I was accepted into the Running Start program at the end of my sophomore year. After what happened with PK, that sealed the deal. That summer I started taking classes at the community college and did well, so I was encouraged that I would have a calm school year at community college.
On the first day of Fall quarter 1993, I nearly passed out when I nearly ran into PK on campus. He still talked to SA, and I still talked to SA. So I’m not really sure if it was just coincidence that we both ended up going to Green River or not. Highline is technically the closer of the two community colleges, so I was more than surprised when we ran into each other. He didn’t seem all that surprised though. I was panicked, thinking that he was going to do something. But he acted like nothing was wrong. And he was actually kind of … friendly. It turns out that the high school graduated him since he was so close to graduation. He didn’t tell me that though, and I didn’t ask him. I ended up asking SA.
I had to create some strategy to deal with PK. Should I ignore him? Run away when I see him? Be polite? I decided to go the civil route. If I didn’t make waves and didn’t say anything stupid, perhaps I’d fade into the background from his perspective. So I kept it light, nonchalant, and tried to get rid of him by having to rush to class.
Inevitably, we passed by each other on the way to classes each day. Most of the time he’d make small talk, and I’d go along with it. After all, if I didn't make him mad, he could be tolerable. One day I missed the bus because he was talking so much. He offered to drive me to work. I was extremely reticent about being alone with him, but I didn’t have many other options, so I said okay. And he was friendly enough on the drive there.
Probably a month into the school year (late October-ish), I saw him walking with a lady. I recognized her from the bus I took. He wasn’t hanging around me between classes as much, which was a nice break. I was glad his attention was on someone besides me. The lady looked kind of older (hey, I was 15. Everyone looked older.), maybe late twenties or early 30s. PK was 18. I also noticed PK was growing a beard. Ah, the things men will do for women.
Mid-November the beard suddenly disappeared, and he and I kept bumping into each other again. He would want to go out to eat on the days I didn’t have work after school. I kept trying to come up with creative excuses, and I teased him about the lady I used to see him with to keep it light. He kept dismissing her, I kept dismissing the offers to go out.
One night I passed by the upstairs window in my house and saw a familiar car a few houses away. It was around 8 at night. What do I do? I turn all the lights off in the house and try to figure out what’s going on. It’s PK’s car and he’s sitting there watching my house.
I hadn’t told my mom that PK was going to Green River as well. I had told some friends, but by this time I was moving farther apart from them because they were still immersed in high school. I was in a different environment, and my friends were becoming classmates at college. But my new friends didn’t know what a weirdo PK was. That evening I couldn’t sleep because I was paranoid that I had inadvertently upset PK, and who knows what he would do.
As time went on, things got even weirder – if that’s possible. I got a phone call one evening. From Becky. Who’s Becky? Yeah, I didn’t know either at first. Well, Becky turned out to be the older woman that PK had seen at the first part of school. I had no idea she knew who I was. I had no idea how she got my number. But the gist of what she told me is that I should stay away from her man. Which of course is hysterical because I would literally pay anyone to keep him away from me. I told her I had absolutely zero intentions with PK, and he was all hers. Becky didn’t believe me, and then she started crying. I was 15 years old with a slightly crazy, almost 30 year old crying at me over the phone about a psychotic guy. How did I get myself in this predicament? Then she tells me she’s pregnant by PK. And she’s married to someone else. She pleads with me to talk to PK to take her back. I have no idea how her husband fits into this.
In order to fulfill the request of a pregnant Becky who I couldn’t help but feel sorry for, my mission the next day was to seek out PK on campus. That is an extremely easy mission since he was everywhere I turn. I corner him and tell him Becky called me. He already knew about the baby, but he doesn’t want to be with her. “Tough crap, you have to be with her,” I told him.
Then he says he doesn’t love Becky. He loves ME. So what if the first guy who professed his love for me was a psycho stalker who knocked up a married woman? Not my crowning achievement in life, I must say. The conversation didn’t go anywhere.
After class one day he comes up to me with two wrapped presents and tells me they are my Christmas gifts. He insists I open them right there. One is a gift card to the Bon Marche (now Macy’s), and the other is an engraved bracelet with my name. I try to explain to him that I think Becky could use the gift card for the baby. That ticked him off because I mentioned two people--Becky and the baby--that he did NOT want to talk about. At that point, I refused to take the gift card. I would never spend it, or I’d hand it over to Becky on the bus one day. And if I could get him to actually speak to Becky, all the better.
