid=369421#post369421)
RightIdea:

Take nothing for granted. Only assume that the last chapters will be hanky time.

Thank you.


-- the Mgmt :ri:



Hanky? I am a man I don't need no stinkin' hanky.
:fight:

Faramir checks to see if he has any tissue left after reading the last installment.

:bawl:

[TheAnalogman]

RI!!! You stole my avatar!!!! Satchel is MY dog! Not yours!!!

[bar Jonah]

Oh.... I don't THINK so! :grin:

[bar Jonah]

[Analog, just so you know, Queen picked Bucky from the very start, long before you did. :lol:

And now for one of the most anticipated chapters since we began -- Dad's statement to the court! (Based on the letter he wrote to the D.A., weeks before...)]


My Dad’s statement:


Robert Dee Schofield moved out of our home in May, 1998. We had gone over a budget with him, and had explained at great length how he needed to be disciplined in order to pay his bills and still have a little money left over for leisure and entertainment. Robert did reasonably well for a while. He had a good job at Krone in the Tech Center, and had a car that provided dependable transportation.

When Krone closed their Denver office, Robert was laid off. He had a difficult time finding another job with a comparable income. He also began having problems with his car. At this time, Robert began piling up some debt, and became increasingly frustrated with his situation. His car quit running completely in January, 1999. At that point, he had not been able to pay even one payment to us for the money we had lent him to buy the car. Robert's frustration began to increase as his debt situation worsened, but he was too proud to admit the extent of his debt and ask for help. As time went on, his attitude became more strident, and he became more withdrawn. We were not aware of the full extent of his situation, and Robert became more resistant to any advice from us regarding his situation. We regularly invited Robert to come over on weekends, and when he came we tried to engage him in conversations about his situation. Robert, however, became noticeable more belligerent and uncooperative as the summer progressed.

Somewhere near the end of June, Robert became involved with a young woman this his older brother (the middle brother) had been living with. We had some knowledge about this young woman, Angela, and we tried to dissuade Robert from getting involved with her. Robert became extremely defensive about his relationship with Angela, and for all intents and purposes, we lost all influence over Robert and his behavior at that time. In the middle of the summer, Robert moved out of his apartment and into another apartment with an older woman who had been a friend for some time. There was no romantic involvement with this older woman, Tracy. Robert was still involved with Angela, and Tracy had an older boyfriend. At the beginning of September, I was notified by Robert's previous landlord that he left there owing about $1,230. Since I had cosigned for him to get him into that first apartment, I was required to come up with that sum in order to protect my own credit rating. Robert indicated to us that he would find a way to pay us back.

On October 1st, we drove up to Albuquerque for a week's vacation. We arrived at the motel there at about 10 p.m. At about 11:30 p.m., we received a call from our oldest son, who is living with us while he finishes his college education. He informed us that he had spoken with a detective of the Aurora (Denver area) police, and told us that Robert had been arrested for burglary. He gave us a phone number at which we could contact this detective. We tried all day on October 2nd to call the detective, but the number we had was not the correct one. On Sunday, October 3rd, we drove back to Aurora, having called the Arapahoe jail from Albuquerque and finding out that Robert had bonded out of jail.

Upon arriving back in Aurora, we managed to contact Robert and inform him that we know about his arrest. We invited him over for dinner to discuss the situation. We talked for several hours, and presented our best arguments that he was in very serious trouble and could not manage things any longer by himself. He had little or no money. He obviously had lost his job. He had no car with which to even go looking for a new job. He was heavily in debt, and we told him that he needed to realize the severity of his situation, give up the life he had been living, move home, and completely change the kind of person he had become – lying, cheating, sneaking, stealing, belligerent, arrogant, unreliable, untrustworthy, and irresponsible. It was a surprisingly civil conversation. Robert apparently realized the seriousness of his situation. It took two more days to convince him. Eventually, Robert realized the hopelessness of his life at that point and the need to completely change directions. We discussed the importance of making huge changes in his attitudes and habits. We stressed how necessary it was to completely turn away from his old friends and start anew. On October 6th, Robert moved back home into the spare bedroom.

As part of this new arrangement, Robert agreed to abide by very strict rules of behavior. Robert would never be left alone, even at home. Robert would be in the presence of one of us or his oldest brother, at all times until he got a job. After he found a new job, he would be driven to and from his job, and would not be outside of the presence of us or his oldest brother, at any other time. Robert would not have a phone in his room, and he would not be allowed access to the Internet. Robert was not to have any contact with his old girlfriend, Angela, at any time. His only contact with Tracy would be to discuss his rent payments and mail. Robert was to perform certain chores around the house as his share of the household duties. Robert was to turn over all money he had and all future paychecks to us for management on his behalf. He would be allowed an allowance not to exceed $5 weekly. Robert was to maintain a civil attitude toward everyone, especially his family. Robert agreed to all of these rules.

We agreed that Robert would be charged $100 per month for room and board, and $20 per month for driving him back and forth for work. We agreed that these charges would be accrued and added to the amount that he already owed us, and would not actually be paid until his situation was straightened out. Robert also agreed to attend church with us every week.

