THE TRIAL

I realize there’s some unfair advantages here: I’m telling the story, from my point of view. No input from the party on trial. And, y’all love me, at least a little, so you’re likely to side with me. The following emails, interspersed with my comments, tell a story that I have been mulling over all weekend.

See, I could be a real bitch here. A super unfriendly person or, even worse, a friend turned unfriendly. But I keep thinking about how, no matter what I do, a certain individual -- Don J. we’ll call him, in hopeful anonymity, Don not meant as in “Donald” but as in the Spanish form of respect, Don Juan -- has preoccupied my time, my mind, my energy and given my an emotional quandry. Even if I didn’t want it, he’s inside my psyche. Communication is a bitch.

So, I’ve stolen his emails. Don J.’s emails to me. I’ve appropriated his words and interpreted them **for myself**. This is what happens when you make things public. As if, after the first one, I didn’t say, “I think email is a really lame form of communication.” Not that I entirely believe that, but take it as a hint, or your inner thoughts may be public property.

MISSIVE #1
to: carneline
July 7

What would you do in the following conundrum: there is an interesting person in your class, but you just can’t manage to talk to them, do you keep trying to surreptitiously catch a word, or do you send them an email? Well, I chose the latter. In class, whenever Don X. asks us a question, normally two hands will go up. Don Y. will provide us with a personal experience, and Carneline will ask some lucid insight about educational doctrine. I ( and probably the rest of our class) keep wondering , “Where does she get this stuff, has she taken this class before, should I know this?” Then there is your fervent **I admit, being called “fervent” freaked me out** desire to teach at the correctional facility as well as the inner city schools. **Reading this, I feel as if I am under survelliance in the classroom, that all my actions are being watched. Which is true for anyone, face it, you walk and even more so you’re a chick, there’s a 200 year old literary tradition of “subject.”** I keep wondering why/how you’re doing what we are all concerned about, what’s your motivation, and what have you learned? **And in response, that’s none of your business what I’m thinking about. I already answered those questions once when I got into graduate school. My motivations are none of your fucking business. So there.** In thinking about it, if I were to generalize, you want to teach because you care deeply for the students, whereas I want to teach because I love history and want others to love it. My way sounds somehow more impersonal and selfish. **Once again, literary analysis clouds my thought: girls are always altruistic and giving. To needy bastards.** So you see, I feel like I am missing something if I can’t talk to you. And yes, I know you have a boyfriend (I figured that from the beginning. No person would go see Tomb Raider of their own free will). I have an ex-girlfriend in Germany, who emails me every week. We both have our commitments. But could you spare having another friend? Back at University X I used to think,that’s enough, I have enough friends. Perhaps you are thinking the same? If so, why not think of me as your understudy in our common goal of teaching (sneaky, huh?). So now if I walk up to you, know that I am not attempting to hit on you, it’s just that I want our first tutoring session to begin (even if it is just the one block before you peddle off). Tell me what you think. --Don J.

Well, here’s my conundrum: it was email. I’m all for crazy forms of communication, honestly, truely. But email is not a valid form of initiating communication. Sorry. Those are my rules. And I’m worried, too, about writing this on the website. Because Don J. might see it, and be offended; but know what, buddy? This is my story, my bias. If there was a court case there’d be transcripts of some conversations and two emails of a few lines. Then, maybe, the “real” truth would come out. Right now, though, it’s all about garning popular support.

And just so you know, I am the kind of person who would -- and did -- see Tomb Raider of her own free will. And here’s what I want from you, loyal violivia community readers: am I justified or not? Am I crazy, or were my concerns (to be outlined) legitimate?

Tell me, faithful readers, what do you think about the tone? At this point in the game, the beginning of summer semester, I don’t think I’d yet had personal contact with this person beyond a group conversation during a busride through Detroit. Like a ton of bricks.

The comments have been asserted in some sort of attempt to justify, explain, and rationalize my extreme (?) reaction(s). Keep reading.

MISSIVE #2

Unfortunately, I erased this one. It occurred after drinking coffee and chatting for an hour. It was an interesting conversation, and the vibes were fairly okay. Although Don J. seemed quasi-crestfallen when he realized the boyfriend in reference was actually a long-term, live-in sorta situation. If I remember correctly, it gently upbraided me for having a great conversation and then ignoring the person.

