By
Justin Snider
, Amherst College
Light Of My Life, Fire of My Loins: Fi-o-na
My stalker story is quite dull, which makes it all the more frustrating for
me. I mean, if my stalker posed something of a safety threat - if I had to fear
that my life could end around every corner - then I could be more into the idea
of having a stalker. Aren’t stalkers supposed to be scary, after all? She has
never tried to break into my home, nor has she left cryptic messages scrawled in
blood on my mirror. My stalker is, sadly, completely harmless, and she certainly
doesn’t inspire fear. She is more annoyance (and bloody ugly) than anything
else, like that irksome bird outside your window that won’t shut up or that
itch on your back just out of reach. One hundred percent nuisance, baby. I don’t
even have grounds to file for a restraining order or hire a bodyguard.
Furthermore, she is from Mexico and thus cannot follow my many moves with ease,
so I don’t have to see her too often. In fact, come to think of it, I have
only seen her three times in my life, and never for more than a few minutes.
Twice in Germany, where we met briefly and I made the idiotic mistake of giving
her my name and email address, and then once in Massachusetts. I’m at a
complete loss for motives in this case. Am I irresistibly hot, you ask? Most
definitely, but even I’ll admit I’m not worth the money to fly from Mexico
to Massachusetts. Is she just looking for a green card? Certainly she’d have
better luck - not to mention it’d be far cheaper and easier - trying to pick
up an intoxicated American college student in Tijuana. She’s unattractive,
yes, but nothing a few beers couldn’t change.
Let’s call her Fiona. Not, of course, because that’s her real name - she
has a very conventional, uninspiring Spanish name - but because “Fiona”
sounds sufficiently ritzy, eccentric, and mysterious to qualify as a stalker’s
name. I fear I have been a bit unfair in my description of Fiona thus far. She
is not, for instance, entirely lacking in redeemable qualities. Fiona is
exceedingly competent, resourceful and persistent. Obviously these are required
characteristics for any would-be stalker, but I should think Fiona takes these
to new levels. Working with just my email address and the fact that I study
German (she knew this because we met at the university in Germany), Fiona would
send me bundles of mail at school, care of the German department. I would show
up for class, and the professor-cum-postman would, while returning my paper,
slip me my mail as well. It became almost a weekly occurrence. Too bad
everything she sent was funky junk - sweatshirts, keychains, stationery,
trinkets, awards she was given from her university, etc. If only she had sent
something of value (pesos even!), I just might have answered an email or two.
But then it occurs to me that we don’t even have a common language in which to
communicate: my Spanish is as pathetic and inept as are her English and German.