We began working with Robert to find him a new job. We helped him go through job ads and go to interviews. He soon had several job offers. He accepted an offer from Navigant in the Tech Center. We advanced Robert some money with which to buy some new clothes for his job, to be repaid out of his first paycheck.

We began attending the Eastern Hills Community Church, which is located only a mile and a half from our home. Robert has attended with us every Sunday, and seems to truly enjoy the services and the people there. We know that Robert did not obey the rules completely in the first weeks. We know that he snuck out of the house one night after we had gone to bed to meet Angela a half-block away, and they drove several blocks away to talk. We know that he has talked to Angela on the phone several times from his work. These transgressions notwithstanding, Robert has obeyed surprisingly well. In fact, Robert seems to have completely changed. We expected Robert to lapse into periods of belligerent and uncooperative behavior from time to time. He has not done so. We expected Robert to try to sneak around and break the rules more often. He has been remarkably obedient. We expected Robert to become sullen, bored, and rebellious after being cut off from his previous friends. He has maintained his good spirits surprisingly well. We expected him to become depressed each time he had to make a court appearance and face up to his legal situation. He does find these times difficult, as we do, also.

Robert seems to have completely changed. He is not perfect, but he is no longer lying, cheating, and sneaking around to do things he knows he should not do. We told Robert many times that if he went the wrong direction in his life, his life would get worse every day, but if he went the right direction, his life would get better every day. We believe that Robert is seeing this happen in his own life these past ten weeks. He has found that he does not need to run around all over town into the wee hours of the morning in order to have fun. He has found that if he works hard and makes a concerted effort to be honest, truthful, and responsible, his behavior will be noticed and rewarded. He was already received several letters of commendation, a promotion, and a raise in salary at his new job. He is starting to make new friends and get involved in activities at church, and is having a lot of fun in the process. Again, Robert has not been completely perfect, but he has made a complete and dramatic change in his lifestyle, and is living his life with direction, purpose, and integrity for the first time in quite awhile.

We do not in any way minimize or disregard the extreme seriousness of the charges against Robert. If Robert has indeed done the things of which he is accused, we believe he must face the consequences, and we understand that those consequences may be appropriately severe. We understand that the detectives and prosecutors have a primary responsibility in this matter to gather necessary evidence, prosecute Robert for these charges, and do what they believe is in the best interest of the community. We understand that Robert's lawyer has a primary responsibility to represent Robert as well as he can and try to achieve the least consequences in this matter. We, as Robert's parents, have a primary responsibility to pursue what we think is in the best interest of our son. If Robert had not shown any signs of turning his life around and permanently changing his direction, we would be in favor of whatever appropriate punishment would be indicated to achieve that goal. If Robert was still the same lying, cheating, sneaking, stealing, unrepentant person he was before his return home, we would want to see him punished accordingly in hopes that it would finally wake him up and turn him around.

That, however, has not been the case. We are convinced that Robert has, indeed, turned away from the kind of person he was when he got himself into this trouble, and has completely changed his direction. That being the case, we believe the consequences he faces should be formulated with an emphasis on appropriate restitution to repay for any damages for which he is found responsible, and a regimen of strict supervision that allows him to continue working to earn the restitution but provides sufficient assurance that he is and will continue to be a law-abiding citizen. To that end, in addition to any requirements that the proper authorities may place on Robert, we offer our promise to continue to maintain the current living arrangements with Robert which require him to live with us under strict supervision and control. We would continue to manage Robert's money to insure that he honors any restitution obligations imposed upon him.

We truly feel like we are living the story of the prodigal son. Robert was very lost, and apparently became involved in some very serious trouble. He has now returned to the life he should be living. While we do not make light of the severity of his current legal situation, it is our sincere prayer that other will see and appreciate the extent to which Robert has changed his life, and can find a way to allow this change to continue without undue disruption.


By the time my dad finished reading this to the court, I could tell that he was beginning to become emotional… but he maintained his composure throughout, right to the last word.

Next up... my turn to speak.

[Xavier]

Gee... Even Law & Order is nice about the Court Scenes... :shifty:

[AVmetro]

Alien:

I know its coming, I just know it.

He'll post the last episode but one then demand 100 pearls from everyone to release the last one. (Hmmmm, maybe the price will be 10 votes for AotM.)

(If he does, I will make a counter offer to write a fictitious, but entertaining and emotionally satisfying last episode for only 50 pearls each.)

:teeth:

:lol:

[bar Jonah]

*ponders the risks of pulling that stunt... the pros of all those pearls, the cons of not being able to leave my home without body guards*

Hmmmmmm..... :hrm:

[Faramir]

Today @ 06:49 PM post located here (http://www.theologyweb.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&postid=370607#post370607)
RightIdea:

*ponders the risks of pulling that stunt... the pros of all those pearls, the cons of not being able to leave my home without body guards*

Hmmmmmm..... :hrm:

Well, I already gave you five pearls for starting the thread...... so I would only owe you 95 right? (idea)

[India]

Alien:

(If he does, I will make a counter offer to write a fictitious, but entertaining and emotionally satisfying last episode for only 50 pearls each.)