I ticked him off, as expected. The next day I found this letter on my doorstep. Excuse the quality of printer ink. It was 1993, and I think he used a dot matrix printer. (Click to make it bigger.) Notice the hostile tone and what he calls himself. I of course was thrilled that he wouldn't be talking to me for several weeks.
Then a few days later I find this note and card on my doorstep. Darn, I thought he was going to be “away” until January.
I still have this stupid Superman card, as you can see. As if I know what to do with the thing. The stupid things I keep.
It finally became 1994. I was ready for a new school quarter. Possibly PK was going to do the right thing and get together with Becky. All would be good. Right? Of course not, but a girl can hope. I sit down on my first day in my English lit class, get out my notebook, and in walks PK and Follower SL. My heart sinks. PK plopped down right next to me. He kept scooting closer, and I kept scooting in the other direction until I’ve practically got the people next to me sitting on each other.
The tables in the classroom were shaped like two layers of horseshoes with an inner and outer ring. The next day I sat on the opposite side of the room, in the back horseshoe. I chose it because two people were sitting there with a space in between them. In I went, so proud of myself for not getting stuck next to PK. What does PK do? Sit directly across me from me and stare at me for the next hour.
Of course the rest of the class picked up that something’s going on between us. Even the dense teacher figured it out within a few days. Probably two weeks into class, PK was absent. Everyone in the class asked what was going on. I told them the abbreviated version and left out the Becky part. There were 5-6 football players taking the class. For the rest of the quarter, they let me sit amongst them. They were all very kind. One time the teacher counted us off into groups. Of course PK and I ended up with the same number. The teacher noticed and then switched him into another group.
I was taking chemistry as well. PK would wait for me after my chemistry class. One day my chemistry partner told me my boyfriend came by, and he was really cute. Huh? My boyfriend didn’t…. Wait, describe him. Oh, that’s not my boyfriend. That’s PK. She told me that he told her that he was my boyfriend.
Then there was the time PK confronted a guy I was semi-dating and told him that he was dating me. At some point, you wonder after all of these little things happen if you’re the crazy one. Was I in a relationship with PK? I think for that to happen I would have to have some knowledge of a relationship. Since I didn’t and our interaction was limited, I was pretty sure I was right that there was no relationship. There were a few bouquets of flowers, a few more notes that I would immediately crumple.
How does the story end?
There was a bad, horrible explosion between us. I ticked him off one day by talking with a guy in one o, he followed me out to the parking lot, threw me in his car, he was out of control. He told me that he was going to kill me, and he was in such a state that he could have. Fortunately, he was so out of control that he got in a car accident. It was actually GOOD because no one was hurt, but it jarred him out of his intention of killing me.
Things got a bit better after that. I was super careful in my interactions with him. He did call me frequently and say how much he messed up his life. Even though I was now dealing with a depressed guy over the phone, it was a lot easier to deal with him over the phone than in person. Only a few times he was on my doorstep in despair. I’d try to do my best and talk with him outside. He could be incredibly nice when he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I chose to associate with some scary-looking guys that intimidated even PK. Soon he finally stopped calling and dropping by my house. After spring quarter, he seemed to have disappeared. Part of me was so ecstatic to be free from him. A smaller part wondered what PK was up to. What was he doing? Did he keep in contact with Becky and his child? Even today I wonder what he’s up to. There’s a high probability he’s either in prison or doing something with comic books if he’s not in prison. I wonder how many other women he’s become obsessed with over the years. I wish there was some sort of warning I could have put out there to others. Don’t let him latch onto you because he’s a parasite.
So that’s my tale of obsession. I will never know why I was picked. I’m certainly not the prettiest, the most vivacious, or the smartest. But for some reason, PK latched onto me. I should have put a restraining order on him after the day he tried to strangle me and threatened me with a knife. Maybe that could have cut out the rest of the saga. The whole experience certainly raised my threshold for “crazy.” When anyone tells me they know someone who’s obsessed with them, I feel like I legitimately say I know what that feels like. As many nutjobs there are in the world, I feel better prepared to handle them now.