MISSIVE #3
to: carneline
July 16

Hi Carneline, I felt I really wanted a beer after this weekend and today's doozy of a class, but I perceived an "I am busy and determined" vibe from you so I didn't ask. I hope everything is copecetic. At any rate, on a hunch I looked up Patton's poem on the net and found out that my excerpt was but two stanzas of a huge, mega-poem. If you're interested I can sent it to you. In the meantime, I will rattle off another near and dear one. Enjoy -JN

Round the corner there may wait,
A new road or a secret gate,
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I,
Shall take the hidden paths that run,
West of the moon and East of the Sun.
-JRR Tolkien

Okay, Tolkien sent up slight warning. But hey, I’ve got more than one friend with Tolkien tattoos, so how can I really complain? And generally, after three hours in class, I do have other things I wanted to do. Errands, hang with friends, go swimming. Because when there’s a mention of need on anyone’s part, I go flying. Far and fast and away. And Don J., I feel needed by you. And I don’t like it. That kind of shit makes girls skittish.

MISSIVE #4
to: carneline
July 31

Hello Carneline,
Before cutting to the chase, I wanted to share something with you. Having recently suffered with insomnia (the worst was not being able to fall asleep until 4:30am), one, I wanted to know if you had any remedies **What sort of person emails and asks for insomnia rememdies, anyways? A person too scared to talk in person? Or needing an excuse?**, and two, I wanted to bounce a poem off you which I composed on just such an occasion. **One, I feel weird about showing anyone someone else’s poetry without asking. But hell, I’m taking so many other liberties here, what’s a little more morality under the bridge?** Not having exercised my poetic muscles for some time, please excuse the crudity. As a future English teacher I welcome your commentary, and critique (although I am cringing from the expected blow).

I saw a young lady while proceeding on my way,
And in the hopes of meeting her I called as if to say,
Whither was she going and where her paths had led?
What melody was upon her lips, what poetry in her head?
What causes would she fight for, what loves had she espied?
What vistas did she dream of, what bitter tears had she cried?
I called to her a second time, my hopes to know her keen,
But on she walked unworried as if I’d gone unseen.
Did she think me a charlatan, a fop, a fraud, a cad?
While I yearned for all the laughter, debate, and banter we might have had.
I felt a loss profound, yet insubstantial for a future not yet come,
A knowing friend, a kindred soul, a mentor, a hero yet unsung.
I called to her in wanting and yet called to her in vain,
For on she walked and on I walked and, alas,
I never called again.

Now for the primary matter, is the ________ still on? What are the carpooling plans? Yours in expectation, Don J.

You know what it is, it’s the poem. It rhymes. Unless this boy thinks in couplets, he had to spend a good bit of time composing this. Maybe it’s supposed to be light-hearted, a joke. It’s a poem with a message and I don’t like that. Couldn’t you have said something instead of composing and sending it off into the abyss? I told you, I’m judgemental, and I’m mean. I don’t want you questioning my vista-filled future; or my bitter tears. For you information, my tears fall like diamonds and can crack cement. And banter is something done with swords, blood, and vitriol. For some reason, this poem made me feel attacked.

MISSIVE #5
to: carneline
Sept 30

Dear Carneline,
First off, I am sorry for friday. I guess from my point of view, being someone's friend gives one the infinite capacity for stupidity. To a guy, having someone wait for them after a class doesn't seem like such a bad thing. **This is where I need all your help: Jasper, you’ve got the guy input; Leslie, I’d trust you with transplants on their way to my expiring liver. I have a class Friday with all the other graduate students in the program. I leave that class and go to another class, another building. It’s a Spanish class. There’s no reason any other student in the whole program would know where that class was; although some folks might know it was the Spanish class about Argentinian novels. So I walk out of class on Friday after and Don J. is sitting in the hall, waiting for me. Needless to say, I’m furious.** I guess that explains why it took so long for anti-stalking legislation to be enacted. At any rate, I apologize wholeheartedly, and am sorry if I offended or scared you. Best of luck with your presentation. I won't bother you again, Don J.

At this point, in three months, we’d attended two “group things”; drunk beer, drunk coffee (one each); and walked across the street to see an art opening.

So kids, what do I do next? Is this a friendship? Is this friendship worth saving? Did I fuck up massive or is there a creepiness factor that says, look, you can’t match that need. I’m babbling. Help me out.

later.
carneline