:lmbo:

[bar Jonah]

[Btw, in case anyone hasn't noticed, I have sped up the rate of the chapters, now that we are on the verge of the end!]


This isn't quite the last post in my story, but close to it. This does, however, will likely contain the point...the most important reason why I want to share this story.

Continuing...

--------------------------------------------------------

The room was silent as I walked up to the microphone. I didn't have a clue what might be going through the judge's mind, but I couldn't worry about that. As I prepared to speak, the sense of peace I'd felt earlier began to settle on me again. I knew full well the situation I was in, the serious nature of the proceedings, and the implications this day would have on my future...but I was calm...I was ready. Since I had no pre-written statement, I unfortunately don't have the exact words that I spoke that day recorded, but I'll paraphrase it here. I began...



"I didn't write a statement before coming here today, because I just wanted to speak to you right off the top of my head, and straight from my heart. I'll try to keep this short and sweet.

”I'm incredibly blessed to have come to know these people who've come here to support me today. They didn't have to come here and do this, and I'm very thankful. These are just some of the people who've helped change my life forever, in ways I'd never thought were possible.

”I don't have any excuses, and I won't make any for what I've done."

(I looked over towards the DA, and the establishment owner.)

"I've stolen from you, lied to you, and I betrayed you... I know apologies won't change anything that I did... but I'm sorry for what I did to you... for the crimes that I committed against your business, against you, and your family... and I want to spend as long as it takes, doing everything I can do make it right. I know I can't take back everything I did, but I want to make things right as best I can, by paying back to you everything that I took from you."

(I turned again to face the judge, and the court.)

”What I did was wrong... and I'm not gonna try to weasel my way out of it... not anymore. I accept full responsibility for what I've done. I have no excuses.

”As much as I know I don't deserve to ask this... I do have to ask that if I DO go to jail... that I'm not sent away for too long. I've stolen from this man, vandalized his business, and caused a lot of damage. I need to pay him back, and from jail... I don't see any way that I can do that. Right now, I'm working in a great job... the best job I've ever had... and I'm making money that I'm already using to pay back what I owe... and I want to pay that back as quickly as I possibly can. I want to keep repaying what I've stolen, as fast as possible.

"Over the past few months, these people here who have come on my behalf, and many more like them, have been a huge part of the changes in my life. My parents have obviously been a huge part of that, and I'll always be thankful to them for that. God has worked in my life, through these people, in incredible ways. On April 9th, I was baptized... I joined Eastern Hills Church, and I gave my life and my heart to Jesus Christ. Since then, my life hasn't been the same. I see things completely differently from the way I saw them before. I've learned what hope is, what peace is, and true joy.

"It's funny... standing here, waiting for the guillotine to fall... waiting to see how long I go to prison today...

"...I feel more at peace now, than I ever have before in my life. I'm at peace, because I know who God is. I met Him just a few months ago, and since then I've been getting to know Him better... and that's more important than anything to me.

"Ultimately, it doesn't matter if I go to jail... to prison today... because I know God... because Jesus Christ died on the cross for my sins... because I'm saved by the grace of God. Don't get me wrong... I don't WANT to go to prison... that's the LAST place on Earth I want to go! ... But if I do go, that's okay. God is there... in prison... every bit as much as He is in church; God doesn't just live in churches. If I go free, then God will still be with me; if I go to jail... God will still be with me there; and if that's where He sends me today, then that's where I'll go. I'll follow His lead, and go wherever He wants me to go.

"Even now, as I wait to find out if I'm going to spend the next who-knows-how-many years in jail... and these are the worst circumstances I've ever been in... I feel happier today than I ever have before, in my entire life. I'm not happy for what I've done... I'm happy because I know who God is. I spent the first twenty-two years of my life, not knowing God... and not giving a damn...

"...and I didn't know what I was missing. I just started getting to know God a few months ago, and in that short time, my whole perspective has changed... everything has changed. I want to keep getting to know God... getting to know Him better; and I'll do that, from wherever He sends me today.

"Thank you."



I stepped away from the stand, and even though I hadn't heard a ruling yet... and had no idea where my future lay...

I felt better than I ever had before.

But this was about to become hard again… (and the point of the story is yet to come!)

[Xavier]

RightIdea:

This isn't quite the last post in my story, but close to it. This does, however, will likely contain the point...the most important reason why I want to share this story.

<...>

But this was about to become hard again… (and the point of the story is yet to come!)

Bad Grammar aside... The Point should be in THIS post... And yet I get to the end AND....

:shifty:

[bar Jonah]

I am republishing what he wrote. Don't look at me! :nsm:

When he started writing that post, he thought he probably would get to it, and then when he finished the post -- as God has done so many times -- he relented of his plan to do it. :tongue:

[Xavier]

:shifty:







:wink:

[studyhound]

:thumb:

[bar Jonah]

[Gettin' close!]


For the first time in my life, circumstances meant nothing. I was looking at the likelihood of a lot of jail time, but none of it mattered. In my hardest times... in the most shameful, publicly humiliating moment I've ever experienced... at the moment I was waiting to hear the judge throw the next twenty years of my life away...

...I was at peace. I felt good! I wasn't excited about the idea of going to prison, "Oh yay... yipee... prison! I can't wait!" ...but I was more content with myself, with my life, and with my future, than I'd ever been up to that point. That moment, that day... those five minutes... that was the greatest moment of clarity I've ever known.

The judge seemed somewhat speechless. I didn't know if I should take that as a good sign, or a bad sign...this judge was so unpredictable, if I'd said the wrong thing in there somewhere, he'd burn me at the stake, and I wouldn't know it until the last minute.

He turned to the DA, and the owner of the establishment I'd stolen from, "Do you have anything further to say?" It was his turn to speak.

The establishment owner stood up, a little shaken. I was expecting hellfire and brimstone from him, the second he had a chance to unleash it all on me. I fully expected that he'd demonize me, disregard the last several months that had changed me so deeply and focus entirely on the wrongs I'd committed against him, and his business.

He had written a statement, had it in his hand. But, he looked like he didn't know what to say.

"Well, I uh... These four crimes hit my business hard. But not only did I lose money – money that’s now been spent on who knows what – but he committed unnecessary vandalism on my property, which cost even more to repair. It affected the morale and feeling of security of my employees, which affected my business. Which hurt my family. In addition to everything else, this was personal harm to me and my loved ones.

“He did three times more; it wasn’t a one-time fix or a spur-of-the-moment idea. He had blatant disregard for others. These acts were malicious and purely selfish. The sense of trust in my stores has been affected for a long time. I’ve lost literally tens of thousands of dollars, and how long will it be until he eventually pays off that much money? How long?

“ . . .

“I’ve stood here, listening to these people come up to the stand and talk about how he’s changed over these months. All the good things he’s done now that he’s a new man. They’ve appeared here to defend a friend, someone they’ve known only after these crimes were committed.

“I came here, today, to ask that you give him the stiffest penalty possible, sentence him to the maximum extent of the law.

“ . . . " He put down his paper.

“I and my business have always worked hard to support local charities, churches, helping people in need. I've contributed a lot of money to those causes, and worked to help them grow. I think it's a good thing that Mr. Schofield has given so much of his time and energy to doing that. I have also been thinking about how I will be paid back. After hearing the testimonies here, I must say, I am convinced he truly is a changed man. Obviously Mr. Schofield can't pay me back if he's sent to jail or prison for a long time. He seems to have genuinely changed tremendously over the last few months, and he's working hard to pay back what he took.

“I would ask that no jail time be imposed upon him."

The judge's jaw nearly dropped... he looked at the DA, raising his eyebrows in a gesture of questioning. The DA stood and mumbled, "I agree... we would ask of the court that no jail time be imposed upon Mr. Schofield."

The look on the judge's face said it all...he couldn't believe it. It was as if he was thinking, "What the HECK is going on here?!?"

All eyes were on the judge – “Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde.” It was his turn to speak.

[Xavier]

I'm now confused... :huh:

[studyhound]

:doh: so close . . . . . stupid cliff hangers (very good though)

[bar Jonah]

Confused? Like the judge was? :lol:

[Xavier]

Jail Time, No Jail Time.... You've dropped hints... He's dropped hints...

And they all add up to Bupkis (sp?)... :hrm:

[bar Jonah]

What I've said is that he does do time. That's hardly a hint. It ain't over yet, Chester.

[Em7add11]

Ahhhhhhhhhh!!

This is gonna kill me to have to wait.....

[bar Jonah]

[You're nearly there, Em7! Don't quit now!]


I won't yet give away the real point of this story, after all... not until my next and final segment, following this…

--------------------------------------------------------


As everyone turned to face the judge, there was an uncomfortable silence. The look on the judge's face was one of exasperation... as if he could hardly believe what he was seeing and hearing. I think he had expected a quick, open-and-shut case... but this wasn't going as he'd expected.

I wondered to myself, “so...is this Dr Jeckyll, or Mr Hyde today?” He sighed and began to speak.

"Well... this is a bit out of the ordinary. Given the severity of your crimes, Mr. Schofield... I'm inclined to err on the side of caution. You seem to have been a menace to society..."

Mr Hyde. I'm screwed...

"... Now, given the witnesses who have stepped forward today in your defense, you also seem to have changed quite a bit over the last few months. That's not much time to demonstrate a change of this magnitude. Frankly, how can I be certain that you've really changed, and that this isn't just an act that you're putting on for the court's benefit?"

Listening to his tone of voice, I knew the question was rhetorical. Instead of jumping in to answer, I kept my mouth shut, swallow hard... and began to kiss my future goodbye.

He stopped again to think for a moment before continuing.

"The DA doesn't seem to think I should throw you in jail, partly in the interests of paying your restitution to the owner of this establishment, and that is one practical matter to consider. You also seem to have reformed very rapidly over the past few months; you seem to have made great strides. The support system that you live in right now is obviously a tremendous part of that.

As he continued talked, and the hopelessness began to grow inside me... a peaceful feeling began to settle over me again, same as before... as if a voice were whispering quietly into my heart, "Don't worry...it's gonna be ok. I'm taking care of you."

"However, I need to be sure that you're not just selling me on a story here; I need to know that you've truly changed your ways... and that you won't return to committing the crimes that got you into this mess today.”

I listened as the judge continued talking, and the sense of peace grew stronger. As this judge was preparing to sign the rest of my life away to ruin, I started thinking more about it. As I did... I began to realize there was nothing to fear. I asked myself silently, "So what if I go to prison for twenty years...so? Will I still wake up every morning?"

I felt the answer within my heart, "Yes..."

I continued, "I'll lose my job...contact with my family, my friends, everyone I know..."

...and the answer, "Yes, you will..."

I silently asked God the question... the only one that mattered to me anymore, "...and you'll be there, won't you?"

"Yes, I will..."

As this simple dialogue went on within me, my fears began to ease. I could go to prison... and I would willingly, even happily. I knew the power of God, the guidance of the Holy Spirit... and the forgiveness of the blood of Jesus. Suddenly, all the massive problems I was facing seemed trivial. I'd been shaking in fear, over something that might just be the best thing that could happen to me.

I looked back at the past couple of years... I'd been through hell and back. If anyone had asked me at the time, if all of that had happened for a reason, I would've laughed... or cursed them for saying it. But now... I could see it clearly; I had to go through hell and back, if I was ever to come to a place where I would accept God. All the hell I'd been through didn't even compare to the joy I'd found... and I'd become stronger, having gone through it.

The judge continued, "I don't believe that you should receive no jail time. I think, given the severity of your crimes, you need to fully realize what you've gotten yourself into."

As my focus again returned to the judge, I almost felt myself begin to smile, just faintly. I quickly replaced the stoic look upon my face; I don't think the judge would appreciate a smile just then, from the accused that he was lecturing.

"However, spending a long time in jail or prison would only serve in this case to criminalize you further, and remove you from the support system that you currently have, that's been of great help to you.

"For those reasons, I'm sentencing you to seven days in jail, to be served at the Arapahoe County Jail, with possibility of time off for good behavior. Due to your commitments at your workplace, you can set a date to turn yourself in, and serve your time."

”Huh?” I thought I'd heard him wrong.

The judge took off his glasses. "I want you to get a taste of what jail is like... so you can get a taste of what you're missing. I want to make sure you know, full well, where you could have gone today. I want to make sure that you know how close you came to spending a lot of time in prison...

"...and I want to make damned sure that I don't see you in here again. Do we understand each other?"

My turn to be speechless. I swallowed, "Yes, your honor."

The judge spoke again, closing the proceedings, setting a date for me to turn myself in and serve my seven days in jail... and on to the next case.

As we walked out, I was stunned...as was my lawyer. He'd been practicing law in this area for decades... and he'd never seen a case like this, turn out the way mine had. He told me he didn't know how it'd happened, but things had turned out all right for me. I already knew that it had... and they would have, either way.

It didn't matter if I had been locked away... that was nothing compared to experiencing God's presence, His hand working in my life. I walked out of the courthouse that day with the same optimism I'd felt walking in, looking forward to walking the path laid out before me.



(...one more to go...)

[Xavier]

7 DAYS.... 7 DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The drunk who rear-ended me got more time than that.....

That's not exactly what I call "Time" anyway...

But, Your bro is a interesting person... Get him to post here more often...

Yours,
Xavier

:xav:

[bar Jonah]

Well, what can I say? It was a miracle.

[Xavier]

Amen... :smile:

[TheAnalogman]

Yes, it was! I'm glad for him :smile:

[Em7add11]

That is incredible. :shocked:

[bar Jonah]

Yes, hard for any Christian to deny that God's hand was in this in a major way...

[Jaltus]

No kidding! So when is the last post?

And is your bro ever coming on here or what?

[bar Jonah]

Hopefully I can get the final chapter up tomorrow. His great conclusion!

As for him posting here, he will probably begin to, soon. But he's considering more than one message board to move to. I get the impression TW is at the top of the list, but there are no guarantees.

:ri:

[Alien]

That was remarkably wise decision by the judge. Justice in the true meaning of the word.

[bar Jonah]

Well, lemme tell ya... there wasn't one single person in that room who wasn't flabbergasted by the outcome of that case. Neither the prosecutor nor the defense, neither the judge nor the witnesses. And not the observers. Not every eye on the house was dry.

[Xavier]

You mean "not an eye in the house was dry"???? :hrm:

I'm confused... :huh:

[bar Jonah]

No, I'm just saying some of the eyes in the house weren't dry. Not all. :lol:

[Xavier]

Ahh... Okay.. :hrm:

:teeth:

[bar Jonah]

Alien:
That was remarkably wise decision by the judge. Justice in the true meaning of the word.
Well, the man that committed that crime deserved to do a lot of time, Tony.

But... if you think about it, the man that did the crime... is dead now. And dead men don't deserve to go to prison. The week in jail was a lesson. It was a gift. And if you ask Rob... he's glad the judge gave it to him. Dead serious.

:ri:

[studyhound]

Great!
incredible!!
swell!!

Just one question were YOU there RI and was your eye dry??

[bar Jonah]

I already said I was there, and I can neither confirm nor deny my ocular moisture quotient. :tongue:

[Xavier]

:doh:

[bar Jonah]

The results of that day were seven days jail time, two hundred hours of community service to be served, eight years of probation, and over $20,000 of restitution to be paid. When it came time for me to do my seven days in jail, I did... I turned myself in and spent my time in jail. It turned out to be five days, due to time off for good behavior, but that was without a doubt the longest five days of my life.

Once I'd spent my time in jail, I went about my life again... going to work, volunteering again at church, spending time with my newfound friends. I managed to finish all two hundred hours of my community service within less than a year, while working full time and maintaining my volunteering activities in the technical ministry at church. Although by now I've managed to pay off a huge portion of my restitution, it will take me a few more years to finish paying it off. I'm still on probation, but God apparently blessed me with a very lenient probation officer. He's actually a caseworker working for a local company; the courts contract out the lower-risk cases to local companies, to handle supervision. We meet once every two months, talk for five minutes... and then it's, "See ya in a coupla months."

About six months after my sentencing (the beginning of 2001), I began dating the woman of my dreams... Vicki. We'd actually met just briefly a couple of times in the Bible study group that I'd been in, although she'd only been in town for a short time, visiting family. We started dating on a very casual note, nothing serious. We both didn't expect much to come of it... just date a friend for a while and see what happens... but within a couple of weeks, we began (very rapidly) falling in love. Within a few months, we'd already begun seriously discussing marriage... and in September of 2002, I proposed to her. Saturday September 28th... 1:00pm, at Cold Springs Campground in the Colorado Rockies. It was a chilly day, a few sprinkles here and there. We became engaged, and got married just last July (of 2003).

Life looks better for me now than I ever imagined it would. Even before I learned the meaning of hell on Earth, before losing my faith in anything good, before teetering on the brink of suicide... I never truly believed my life would be this great, this blessed, this good. Even my relationship with my family is better now than it has ever been before. My friends today are the best I've ever had... and the wife God has given me is a shining point of joy in my life. Just last May (of 2003) she graduated from Regis University, earning her Bachelor’s Degree in nursing, and recently began working as a nurse here in the Denver area. She's sweet, a little shy, compassionate, caring, loving, incredibly selfless... beautiful on the outside, and even more beautiful within. It's funny... I probably wouldn't have picked someone like her to be my wife, had I been doing the choosing... but God chose her for me, and He chose perfectly.

And now...the point. Other than simple honesty, there's another more important reason I'm telling you this story:

There is nothing in this world greater than experiencing the living presence of God.

I know that many of you reading this are not Christians... you don't believe in God, Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit, Creation, the Bible... and you probably don't care. I know that you probably rolled your eyes at the point of this story.


"Who cares about a bunch of Christian fairy-tale crap, anyway?"

"God's not even real... he's nothing more than an invention of a bunch of cult freakos, out to control everyone that they hate."

"God's just a crutch... an excuse for holier-than-thou people to look down their Christian noses at anyone else who doesn't believe, to point their fingers and cry "SINNER!"


I know your reasoning, I know your arguments... and I know how wrong they are. This isn't a bunch of memorized crap I'm writing to you, regurgitating it for you to read; I speak from experience. I've been in your shoes before. I spent the first twenty two years of my life in your shoes... not believing in God, and not giving a damn... and I've spent the last four years wondering how I could've been so stupid, how I could've missed it.

It's easy for a non-believer who's never known God and doesn't care to just ignore the whole question. "Who cares? It doesn't make any difference in my life. Buzz off...I've got better things ta do." My answer to that, is that you have no idea what you're missing... the love, the freedom, the total change in perspective, the transformation within and without... the hope, the peace, the joy that comes with salvation, the knowledge that you're a part of something greater than yourself, greater than humanity itself; it's impossible to really describe.

Trying to convey the experience of salvation is like trying to explain to someone who's been blind since birth, what seeing in color is like; cascading waterfalls, the ocean at sunset, the Rocky Mountains in Winter, a starry night sky... it's bigger than words. Try explaining to someone who's been deaf since birth what music is like, or the soft whispering of the Autumn breeze over tall grass. There's nothing to compare it to, nothing I can point to and say, "Ya know, it's kinda like THAT." It's something that can only be experienced. No sermon, song, or book can truly convey what it's like... how amazing this is.

You may be thinking, "Well...that's great for you, I'm glad that works you... I'm happy for ya; but that's not for everybody y'know."

Yeah... and breathing sure is nice, but air isn't for everybody, is it?

Some things in this world aren't made for everyone. Me... I love martial arts; it's a passion of mine, one that I miss dearly since I've left it (although I hope to start again soon). I know that martial arts is a great thing for me, but it isn't for everybody... everyone on this Earth is made differently, and it's good that we are. On the other hand, some things in this world are for everybody, whether built into our physical design, or written into our hearts and souls. I truly believe that in every human being lives a desire to know and experience God. In most people it's buried, ignored, or mislabeled. In your entire life, have you ever sat up late and night and wondered why you're here? Ever looked in the mirror and felt disappointed somehow, without knowing why? Ever wondered if there's more to life? ... more to living on this Earth than living and dying?

There is... and the good news is, it is for everyone. It's yours if you want it. All you have to do is reach out your hand and accept what's already being offered to you; it's that simple. Salvation, meaning, purpose, answers... they're all waiting for you, waiting for the day when you're ready to accept them.

Maybe you're thinking, "Man why do you Christian wackos just have to run around cramming your message down everyone's throat?!? Why can't you just drop it? Enough already!"

If you were given the most incredible gift this life can offer, would you share it with people you knew? If you discovered the secret of life itself, the meaning and reason we're here, the most powerful, amazing hope and joy you've ever known... would you share it? How can I not share the joy that I know? How can I not tell you about the work God's done in my life?

You've read my story, you know where I've been, you know what I've done. I'm a liar, a cheat, an adulterer, a thief, a criminal... under the law I'm a felon, branded for life. Looking at the resume of my life, I may very well look like scum. I'm no better than you...not by a long shot...

...but now I know the truth; I've felt it, I've learned it, I've experience it... and it's like nothing I've ever known before. I accepted Christ as an adult. I wasn't "brainwashed" as a child, guilted into it, or driven to religion by obligation. I came to know God at the age of twenty-two, knowing full well what I was doing... and it's the greatest and most important choice I've ever made.

My hope is that you'll discover the greatest joy anyone could know on this Earth... the power of God the Father, the living presence of the Holy Spirit, and the forgiveness of the Son, Jesus Christ.

Until then. . . you'll never know what you've been missing.



- Rob Schofield (Neobius)

[Xavier]

:bawl: :bawl: :bawl:

AMEN AMEN AMEN

You Rock Neobius.... YOU ROCK... :thumb:

[studyhound]

ROCK ON!!

Honestly by far the best of all posts!!!
:cyc:

:studyhound:

[Em7add11]

Well said.

And amen.

[emulator]

that's wordless...

[bar Jonah]

Wordless?

[Queen]

Wow, I must admit that I am pleasantly surprised by the ending....Thank God!!

Rob, glad to hear that you have found rest and peace in your heart........That is so wonderful!!!

Lots of love and sunshine,
Queen
:Q:

[TheAnalogman]

Way to go.......!!!!!! God is merciful!!!!!! and wonderfull!!!!!!
:smile:

[Alien]

RightIdea: But... if you think about it, the man that did the crime... is dead now. And dead men don't deserve to go to prison. The week in jail was a lesson. It was a gift. And if you ask Rob... he's glad the judge gave it to him. Dead serious.


Exactly. And I'm not a bit surprised that he was glad.

Anyway, thanks for a great thread! Have some pearls. :smile:

[bar Jonah]

Oh, no no.... Any pearls you give me will automatically be forwarded to Neobius when he starts posting (which should be very soon). So don't even bother giving them to me. Just wait til you see his posts, and give him the pearls.

[Alien]

Oh, no no.... Any pearls you give me will automatically be forwarded to Neobius when he starts posting (which should be very soon). So don't even bother giving them to me. Just wait til you see his posts, and give him the pearls.


I may do that .... and you can do what you wish with the pearls .... but I truly appreciate your efforts in bringing his story to us. So you've got 'em, like it or not!

:teeth:

[bar Jonah]

Don't give glory to the angel who visited Mary. :wink:

I'm just the messenger. :tongue:

[Jaltus]

Wow. Simply, wow.

[Xmansmommy]

:bawl:

[Faramir]

Today @ 12:37 AM post located here (http://www.theologyweb.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&postid=375364#post375364)
RightIdea:

I already said I was there, and I can neither confirm nor deny my ocular moisture quotient. :tongue:

:no:

:ri: = :bawl:

[bar Jonah]

Why would I have been doing that, when clearly crying was fulfilled 2000 years ago? :wink:

[emulator]

wordless: there are no words for that
like it was very very good<...... not enough to say that I really enjoyed the story. Im writing out my autobio now, I've put that off for years. I don't really try to think about it too much. I figure I'll make a fortune (LOL).:flowers:

[Neobius]

:smile: Wassup everybody! :hi:

[bar Jonah]

Dude, prepare to get pearlinated. :lol:

[Neobius]

:egad:

[Xmansmommy]

:hi: Neo! You got Pearls! :wink:

[Xavier]

:teeth:

It's okay... Pearls are a GOOD thing...

:teeth:

Yours,
Xavier

:xav:

[bar Jonah]

I tried to give you pearls, and it said I can't because I have too many transfers to you???? :huh:

[Xavier]

Ahhh.... Bucking the trend I see... :teeth:

[Xmansmommy]

:stars:

[Em7add11]

Neobius:

:smile: Wassup everybody! :hi:

Welcome aboard! :hi:

[Neobius]

Awwww shucks...you guys didn't have ta pearl me, I just showed up! :tongue:

Interesting to note...on the gamer message boards where I originally wrote this thread, I've seen a lot of activity on it, people begging for the next post...

...until this last one. After putting up this last post there, I've only gotten one reply. Other than that...total silence. :huh:

[bar Jonah]

Gosh, imagine that. :hrm:

[Neobius]

There's nuthin' quite like the uncomfortable silence, that follows the telling of a profound truth. :hrm:

[Em7add11]

"Hey I've just had this intimate peek into your life.....



......




......




Do you like golf?"

:teeth:

[bar Jonah]

Let's chat in the Welcome Neobius thread, since this thread's topic is this story. :ri:

:offtopic:

[Xavier]

There goes :ri:.... "Mod"ing on :em7: whose the Mod of THIS forum... :ahem:


:teeth:

[Xmansmommy]

:ahem:

[Em7add11]

:lol:

[bar Jonah]

Xavier:
There goes :ri:.... "Mod"ing on :em7: whose the Mod of THIS forum... :ahem:

:teeth:
I'm the creator of this thread, mon ami! As such, I have a right to rebuke people for being...

:offtopic:

[Xavier]

/ot Normally, I'd agree with you... But person you're "mod"ing is a superior, at least in this forum... :lol:

:hijacked:

[Neobius]

Agreed...let's continue any welcome-related stuff in http://www.theologyweb.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=15366 :thumb:

[Xavier]

But our posts there don't count and we don't get :spam: points... Could we open a "Say Hi to Neobius" Thread here in the Rec Room?

Yours,
Xavier

:xav:

[Xmansmommy]

We could leave the thread but then nobody would be commenting. :noid:

[Neobius]

If you'd like to start a thread here in the Rec Room, that'd be awesome...as for this thread, I'm curious to hear any comments that people have on the "Fall and Rise of Neobius"...?

[bar Jonah]

Commenting on the story is great. This just isn't the place for general spam. :ri:

Yeah, create a thread here in the Rec Room.

[Xavier]

Done... :smile:

[Em7add11]

Xavier:

/ot Normally, I'd agree with you... But person you're "mod"ing is a superior, at least in this forum... :lol:

:hijacked:

I don't think I would ever use the word "superior" to describe my relation to RI here. Maybe "much more handsome" but that's quite a bit more subjective. :wink:

[Xmansmommy]

:wink:

[bar Jonah]

Em7add11:
I don't think I would ever use the word "superior" to describe my relation to RI here. Maybe "much more handsome" but that's quite a bit more subjective. :wink:
Not so subjective, really... :tongue:

[Em7add11]

RightIdea:

Not so subjective, really... :tongue:

Well thanks RI. :smile:

That's awfully nice of you to say so, hehehe.

(As per your request I'll take the spamming to the other thread tho. :salute: )

[Em7add11]

Weird, my "salute" fake smiley code disappeared....

[bar Jonah]

Serves you right, you vain scalawag. :noid:

[Xavier]

:teeth:

[JardinPrayer]

Okay, I'm weighing in. I read through the end of page 4. I couldn't take it any more. Now that we've got the real deal here on TWeb, I'd prefer to get to know the current person in the here and now.

I've come through some very dark times myself and fought hard to get back into the light. It really unnerves me to read through someone else's painful experiences, or to be around people who are in situations like these and not fighting as hard as I did to get out. I realize writing the story is cathartic and therapeutic (I was a writer for along time), but as a reader, I find it anti-therapeutic.

I'm glad to know you, Rob. I'm glad you're happy and well enough to be part of our family here. I prefer to leave your past in the past and perhaps make some fresh, new, happy memories.

That's just me.

[Neobius]

Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. Looking back, all the hell I went through in my life during that time, was very painful...but also very GOOD. Sure, it's hard to look back on sometimes...even harder to go through in such vivid detail...but God knew what I needed in order to be saved.

God knew that I had to be broken...to break myself...before I would let myself listen to Him, or choose Him. What I went through was hard...but it was GOOD. I don't want to forget something good, no matter how hard it was...especially given the fact that it was God's plan of salvation for me.

I'm reminded of Paul, who asked God to remove the "thorn in his side", but God refused; God answered Paul, saying that His power was made perfect in him (Paul). Through our weakness, God's strength is made known. There's NO WAY I could've weaseled my way out of my problems...my life was over, even my lawyer was resigned to that. Clearly, it was God working that day in court...and frankly, all the days up to that. I don't want to forget that.

"Pain can be a beautiful thing, because without it...how can we grow?" - Amy Lee, Evanescence

[emulator]

agreed....
one question though..were her friends heroin adicts or just lovers??

[JardinPrayer]

Just to be clear, Neo...I wasn't admonishing you or Jim for posting the thread. My heart just breaks to easily to feast on the installments and chomp at the bit for more. It just isn't my personal style. I wholeheartedly agree that we must remember our past in order to grow and move forward. I've just got my hands full remembering my own past and would prefer not to fill the remaining gray matter with other people's tribulations if it can be avoided. You, my brother, rock on! :kisskiss: