[This is a long one, there is a TLDR at the bottom]
(This isn't just a story of revenge. This is a story of how revenge hurts both parties)
To this day, a good revenge story gives me a warm bubbly feeling inside. I believe it comes from this college experience years ago when I got revenge on my cheating girlfriend and it felt GOOD. I know I'm not suppose to enjoy it but I can't deny how satisfying it feels. Its probably one of my favorite feelings in the world even though I'm ashamed to admit it. So I decided to write my first post about this because I don't tell the story often. It is so extensive and honestly just makes me look bad.
I'm going to try my best to not paint a picture where my X looks as bad as possible and me as innocent as possible. I want to write this accurately as I can, even if it makes me look bad.
[Bit of context and back story]
At the time of this story, I played division 1 NCAA basketball at a school so I traveled a lot (weekly in different cities and states) and my entire life revolved around this.
During the events of this story I was in the early stages of a horrible drug and alcohol habit. Years after this story I ended up getting sober and joined a program whos name you can find at the front of almost any phonebook. I am sure many people reading this are also sober and will understand how we addicts/alcoholics can be. This story is an effort to explain a character defect that manifested from the events in this story that lead me down a very dark path, however, I don't mean this story to come off in a "self pity" kind of way.
Lastly, I was always a good kid, I was never "troubled". My upbringing was very difficult but I was able to keep an overall kindness in my spirit to other people and almost always "did the right thing" or "took the high road". When it came to dating, I knew people cheated in relationships but at the time of this story I always chalked it up to other people "not doing things the way I did". I never really thought it would happen to me.. I always thought that because I was a "5 star boyfriend" and my "amazing choice" in women, infidelity would never be a part of my dating journey. I was a naïve. I really thought highly of myself and also had a real arrogance like any guy in his early 20s I guess.
[The Build Up]
I was in my Jr year in University I had been single for about a year after me and my high school gf finally broke up after 3 years. I checked that relationship off as my "learning experience" and I now knew what to look for in my next girlfriend. The next woman I chose to have a relationship with I would most likely marry and start my future with. (I know I was young and dumb and thought I knew everything LOL)
I had my eye on this girl at my school [we will call her Lisa]. I saw Lisa around the collegiate athletic facility (the university teams training grounds, and locker rooms). Lisa ran for the track team and was damn good. The various athletic teams often had parties and I knew that the first one I saw her at I would introduce myself and try to chat her up a bit and see where it led.
Soon enough I see Lisa at one of these parties and we pass each other on the stairs. We make eye contact and she smiled at me. I sparked a conversation with her and after going back and forth a bit we exchange numbers. We begin the classic American style of flirting where we constantly just hint things back and forth indirectly. We slowly progressed the relationship in this manner for weeks. Sending texts back and forth hinting that we were interested in each other but also playing it cool to not let the other person know we had a crush on them.
At the time, she was on a break with her current boyfriend who was a popular player on the football team. She ended up leaving him completely to date me. This shoulda been a red flag obviously but remember, I had severe hubris. At the time her leaving him to date me just gave me a superiority complex. I was playing good in sport and if she was willing to leave this guy for me then she will never leave me for another guy.
Lmao I was a fucking idiot.
I cant express how much I was into Lisa. I was addictively attracted to her and had that weird feeling of "I cant believe my crush is actually into me to". I really was so drowned and blinded by my crush on her I missed so many red flags but our relationship began progressing really fast. Because of this I didn't really do a proper inventory on why I liked her so much.
[Fast forward like 8 months later.]
We are together officially. Lisa has her own athlete's dorm room but I was a couple years older than her and was working during the summers full time and part time during school / season and had my own apartment near campus and Lisa was basically living with me. She even would stay there when I was out of town which was like 3 or 4 days of every week because we were in season and the team was flying all over the country. Me and Lisa were deeply in love regardless.
At the end of the season I had planned two massive back to back parties. One was for my teammate's birthday (Friday night) and then my birthday (Saturday night). They just happened to be one day after the other and luckily landed on a Friday and Saturday night. Me and Lisa got drunk Friday night and had some unprotected sex.
Lisa kept a period-tracking calendar app on her phone. She was asleep and I drunkenly remembered she always marked down in her calendar when we had unprotected sex so she knew if she should be worried if she missed her period. She missed her period often because she was an athlete. My inebriated brain thought she should put it in her calendar now because we would forget the next day since we were so fucked up. So I woke her up and said "can you put in that calendar that we had unprotected sex". At this point it was like 5am and we were that 5am kinda drunk where you're mostly just tired. She unlocked her phone and opened the app and before she could even do it she fell back asleep. So I took the phone while it was still unlocked and proceeded to try and figure out how to put it in her calendar myself.
[side note] Through our entire relationship, Lisa went through my computer and phone constantly. She was very insecure and always had her suspicions. I didn't care that she was doing this all the time. She never found anything because I never did shady shit, ever.
Again, looking back at this its an obvious red flag I missed. Remember I thought this girl would never cheat on me.
So this wasn't one of those stories where I went through her phone looking for something and subsequently finding it. In this case I was innocently trying to navigate this damn period calendar while I was drunk and I was not suspicious at all.
When I looked at the period-calendar app on Lisa's phone, I saw all kinds of little markers on different days of each month. Each marker was a different color so I opened one to see what the color coding meant. I saw that red was obviously symbolling her period and then there was also black markers that showed when she had unprotected sex.
........This is when my heart sank into my stomach......
This fucking calendar was PEPPERED with black markers. It looked like a checker board with only a hand full of red pieces left and ALL the fucking black ones..... There was black markers on dates that I was in a different city playing basketball.... I proceeded to open all of black markers going back for our entire relationship. We did not have unprotected sex very often. MAYBE once or twice a month. She had written the names of the guys she had unprotected sex with in the notes section of the black markers. There was a total of 4 guys through out the entirety of our relationship that she allowed to penetrate her raw. Some months there was almost a dozens of those fucking black markers. Sometimes there was TWO in one day! Looking back on this I wonder if there were more unlisted men that I didn't see because she clearly only kept track of the guys and times she had UNPROTECTED sex.
In almost every story I hear of infidelity, it involves the discovery of text messages, being informed by a friend, or the classic coming home early and catching your partner red handed.
I, on the other hand, discovered a fucking well documented LEDGER of almost every time she cheated and had unprotected sex.
Amongst the 4 guys I discovered, one of them was her X that she originally left to date me. Cheating on me with him was a common occurrence. There was some other unkown guy she was also clearly sleeping with him regularly. The last 2 fellas looked to be just a one time thing but again like I said these markers were just the times she had sex without a condom. So who knows what the true story was there.
I sobered up real quick. I proceeded to look through Lisa's texts and calls and found nothing. However, at the time Android phones had a folder where you can see deleted texts but not the contents of the messages. She had THOUSANDS of deleted texts and calls but I couldn't see what they said but I saw the numbers and did a quick Facebook search and matched one with her X in addition to something like half a dozen other random dudes. The worst part was I found TWO of my teammates... one guy I was actually pretty close with.
I just put the phone down after a few minutes. The evidence was overwhelming. The more it seemed to look at the phone the more my insides began to hurt.
I felt so defeated. I cant fully describe the feeling but I'm sure anyone reading this that caught a significant other cheating knows what I'm talking about. I felt so stupid for trusting her and having no suspicions of her.
I couldn't stop thinking about how I regretted all the times that I had an "opportunity" to cheat and remained faithful to Lisa. I felt like and idiot for not cheating her when I could have. My loyalty felt like a waste. I know it sounds ridiculous and irrelevant to the fact that she was unfaithful. I think I obsessed over that because if I had cheated as well I wouldn't have hurt so much in that moment. All I could think about was about how much I was hurt. I would do anything to not feel the pain and embarrassment anymore.
[Question] Am I the only one who thought this way after catching their partner cheating? I'm curious about this.
I proceeded to leave my apartment and go for a long walk. I had never felt the emotions that were coming up and didn't know how to process them. My ego felt like it was literally dismantled in front of me. I wasn't sure what to do and I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. My sadness quickly turned to anger. I knew I was gunna get my revenge I just didn't know how yet.
I was SEETHING with rage and wanted make sure she never recovered from this.
My roommate/teammate and best friend at the who was sleeping on the couch in my living room [we will call him Bono] (an eastern European kid who stood 7 foot tall and was as Russian in demeanor as it you can imagine. He also had an equally ridiculous RL name hence: Bono) well, Bono called me shortly after I started my walk. I answered and he asked where I was. I asked him to keep this between us, and told him what happened. He stays on the phone and goes into my room and I hear him in his Russian accent yell at her "yo bitch, you cheated on OP?" Then I faintly hear her inaudibly say something in the background and him yelling at her to get out of the apartment. After hearing some scuffling Bono gets back on the line and says "yo! she gone, come back and lets talk"
I head back home and me and Bono go over what had happened. Things don't get sappy because we are both complete alpha males who both come from cultures where "men don't cry" and neither of us really knew what to say or do in this situation. He makes his best attempt to comfort me and says: "tonight is your birthday, we gunna get fucked up and find you some sluts. Fuck her! I never liked her anyway"
.... oh ya, this day was my birthday... forgot about that part ...
Me and Bono go out for breakfast. I am still a little drunk. My phone is blowing up with calls and texts from Lisa. I tell her I saw everything on her phone and I cant stand to speak with her or look at her. She keeps trying to convince me to let her come to my birthday party and I make it clear I don't want her there. She clearly was concerned about exactly what Bono suggested to me earlier when me and him chatted.
Lisa's entire reputation and popularity revolved around the fact that she was dating me. I think most people didn't like her in the first place but put up with her because we were together. She knew that if I acted single at my birthday party and she didn't show up everyone would know something was askew. I think Lisa was more worried about being embarrassed than our relationship.
I don't remember much of what happened that night. But one of my friends sent me a little package for my birthday from California filled with some really good weed, hash, moonrocks, some pills and "the devil's dandruff" and I proceeded to do a glorious swan dive into an intoxicated oblivion.
All I remember is sitting on my chair at the pregame for my party. There was two girls sitting on the arms of the chair and I still have a photo of that moment and I remember it vividly. We were preparing to head out. I had a few tables downtown at a popular nightclub. The booze and drugs were the only thing that made me feel normal. I had my sun glasses on and clearly had that happy loaded grin on my face. The longer you look at the photo of me on that chair, you can tell I'm hiding a huge amount of hurt.
Sitting on that chair, the cocktail of drugs start to take effect. This was the first time I ever used substances not to "party" but to feel better. To make me feel normal.
I remember thinking: "I want to feel this way for the rest of my life. I am never going to hurt like that ever again. With drugs, I have control and no one can hurt me again." Oh how ironic that turns out to be years down the line.
I told my teammates and friends that me and Lisa were done when they asked why she wasn't at the party. I didn't tell them why though. I also didn't show them that I was affected by it in anyway and just played it cool. I tried to focus everyone on the party ahead of us.
[The Revenge]
So this is one of those revenge stories where it was only half planned. I knew I wanted to get revenge on Lisa for hurting me so much. But I kind of just improvised as opportunities came up.
My original kind spirit had died at my birthday on that chair. All my morals went out the window. I never cheated in relationships therefore I believed I would never get cheated on. I realize now how dumb that is but that's what I thought at the time.
I didn't care what collateral damage I caused as long as my mission to hurt Lisa as much as possible was accomplished. So continued every day of my life with this new selfish mindset.
I was sitting at my computer later that next week skimming Facebook when I saw the profile of one of her track teammates on my feed. That's when I had my first vengeful idea. I decided I was going to attempt to get her teammates to bite the bait that I was about to cast out into the water. Though, I didn't have proof she hooked up with my teammates, she was clearly trying to hide conversations between them. So I was going to see how many people who are close to here I could "passionately hug". Luckily I had more options than she had when cheating on me. A women's track team is much larger than a men's basketball team. Also much better looking ;)
Lisa's teammate I originally spotted on my Facebook had a boyfriend but I thought: "clearly everyone cheats, lets see if its true". I proceed to do the little flirty social media dance with her. You know, the one where I like a couple of her photos, she likes a couple of mine back. I shoot her a message and BAM! shes at my house in my bed about a week later. I proceed to do something similar to other teammates of hers. All on her 4x4 relay team coincidentally.
2 of the 3 girls I "passionately hugged" had boyfriends and subsequently cheated on them with me which gave me some real mixed emotions. It stroked my broken ego and also made me bitter and sad. Giving me one of those "women aint shit! none of them are loyal" attitudes.
This is such a typical story of while fighting monsters I became a monster.
This actually became my go-to strategy because it accomplished two things in my fucked up mind. It exposed a cheater but more importantly if they were willing to cheat on their boyfriends they would:
A] be more secretive about it which meant the drama that would ensue when it came out would be elevated and
B] it made me feel better about Lisa cheating because it proved it wasn't me that was the problem. It was women that were the problem. (I know its fucked up but that's what I thought back then.)
I started to collect something from every girl that I hooked up with, like a bra, a pair of panties, or some jewelry etc.. (not for some creepy reason, but this is important later and was a part of my plan) Sometimes I didn't even have to try. One girl left a pair of very distinguishable shoes. I knew Lisa would know who's shoes they were. They belonged to the girl that Lisa's X boyfriend rebounded with after Lisa and him broke up which highly upset her because it was her friend. Now it would upset her more because that same girl slept with both of her X boyfriends. I especially tried to collect items if it was something that I knew Lisa could distinguish like a sweater from the women's track team with her teammates name on it. After some time I had collected a boatload of shit.
After a couple months or so, one of the Lisa's teammate's boyfriends found out about me and his girlfriend and it started a big beautiful dramatic explosion of series of events with her and her teammates. This led to all of them finding out about one another's promiscuity. The drama was MASSIVE. Even their coaches had to get involved it got so bad.
This made me feel so powerful in such and evil yet satisfying way. I fell in love with the destruction I was causing. (The most awesome part about all of it was that same week, the Athletics PR team had put massive posters of me all over campus promoting the next game. They were EVERYWHERE. Some of the posters took up the entire side of buildings) So Lisa and her friends had to see me all over campus every day while this drama was erupting all around them. I felt like a triumphant dictator. It was glorious and pathetic at the same time.
Their coach even proceeded to have a "serious" meeting with the compliance department and my team's coaches. My coaches literally laughed at her saying "this seems like and internal issue, but OP hasn't done anything illegal or broken any school policy so there is nothing we can do". This infuriated the women's track coach. Their team had fallen apart. Their national ranking began to plummet. Then Lisa's coach even got in trouble for being caught tearing down some of the smaller posters of me on campus in raging temper tantrum.
I loved all of it.
I continued to add fuel to the fire. Posting photos of me with girls, smiling, being happy every chance I could on Facebook and Instagram. But under it all, I was bitter. I was so deep into my new mindset I had already forgotten the kind hearted naïve kid I use to be. I hated my old self because I let some girl emasculate me. I was so full of self pity looking back it, its depressing. No one really knew though because I played the cool guy attitude in front of people.
There was even a girl on campus on one of the sports teams who claimed that she was pregnant with my kid after I pretended to like her the same way I did with all of the other girls on Lisa's team and soon as we "passionately hugged" I moved on. Its a long story, but it turned out she wasn't pregnant but the news or "press" that came from that further dug the knife deeper into Lisa's side. I left a trail of women I deceived and relationships I destroyed. I feel bad now but at the time I didn't care because they were equally at fault in my eyes since they were cheating on their boyfriends or sleeping with their friends X.
Quickly, girls became weary of me. Plus I was running out of "potential targets" (Fuck I was an awful human being then the way I was thinking) and I was going after girls that weren't even friends or on the track team with Lisa but were just around her in daily life. For example her classmates and as well as her own family. I even flirted with her sister who was married with a kid and I almost succeeded. She was down but her and Lisa's dad found out about it and stepped in and put a stop it all before we could do anything. Her sister was ostracized as the news spread within the family.
I wanted Lisa to know I was everywhere and constantly remind her how she fucked up. In my eyes this was all her fault and she unleashed this fury of chaos upon herself. She should never have fucked with me like that.
Lisa had to take an extended medical leave because of her depression and mental health issues she was experiencing from the whole situation. She was becoming suicidal. She even had to go on medication and lost TONS of weight. She began to look extremely unhealthy. The whole mess was torturing her and the more she hurt the better I felt. At this point I had already inflicted more damage than she did to me but I had become addicted to the feeling of power... I spent 0 time processing my own emotions or moving on from what happened. All I wanted was more revenge and I couldn't stop.
After weeks of ignoring Lisa's texts and calls she finally gets a hold of me by showing up to my apartment unannounced late at night. She was there to pick up some stuff she left from when she lived there to take home. She was actually a local and her parents lived close by. (She was still on her medical leave and no longer staying on campus but rather with her parents) I told her I would bring her stuff to her parents house that weekend but I couldn't let her in because I had "company". Which I did but it wasn't one of her teammates or friends unfortunately.
I then to take all the items I had collected from all the girls over the weeks. There was probably like 8 or 9 things from different girls including her teammates and threw their belongings in along with Lisa's stuff into big black trash bags. I took the bags to her house and then called Lisa's dad. I told him I left her stuff on his porch and to inform his demon daughter. Me and Lisa's dad actually really got along and he even took my side after Lisa and I broke up. But after all these events transpired he obviously had a negative opinion of me.
15 minutes after I get off the phone with her Lisa's dad, I get a call from Lisa. I answer because I want to hear her reaction to having all these other girls shit mixed in with hers. She was sobbing uncontrollably. It sounded like that half crying half mumbling thing people do when they are hysterical. She wasn't even angry, just desperately begging me to point to stop my tyranny.
I just smiled and baked in the glory of hearing her hurt. I responded "why were their other guys in our relationship? you mixed them into our relationship like I mixed other girls shit into your shit. Its perfect little ironic metaphor". I thought it sounded cool at the time and was real proud of myself. (*facepalm*)
I later found out from one of Lisa's friends (who knew she was cheating on me during our relationship) that Lisa was convinced I WAS THE ONE cheating on her because "I was always out of town." This doesn't make sense since I was out of town because of basketball, a very legit excuse. Not just randomly on my own accord. You could literally see my schedule on the school's website. I kept in contact with her constantly when I was gone but obviously when I had practice or team meetings I couldn't be on my phone. But she didn't have the logic in her brain to figure this out I guess. I assume its just an excuse she made to protect her insecurities about the whole fiasco or to keep face with people who knew she was cheating.
[months go by]
Lisa comes back to school from her medical leave and we bump into each other at the physical therapy center in our athlete facility building. I see this as yet another opportunity. It had been a while since I did something that hurt her and I was still hungry for more vengeance. I proceed to pretend like I want to rekindle things with her. She is cautious at first but eventually bites after about a week. We start to mend our "relationship". We proceed for about a month but I wouldn't call this a relationship. I forbid her to have any male friends nor is she allowed to go out and party with her girlfriends. I also need full access to all her accounts and her location at all times. It was more like a hostage situation. It gave me a sense of control.
Meanwhile I'm not being faithful at all. This was my plan all along. Finally, she finds out about me sleeping with a girl in one of her classes and we have a nasty "breakup". I told her that she literally knows what it felt like to be me when we last dated. Yet again, I felt Triumphant. It was just another chance to hurt her and I did.
[After this we don't speak for YEARS.]
I graduate university and move to Central America. She messages me while I'm there about a year after I moved and about 2 years after we last spoke. At this point my life has become that of a real degenerate. I was doing copious amounts of drugs on a daily basis and about 75% of my life was involved in some sort of illegal or nefarious activities. But I still blame her for me becoming the dark soul that I was and taking no responsibility for bitter immoral nature. I hadn't had another relationship since her and always had trouble because I couldn't trust a women in any capacity anymore. Even after years had passed, I saw this instance of her messaging me as yet another opportunity to hurt her.
We begin to talk as friends and even getting flirty with each other over Facebook messenger. Mind you there is literally many countries, states and an ocean between us at this point. I was planning a trip back to my old university to visit some friends. However I told her was different: I explained to her I was moving back to the city for a new job I was just offered. We decide to meet up when I get back and see if there is anything worth saving between us. I had put on my best acting hat and try to seem like I've put our past behind us. However I'm just as vengeful now as I was years ago. She's finishing up her last year at University and I make the trip back to the USA.
I meet Lisa at a coffee shop when I arrive.. We spend the entire night together. From her point of view it really looks like we had moved past our differences and what happened. We could actually work things out.
However I'm not moving back obviously like I told her. I am only stay 2 nights. She doesn't know this. After hooking up a few times and spending 2 days together, without mentioning anything to her about me leaving, I pack my things and get back on a plane back to Central America.
I blocked her on all my social media and communication outlets. This time I could only fantasize about what happened to her when I disappeared after she thought I had moved back and supposedly was ready to give our relationship another try. This time however it wasn't as satisfying as my previous plots of revenge.
My drug habit and lifestyle only got worse every year. 3 years later I was hospitalized and almost died because of my extended drug use. I was never sober a full 24 hours after that day that went through that fucking period calendar.
[Looking back]
As much pain as I might have caused her with my vengeful life, my new identity that consumed my old one was so tainted with a dark spirit at heart. I think I honestly did more harm to myself with my actions and led me to down the road where I had no morals anymore. Though I spent the entirety of this story telling everyone of how I kept getting revenge at my X for cheating on me, as satisfying as it was, I wish I would have spent an equal amount of energy healing myself from the incident. If anyone reading this is experiencing the pain that comes with cheating, a good revenge story can bring you some satisfaction but I hope you don't make the same mistake I did. Rather spend MORE time healing yourself from the hurt and moving past it. The revenge wont heal you. It will be a separate journey but could distract you from putting yourself back together.
Luckily I got sober and am sober now 4+ years. I even had another girl friend of 2 years cheat on me before I got sober but this time I didn't take revenge. I spent my time healing. I changed and only focused on myself and that was way more satisfying than the revenge I got on Lisa for cheating on me.
Now I'm married almost 2 years to a woman who is sober and man do I have a good life. I have a dream job and a dream marriage. Thank you everyone who read this. Sorry if it wasn't well written I never write like this but I have never told the full story in detail before and I got a lot out of writing it.
Mostly what I hope to get from this is to share my experiences doing horrible things but feeling an immense satisfying feel from it where its almost addictive. And morphing from generally a good person to a relatively dark evil one.. Obviously people have dark moments but I feel like my personality and psyche has never been the same since that experience. I'm looking forward to any responses to the people willing to read this shit.
[written by commenter] TLDR: OP dated a woman a few years younger than him in college, Lisa. Lisa kept a period tracker and kept when she had unprotected sex, while documenting their sex for gf who had fallen asleep, OP saw she had been having unprotected sex with at least 4 dudes since they had been dating. OPs roommate kicked her out. OP decided to get revenge. This started with fucking all 3 of her relay partners (track team) which eventually led to the team crashing. They also had bfs, so OP used this as fuel to say that women are the problem, not him. At this time OP starts going down the rabbit hole with drugs and alcohol. This continued on for a long time, and OP started keeping an item from women that would be identifiable to Lisa for his plan. He would purposely “target” (own words) girls close to Lisa so drama would be worse, and he would have more ammunition to hurt her. Lisa took a mental health break from depression, and came to OPs house asking for her stuff back. He brought it to her parents and put all the items he had been collecting. She called him crying and he reveled in it. Months later, they run into each other at PT and he convinces her to give it another shot, knowing its a game. Knowingly holds her “hostage,” no guy friends, no parties, no going out, all while cheating. They eventually break up. Years later, OP is contacted by Lisa and says hes moving back to their country for a job. (IRL hes going for a 2 day visit) and basically catfishes her into trying to date him again, they meet up and hang out the whole time. He then packs up and leaves without a word to hurt her again. After this OP goes down a bad road with drugs and alcohol, ends up in the hospital, and has another Gf cheat on him. He did not take revenge on her. OP is now married, and has a good job and has (presumably) been clean. He is also aware of how toxic it all is. I think that’s everything

[This is a long one, there is a TLDR at the bottom]
(This isn't just a story of revenge. This is a story of how revenge hurts both parties)
To this day, a good revenge story gives me a warm bubbly feeling inside. I believe it comes from this college experience years ago when I got revenge on my cheating girlfriend and it felt GOOD. I know I'm not suppose to enjoy it but I can't deny how satisfying it feels. Its probably one of my favorite feelings in the world even though I'm ashamed to admit it. So I decided to write my first post about this because I don't tell the story often. It is so extensive and honestly just makes me look bad.
I'm going to try my best to not paint a picture where my X looks as bad as possible and me as innocent as possible. I want to write this accurately as I can, even if it makes me look bad.
[Bit of context and back story]
At the time of this story, I played division 1 NCAA basketball at a school so I traveled a lot (weekly in different cities and states) and my entire life revolved around this.
During the events of this story I was in the early stages of a horrible drug and alcohol habit. Years after this story I ended up getting sober and joined a program whos name you can find at the front of almost any phonebook. I am sure many people reading this are also sober and will understand how we addicts/alcoholics can be. This story is an effort to explain a character defect that manifested from the events in this story that lead me down a very dark path, however, I don't mean this story to come off in a "self pity" kind of way.
Lastly, I was always a good kid, I was never "troubled". My upbringing was very difficult but I was able to keep an overall kindness in my spirit to other people and almost always "did the right thing" or "took the high road". When it came to dating, I knew people cheated in relationships but at the time of this story I always chalked it up to other people "not doing things the way I did". I never really thought it would happen to me.. I always thought that because I was a "5 star boyfriend" and my "amazing choice" in women, infidelity would never be a part of my dating journey. I was a naïve. I really thought highly of myself and also had a real arrogance like any guy in his early 20s I guess.
[The Build Up]
I was in my Jr year in University I had been single for about a year after me and my high school gf finally broke up after 3 years. I checked that relationship off as my "learning experience" and I now knew what to look for in my next girlfriend. The next woman I chose to have a relationship with I would most likely marry and start my future with. (I know I was young and dumb and thought I knew everything LOL)
I had my eye on this girl at my school [we will call her Lisa]. I saw Lisa around the collegiate athletic facility (the university teams training grounds, and locker rooms). Lisa ran for the track team and was damn good. The various athletic teams often had parties and I knew that the first one I saw her at I would introduce myself and try to chat her up a bit and see where it led.
Soon enough I see Lisa at one of these parties and we pass each other on the stairs. We make eye contact and she smiled at me. I sparked a conversation with her and after going back and forth a bit we exchange numbers. We begin the classic American style of flirting where we constantly just hint things back and forth indirectly. We slowly progressed the relationship in this manner for weeks. Sending texts back and forth hinting that we were interested in each other but also playing it cool to not let the other person know we had a crush on them.
At the time, she was on a break with her current boyfriend who was a popular player on the football team. She ended up leaving him completely to date me. This shoulda been a red flag obviously but remember, I had severe hubris. At the time her leaving him to date me just gave me a superiority complex. I was playing good in sport and if she was willing to leave this guy for me then she will never leave me for another guy.
Lmao I was a fucking idiot.
I cant express how much I was into Lisa. I was addictively attracted to her and had that weird feeling of "I cant believe my crush is actually into me to". I really was so drowned and blinded by my crush on her I missed so many red flags but our relationship began progressing really fast. Because of this I didn't really do a proper inventory on why I liked her so much.
[Fast forward like 8 months later.]
We are together officially. Lisa has her own athlete's dorm room but I was a couple years older than her and was working during the summers full time and part time during school / season and had my own apartment near campus and Lisa was basically living with me. She even would stay there when I was out of town which was like 3 or 4 days of every week because we were in season and the team was flying all over the country. Me and Lisa were deeply in love regardless.
At the end of the season I had planned two massive back to back parties. One was for my teammate's birthday (Friday night) and then my birthday (Saturday night). They just happened to be one day after the other and luckily landed on a Friday and Saturday night. Me and Lisa got drunk Friday night and had some unprotected sex.
Lisa kept a period-tracking calendar app on her phone. She was asleep and I drunkenly remembered she always marked down in her calendar when we had unprotected sex so she knew if she should be worried if she missed her period. She missed her period often because she was an athlete. My inebriated brain thought she should put it in her calendar now because we would forget the next day since we were so fucked up. So I woke her up and said "can you put in that calendar that we had unprotected sex". At this point it was like 5am and we were that 5am kinda drunk where you're mostly just tired. She unlocked her phone and opened the app and before she could even do it she fell back asleep. So I took the phone while it was still unlocked and proceeded to try and figure out how to put it in her calendar myself.
[side note] Through our entire relationship, Lisa went through my computer and phone constantly. She was very insecure and always had her suspicions. I didn't care that she was doing this all the time. She never found anything because I never did shady shit, ever.
Again, looking back at this its an obvious red flag I missed. Remember I thought this girl would never cheat on me.
So this wasn't one of those stories where I went through her phone looking for something and subsequently finding it. In this case I was innocently trying to navigate this damn period calendar while I was drunk and I was not suspicious at all.
When I looked at the period-calendar app on Lisa's phone, I saw all kinds of little markers on different days of each month. Each marker was a different color so I opened one to see what the color coding meant. I saw that red was obviously symbolling her period and then there was also black markers that showed when she had unprotected sex.
........This is when my heart sank into my stomach......
This fucking calendar was PEPPERED with black markers. It looked like a checker board with only a hand full of red pieces left and ALL the fucking black ones..... There was black markers on dates that I was in a different city playing basketball.... I proceeded to open all of black markers going back for our entire relationship. We did not have unprotected sex very often. MAYBE once or twice a month. She had written the names of the guys she had unprotected sex with in the notes section of the black markers. There was a total of 4 guys through out the entirety of our relationship that she allowed to penetrate her raw. Some months there was almost a dozens of those fucking black markers. Sometimes there was TWO in one day! Looking back on this I wonder if there were more unlisted men that I didn't see because she clearly only kept track of the guys and times she had UNPROTECTED sex.
In almost every story I hear of infidelity, it involves the discovery of text messages, being informed by a friend, or the classic coming home early and catching your partner red handed.
I, on the other hand, discovered a fucking well documented LEDGER of almost every time she cheated and had unprotected sex.
Amongst the 4 guys I discovered, one of them was her X that she originally left to date me. Cheating on me with him was a common occurrence. There was some other unkown guy she was also clearly sleeping with him regularly. The last 2 fellas looked to be just a one time thing but again like I said these markers were just the times she had sex without a condom. So who knows what the true story was there.
I sobered up real quick. I proceeded to look through Lisa's texts and calls and found nothing. However, at the time Android phones had a folder where you can see deleted texts but not the contents of the messages. She had THOUSANDS of deleted texts and calls but I couldn't see what they said but I saw the numbers and did a quick Facebook search and matched one with her X in addition to something like half a dozen other random dudes. The worst part was I found TWO of my teammates... one guy I was actually pretty close with.
I just put the phone down after a few minutes. The evidence was overwhelming. The more it seemed to look at the phone the more my insides began to hurt.
I felt so defeated. I cant fully describe the feeling but I'm sure anyone reading this that caught a significant other cheating knows what I'm talking about. I felt so stupid for trusting her and having no suspicions of her.
I couldn't stop thinking about how I regretted all the times that I had an "opportunity" to cheat and remained faithful to Lisa. I felt like and idiot for not cheating her when I could have. My loyalty felt like a waste. I know it sounds ridiculous and irrelevant to the fact that she was unfaithful. I think I obsessed over that because if I had cheated as well I wouldn't have hurt so much in that moment. All I could think about was about how much I was hurt. I would do anything to not feel the pain and embarrassment anymore.
[Question] Am I the only one who thought this way after catching their partner cheating? I'm curious about this.
I proceeded to leave my apartment and go for a long walk. I had never felt the emotions that were coming up and didn't know how to process them. My ego felt like it was literally dismantled in front of me. I wasn't sure what to do and I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. My sadness quickly turned to anger. I knew I was gunna get my revenge I just didn't know how yet.
I was SEETHING with rage and wanted make sure she never recovered from this.
My roommate/teammate and best friend at the who was sleeping on the couch in my living room [we will call him Bono] (an eastern European kid who stood 7 foot tall and was as Russian in demeanor as it you can imagine. He also had an equally ridiculous RL name hence: Bono) well, Bono called me shortly after I started my walk. I answered and he asked where I was. I asked him to keep this between us, and told him what happened. He stays on the phone and goes into my room and I hear him in his Russian accent yell at her "yo bitch, you cheated on OP?" Then I faintly hear her inaudibly say something in the background and him yelling at her to get out of the apartment. After hearing some scuffling Bono gets back on the line and says "yo! she gone, come back and lets talk"
I head back home and me and Bono go over what had happened. Things don't get sappy because we are both complete alpha males who both come from cultures where "men don't cry" and neither of us really knew what to say or do in this situation. He makes his best attempt to comfort me and says: "tonight is your birthday, we gunna get fucked up and find you some sluts. Fuck her! I never liked her anyway"
.... oh ya, this day was my birthday... forgot about that part ...
Me and Bono go out for breakfast. I am still a little drunk. My phone is blowing up with calls and texts from Lisa. I tell her I saw everything on her phone and I cant stand to speak with her or look at her. She keeps trying to convince me to let her come to my birthday party and I make it clear I don't want her there. She clearly was concerned about exactly what Bono suggested to me earlier when me and him chatted.
Lisa's entire reputation and popularity revolved around the fact that she was dating me. I think most people didn't like her in the first place but put up with her because we were together. She knew that if I acted single at my birthday party and she didn't show up everyone would know something was askew. I think Lisa was more worried about being embarrassed than our relationship.
I don't remember much of what happened that night. But one of my friends sent me a little package for my birthday from California filled with some really good weed, hash, moonrocks, some pills and "the devil's dandruff" and I proceeded to do a glorious swan dive into an intoxicated oblivion.
All I remember is sitting on my chair at the pregame for my party. There was two girls sitting on the arms of the chair and I still have a photo of that moment and I remember it vividly. We were preparing to head out. I had a few tables downtown at a popular nightclub. The booze and drugs were the only thing that made me feel normal. I had my sun glasses on and clearly had that happy loaded grin on my face. The longer you look at the photo of me on that chair, you can tell I'm hiding a huge amount of hurt.
Sitting on that chair, the cocktail of drugs start to take effect. This was the first time I ever used substances not to "party" but to feel better. To make me feel normal.
I remember thinking: "I want to feel this way for the rest of my life. I am never going to hurt like that ever again. With drugs, I have control and no one can hurt me again." Oh how ironic that turns out to be years down the line.
I told my teammates and friends that me and Lisa were done when they asked why she wasn't at the party. I didn't tell them why though. I also didn't show them that I was affected by it in anyway and just played it cool. I tried to focus everyone on the party ahead of us.
[The Revenge]
So this is one of those revenge stories where it was only half planned. I knew I wanted to get revenge on Lisa for hurting me so much. But I kind of just improvised as opportunities came up.
My original kind spirit had died at my birthday on that chair. All my morals went out the window. I never cheated in relationships therefore I believed I would never get cheated on. I realize now how dumb that is but that's what I thought at the time.
I didn't care what collateral damage I caused as long as my mission to hurt Lisa as much as possible was accomplished. So continued every day of my life with this new selfish mindset.
I was sitting at my computer later that next week skimming Facebook when I saw the profile of one of her track teammates on my feed. That's when I had my first vengeful idea. I decided I was going to attempt to get her teammates to bite the bait that I was about to cast out into the water. Though, I didn't have proof she hooked up with my teammates, she was clearly trying to hide conversations between them. So I was going to see how many people who are close to here I could "passionately hug". Luckily I had more options than she had when cheating on me. A women's track team is much larger than a men's basketball team. Also much better looking ;)
Lisa's teammate I originally spotted on my Facebook had a boyfriend but I thought: "clearly everyone cheats, lets see if its true". I proceed to do the little flirty social media dance with her. You know, the one where I like a couple of her photos, she likes a couple of mine back. I shoot her a message and BAM! shes at my house in my bed about a week later. I proceed to do something similar to other teammates of hers. All on her 4x4 relay team coincidentally.
2 of the 3 girls I "passionately hugged" had boyfriends and subsequently cheated on them with me which gave me some real mixed emotions. It stroked my broken ego and also made me bitter and sad. Giving me one of those "women aint shit! none of them are loyal" attitudes.
This is such a typical story of while fighting monsters I became a monster.
This actually became my go-to strategy because it accomplished two things in my fucked up mind. It exposed a cheater but more importantly if they were willing to cheat on their boyfriends they would:
A] be more secretive about it which meant the drama that would ensue when it came out would be elevated and
B] it made me feel better about Lisa cheating because it proved it wasn't me that was the problem. It was women that were the problem. (I know its fucked up but that's what I thought back then.)
I started to collect something from every girl that I hooked up with, like a bra, a pair of panties, or some jewelry etc.. (not for some creepy reason, but this is important later and was a part of my plan) Sometimes I didn't even have to try. One girl left a pair of very distinguishable shoes. I knew Lisa would know who's shoes they were. They belonged to the girl that Lisa's X boyfriend rebounded with after Lisa and him broke up which highly upset her because it was her friend. Now it would upset her more because that same girl slept with both of her X boyfriends. I especially tried to collect items if it was something that I knew Lisa could distinguish like a sweater from the women's track team with her teammates name on it. After some time I had collected a boatload of shit.
After a couple months or so, one of the Lisa's teammate's boyfriends found out about me and his girlfriend and it started a big beautiful dramatic explosion of series of events with her and her teammates. This led to all of them finding out about one another's promiscuity. The drama was MASSIVE. Even their coaches had to get involved it got so bad.
This made me feel so powerful in such and evil yet satisfying way. I fell in love with the destruction I was causing. (The most awesome part about all of it was that same week, the Athletics PR team had put massive posters of me all over campus promoting the next game. They were EVERYWHERE. Some of the posters took up the entire side of buildings) So Lisa and her friends had to see me all over campus every day while this drama was erupting all around them. I felt like a triumphant dictator. It was glorious and pathetic at the same time.
Their coach even proceeded to have a "serious" meeting with the compliance department and my team's coaches. My coaches literally laughed at her saying "this seems like and internal issue, but OP hasn't done anything illegal or broken any school policy so there is nothing we can do". This infuriated the women's track coach. Their team had fallen apart. Their national ranking began to plummet. Then Lisa's coach even got in trouble for being caught tearing down some of the smaller posters of me on campus in raging temper tantrum.
I loved all of it.
I continued to add fuel to the fire. Posting photos of me with girls, smiling, being happy every chance I could on Facebook and Instagram. But under it all, I was bitter. I was so deep into my new mindset I had already forgotten the kind hearted naïve kid I use to be. I hated my old self because I let some girl emasculate me. I was so full of self pity looking back it, its depressing. No one really knew though because I played the cool guy attitude in front of people.
There was even a girl on campus on one of the sports teams who claimed that she was pregnant with my kid after I pretended to like her the same way I did with all of the other girls on Lisa's team and soon as we "passionately hugged" I moved on. Its a long story, but it turned out she wasn't pregnant but the news or "press" that came from that further dug the knife deeper into Lisa's side. I left a trail of women I deceived and relationships I destroyed. I feel bad now but at the time I didn't care because they were equally at fault in my eyes since they were cheating on their boyfriends or sleeping with their friends X.
Quickly, girls became weary of me. Plus I was running out of "potential targets" (Fuck I was an awful human being then the way I was thinking) and I was going after girls that weren't even friends or on the track team with Lisa but were just around her in daily life. For example her classmates and as well as her own family. I even flirted with her sister who was married with a kid and I almost succeeded. She was down but her and Lisa's dad found out about it and stepped in and put a stop it all before we could do anything. Her sister was ostracized as the news spread within the family.
I wanted Lisa to know I was everywhere and constantly remind her how she fucked up. In my eyes this was all her fault and she unleashed this fury of chaos upon herself. She should never have fucked with me like that.
Lisa had to take an extended medical leave because of her depression and mental health issues she was experiencing from the whole situation. She was becoming suicidal. She even had to go on medication and lost TONS of weight. She began to look extremely unhealthy. The whole mess was torturing her and the more she hurt the better I felt. At this point I had already inflicted more damage than she did to me but I had become addicted to the feeling of power... I spent 0 time processing my own emotions or moving on from what happened. All I wanted was more revenge and I couldn't stop.
After weeks of ignoring Lisa's texts and calls she finally gets a hold of me by showing up to my apartment unannounced late at night. She was there to pick up some stuff she left from when she lived there to take home. She was actually a local and her parents lived close by. (She was still on her medical leave and no longer staying on campus but rather with her parents) I told her I would bring her stuff to her parents house that weekend but I couldn't let her in because I had "company". Which I did but it wasn't one of her teammates or friends unfortunately.
I then to take all the items I had collected from all the girls over the weeks. There was probably like 8 or 9 things from different girls including her teammates and threw their belongings in along with Lisa's stuff into big black trash bags. I took the bags to her house and then called Lisa's dad. I told him I left her stuff on his porch and to inform his demon daughter. Me and Lisa's dad actually really got along and he even took my side after Lisa and I broke up. But after all these events transpired he obviously had a negative opinion of me.
15 minutes after I get off the phone with her Lisa's dad, I get a call from Lisa. I answer because I want to hear her reaction to having all these other girls shit mixed in with hers. She was sobbing uncontrollably. It sounded like that half crying half mumbling thing people do when they are hysterical. She wasn't even angry, just desperately begging me to point to stop my tyranny.
I just smiled and baked in the glory of hearing her hurt. I responded "why were their other guys in our relationship? you mixed them into our relationship like I mixed other girls shit into your shit. Its perfect little ironic metaphor". I thought it sounded cool at the time and was real proud of myself. (*facepalm*)
I later found out from one of Lisa's friends (who knew she was cheating on me during our relationship) that Lisa was convinced I WAS THE ONE cheating on her because "I was always out of town." This doesn't make sense since I was out of town because of basketball, a very legit excuse. Not just randomly on my own accord. You could literally see my schedule on the school's website. I kept in contact with her constantly when I was gone but obviously when I had practice or team meetings I couldn't be on my phone. But she didn't have the logic in her brain to figure this out I guess. I assume its just an excuse she made to protect her insecurities about the whole fiasco or to keep face with people who knew she was cheating.
[months go by]
Lisa comes back to school from her medical leave and we bump into each other at the physical therapy center in our athlete facility building. I see this as yet another opportunity. It had been a while since I did something that hurt her and I was still hungry for more vengeance. I proceed to pretend like I want to rekindle things with her. She is cautious at first but eventually bites after about a week. We start to mend our "relationship". We proceed for about a month but I wouldn't call this a relationship. I forbid her to have any male friends nor is she allowed to go out and party with her girlfriends. I also need full access to all her accounts and her location at all times. It was more like a hostage situation. It gave me a sense of control.
Meanwhile I'm not being faithful at all. This was my plan all along. Finally, she finds out about me sleeping with a girl in one of her classes and we have a nasty "breakup". I told her that she literally knows what it felt like to be me when we last dated. Yet again, I felt Triumphant. It was just another chance to hurt her and I did.
[After this we don't speak for YEARS.]
I graduate university and move to Central America. She messages me while I'm there about a year after I moved and about 2 years after we last spoke. At this point my life has become that of a real degenerate. I was doing copious amounts of drugs on a daily basis and about 75% of my life was involved in some sort of illegal or nefarious activities. But I still blame her for me becoming the dark soul that I was and taking no responsibility for bitter immoral nature. I hadn't had another relationship since her and always had trouble because I couldn't trust a women in any capacity anymore. Even after years had passed, I saw this instance of her messaging me as yet another opportunity to hurt her.
We begin to talk as friends and even getting flirty with each other over Facebook messenger. Mind you there is literally many countries, states and an ocean between us at this point. I was planning a trip back to my old university to visit some friends. However I told her was different: I explained to her I was moving back to the city for a new job I was just offered. We decide to meet up when I get back and see if there is anything worth saving between us. I had put on my best acting hat and try to seem like I've put our past behind us. However I'm just as vengeful now as I was years ago. She's finishing up her last year at University and I make the trip back to the USA.
I meet Lisa at a coffee shop when I arrive.. We spend the entire night together. From her point of view it really looks like we had moved past our differences and what happened. We could actually work things out.
However I'm not moving back obviously like I told her. I am only stay 2 nights. She doesn't know this. After hooking up a few times and spending 2 days together, without mentioning anything to her about me leaving, I pack my things and get back on a plane back to Central America.
I blocked her on all my social media and communication outlets. This time I could only fantasize about what happened to her when I disappeared after she thought I had moved back and supposedly was ready to give our relationship another try. This time however it wasn't as satisfying as my previous plots of revenge.
My drug habit and lifestyle only got worse every year. 3 years later I was hospitalized and almost died because of my extended drug use. I was never sober a full 24 hours after that day that went through that fucking period calendar.
[Looking back]
As much pain as I might have caused her with my vengeful life, my new identity that consumed my old one was so tainted with a dark spirit at heart. I think I honestly did more harm to myself with my actions and led me to down the road where I had no morals anymore. Though I spent the entirety of this story telling everyone of how I kept getting revenge at my X for cheating on me, as satisfying as it was, I wish I would have spent an equal amount of energy healing myself from the incident. If anyone reading this is experiencing the pain that comes with cheating, a good revenge story can bring you some satisfaction but I hope you don't make the same mistake I did. Rather spend MORE time healing yourself from the hurt and moving past it. The revenge wont heal you. It will be a separate journey but could distract you from putting yourself back together.
Luckily I got sober and am sober now 4+ years. I even had another girl friend of 2 years cheat on me before I got sober but this time I didn't take revenge. I spent my time healing. I changed and only focused on myself and that was way more satisfying than the revenge I got on Lisa for cheating on me.
Now I'm married almost 2 years to a woman who is sober and man do I have a good life. I have a dream job and a dream marriage. Thank you everyone who read this. Sorry if it wasn't well written I never write like this but I have never told the full story in detail before and I got a lot out of writing it.
Mostly what I hope to get from this is to share my experiences doing horrible things but feeling an immense satisfying feel from it where its almost addictive. And morphing from generally a good person to a relatively dark evil one.. Obviously people have dark moments but I feel like my personality and psyche has never been the same since that experience. I'm looking forward to any responses to the people willing to read this shit.
[written by commenter] TLDR: OP dated a woman a few years younger than him in college, Lisa. Lisa kept a period tracker and kept when she had unprotected sex, while documenting their sex for gf who had fallen asleep, OP saw she had been having unprotected sex with at least 4 dudes since they had been dating. OPs roommate kicked her out. OP decided to get revenge. This started with fucking all 3 of her relay partners (track team) which eventually led to the team crashing. They also had bfs, so OP used this as fuel to say that women are the problem, not him. At this time OP starts going down the rabbit hole with drugs and alcohol. This continued on for a long time, and OP started keeping an item from women that would be identifiable to Lisa for his plan. He would purposely “target” (own words) girls close to Lisa so drama would be worse, and he would have more ammunition to hurt her. Lisa took a mental health break from depression, and came to OPs house asking for her stuff back. He brought it to her parents and put all the items he had been collecting. She called him crying and he reveled in it. Months later, they run into each other at PT and he convinces her to give it another shot, knowing its a game. Knowingly holds her “hostage,” no guy friends, no parties, no going out, all while cheating. They eventually break up. Years later, OP is contacted by Lisa and says hes moving back to their country for a job. (IRL hes going for a 2 day visit) and basically catfishes her into trying to date him again, they meet up and hang out the whole time. He then packs up and leaves without a word to hurt her again. After this OP goes down a bad road with drugs and alcohol, ends up in the hospital, and has another Gf cheat on him. He did not take revenge on her. OP is now married, and has a good job and has (presumably) been clean. He is also aware of how toxic it all is. I think that’s everything

The following is a relatively detailed account of one of my earlier experiences with communal showers. I am making an honest attempt to accurately recount and depict my memories of these events, but it bears mentioning that memories have a way of changing over time and considerations have to be made in terms of style and composition. This is a follow up to an earlier post title "a conversation on the playground" which is the sequential prequel to this episode. I hope you guys find it interesting. I also would encourage anyone who has not shared their own stories to consider doing so or if you have done so already to do so in greater detail or from a different perspective. Most of how we understand the role of communal showers in our society comes form personal anecdotes and the more detailed these are the better our understanding! Anyway, The episode begins now!
Middle School, the place, the institution the experience, had loomed over my future for over a year. Almost every kindergartner knows that the grades of education go beyond the 5th, though I'm not sure if I knew at that point exactly how many. I knew there were other, bigger schools that I'd eventually go to once I finished at my small elementary school on the edge of a rural midwestern town. The daily bussing routs would take us to each of the buildings that would make up the later stages of our primary education but if you had asked me exactly what years a student would spend in middle and then in high school, I rather doubt I could have told you. I had a vague awareness that eventually I'd leave the bright red brick building with is sprawling playground but that all seemed so far off. Time unfolds slowly when you are that young. A 15 minute recess was an extended period that could see several rather involved games play out to their unrushed conclusions. A single "day" at school seemed like a marathon of boredom and attention taxation. Winter break with its 2 weeks felt like an entire season and the summer, felt like a series of lifetimes unfolding one after another. The first day of school always seemingly like it was still a long ways away.
This period of uncomprehending stasis was not to last. By the 4th grade I could have told you what grades corresponded to each building. The recesses were not long enough for our more complicated and involved play we had developed after years of trying to do new and different things on the same grassy acre or two. Even the previously endless summers had started to shrink. As I got older, my parents became more and more comfortable taking or sending us onto ever longer and more involved trips. Instead of the same repetitive sequence of neighborhood bike rides, road trips, camp grounds and family vacations that might takes several weeks at a time started to slice up June, July and August into manageable pieces that past quicker and quicker every year. Where as before a single day seemed to drag on forever, now an entire month could come and go with scarcely a chance to catch ones breath.
After the mid point of 3rd grade I had also started to internalize the fate of all the older cohorts of students. In kindergarten, 1st or Junior 1st (yes I somehow flunked kindergarten), I really didn't know any 4th or 5th graders. They were so much bigger, faster and more sophisticated that I never got to know them as individuals. They had always just seemed more like super natural phantoms than other children like me. When they graduated and suddenly vanished from the scene I didn't really notice, not at first anyway. However by the last 2 or 3 years I knew these "older kids" better. While it was still very rare to play with them directly, I had been seeing them on the playground for years. I knew their faces, their winter jackets, how they played. They were not so mysterious, and when they did not come back to the first day of school during those hot dog days at the end of August, I started to notice. In fact, even though I did not have class with any of the kids 1 or 2 years older than me, I started to see them as a sort of shield, because as long as they were still around, it meant that I wasn't going anywhere. I could tell myself that the endless cycles of play and coddling shelter could continue. But every year, without fail, another layer of that shield would be torn away. On the last day of school, during the games and parties and other totally non educational activities, you'd see mixed in with the smiles and laughter, the tears of slightly older kids who knew it was all over and that what awaited them next was something much more formidable. Then after 7 seemingly endless year, the smiles and laughter and tears were on the faces of my own classmates because it had come to be our time to vanish from the playground so the younger students could take their turn to inherit and then loose it after us. It was time to take the first huge step in our educational journey, it was time for middle school.
Many aspects of the middle school seemed daunting. It was a far larger more intricate building. Three stories tall, with various wings, corridors, and irregular rooms. Every classroom in the elementary school had been the same, but at the middle school there would be a shop room, a band room, an auditorium, science labs and hallways filled with dusty mysterious trophy cases. It wasn't just that there were more and different classrooms, it was also that we would have to switch between different ones not once a year as before but 6 or 7 times every day. We wouldn't have a single teacher to contend with but many, each and every one seemingly more gruff demanding and intimidating than any elementary school teacher (except 4th grade Mrs. Church, she was a terror from another age). We wouldn't even have the same classmates. We all hoped that we would end up sticking with those we had already grown up with. Kids we had known, been to birthday parties with, and spent countless hours socializing with on the playground. Now we would be thrown in with every similar aged kid in the school district, at least 75% of whom we had never met and did not know at all. Then there were the lockers. They seemed complicated, forbidding and almost to indicate that there was something dangerous about this school. What was it exactly that we needed protection from? Even the types of classes were daunting. There were obviously the continuations of classes we already knew, math, science, reading, though certainly they would be much harder and the teacher, specializing in each subject were sure to grade far harder. However in addition there were a host of totally novel classes. Band, health, shop, home ec, and computers. What impossible skills were we going to need to learn, and how on earth could we pass the devilish tests devised by these strange more serious educators. It was a lot to worry about, but one aspect loomed more than any other. I had used bike lockers before and taken piano lessons and worked wood at summer camp. These classes, though unfamiliar in a school setting, presented to particular dread. However the same could not be said for Gym class, and it inevitable daily coda, the communal shower.
The gym class itself was not the problem. Presumably the classes would be more challenging and involve actual sport rather than the games that dominated elementary school's once a week gym class. Nor was the facility that much of an issue. Every elementary school had a gym and though the dimensions were not the same, it was recognizably familiar. No it wasn't the gym class that was the problem, it was the irregular shaped room next to the gym where the similarities ended. Whereas the elementary gymnasium had been only that. A large single room but without any auxiliary facilities. One walked out its double doors into a hallway connecting the two wings of the school. The middle school was not so simple, because when you left the double doors of its gym to enter the main first floor corridor of the school, to your immediate left was an unassuming doorway. There was no door, only an opening and a long hallway squeezing between the gym and the adjacent shop room. This drab dirty white brick hallway extended off the main corridor. After a few steps down this hallway to your left was another opening with a fairly normal looking bathroom. Although the position and exact makeup of this bathroom was not identical to that in elementary school, it was familiar enough. However the hallway continued several more paces, deeper into the schools dark interior, until after passing the PE teachers office the hallway opened up to a larger interior space, almost like a cave. This room had no analog to anything at the elementary school. The right half of the room was lined with lockers set above a long tiled terrace that acted as a bench. There was a free standing "island" of lockers that constricted this half of the room into a somewhat narrow gully of lockers. These lockers were not like those we kept our books in the main corridor. They did not have in built locks and the locker doors were not solid but rather filled with large open holes, just big enough to insert a finger. However interesting this locker formation may have been though, it was impossible for the eyes to not be drawn to the left side of the room. It was much simpler and open than the right. It was an open space, with a partial wall that created a sort of cubby enclosed on 3 sides but open on the 4th. Along each of these walls were set a series of shower heads and control valves. This area, likely less than half the size of our old elementary classrooms, was the most terrifying, anticipated and alluring portion of the entire middle school. The first time I saw it, without having to be told what it was, I knew what it entailed. I had been expecting it, and it more than anything else had made me want to remain on that elementary school playground forever.
My first recollection of a communal shower goes back to kindergarten. My best friend had hosted his birthday party at the rec center of the local university. We had pizza and cake and a piñata, and after that, the 7 or 8 little boys entered the rec center through a side entrance and descended a stairway into a large well maintained locker room. I already knew how to swim and it was fun to be able to play in a big pool without having to swim laps like in lessons. However the most fun happened after. As we scampered back into the locker room, the birthday boy wanted to show us how to have fun, and entering the big tiled room with 8 shower heads, turned on each and every one and then stripped down to his birthday suit. He and his brother and maybe 4 or 5 other boys all got naked and stared running and then sliding belly first along the floor, now perpetually wet with warm water from the 8 blasting shower heads. I joined in the slip and slide but not in the nudity. It was great fun to slide and fun to see my friends naked and lasted until a very annoyed college football player entered the room and chastised us, not for being naked but for risking injury by sliding around on the hard floor. I never forgot that day or that shower room.
However as I grew up that room, and rooms just like it were sources of dread more than fun. I continued taking swimming lessons in that very same pool but when they ended, I would practically leap out of the pool like a penguin fleeing an orca, run down the stairs ahead of everyone else, take off my suit, put on my whitey tighties and THEN dry off so there was no chance Id still be drying and naked when the second person made it into the locker room. In cub scout day camp, when it came time to swim in the lake I would wait until the last boy had left the cabin used to change in so I could do so without being seen. At age 10 I attended another birthday party for a different friend. We were to go to pizza hut and then a pool at a small community college deep in the Manistee national forest. I knew what to expect and planning ahead, wore a suit under my pants so to eliminate any need to get naked in front of others. Climbing into the car for the ride over my dad asked if I had remembered to pack my suit. I said I was already wearing it. When he asked why and I explained that I wanted to avoid nudity in front of others, he explained that it was normal to be naked around other guys and that I would need to "get over it". He made me go back into my room and take them off. I really don't know where this fear came from. His attitude was one I had noticed in other adults. It was an attitude, rarely made explicit, that getting naked with my peers, or even men in general, was something I should be ok doing. Further it was also often implied and sometimes explicitly stated that this would be in my future weather I wanted it or not. Every depiction in the media showed it. Every facility I had occasion to visit or see photographs of contained them. My elementary gym teacher on at least one occasion quibbed, after we had gotten very sweaty playing some game he devised, that he wished we were 6th graders so he could "make us shower". His words seemed hollow at the time because we were not in fact 6th graders yet and the elementary school had no such facilities. But that was in the past. My final summer before middle school had ended. Nervous and uncertain I bordered the buss in pre dawn early light of the late summer and jostled by a crowd of hundreds of other students, made my way to my first day of middle school. My turn had come and the thing I had spent the better part of my life.....almost ALL of my sentient life, had finally come.
That fist day was hectic as we were herded and organized in the auditorium into smaller alphabetical groups and processed. Locker assignments, home rooms and then our first schedules. Finding the rooms was often a challenge since the building was larger and more intricate than any we had had to navigate alone before. However the gym wasnt hard to find. I had heard it was required and considered asking my parents to request I be exempted. However knowing my fathers attitude and realizing I had no counter argument (and perhaps aware of how cowardly the request would seem) I had said nothing. I had hoped that at the very least I would take PE later in my first year so that the humiliations of naked showers would not be compounded with all the other stresses of started this new daunting chapter in my life. So now finally the first dreaded day had arrived.
All my previous communal shower experiences had seemed manageable. My swimming lessons teachers never had a reason to care if I showered, and even if they had their authority to force me was so non existent that even as I child I knew they had none. At the various parties I had attended nobody really cared. Not my friends, and certainly not their parents. I had always been able to skip showers or use my suite and some combination of the towel dance and timing to avoid any naked exposure whatsoever. However I knew that this would not be possible in middle school. The limited time between classes and the penalties for delay were high. Aside from the trouble I'd get in for being late to the next class, delaying in the locker room would only mean having to change with the NEXT gym class, potentially much more intimidating 7th or 8th graders. Unlike the various birthday parties or one off events that took me to a communal shower room, this would be 5 days a week, for months. The gym teacher would be monitoring and have the authority to make me do it no matter how much I might object. It was like loosing control of a car and knowing you are going to crash. You can see clearly what it coming and you know you cant stop it. Later in life I learned how to cope with situations where you are impotent to avert disaster. When I was in a car accident on an Icy freeway I was perfectly calm as I careened out of control. However I didn't have any of that character that fall in 1995. It was a collision I had seen coming for years and now I was only a breath away from impact.
The first day of gym class was not so bad. I had vision of a demeaning hazing where we would be stripped down after the fist bell and broken into the naked souless sub adults of adolescence. However that was impractical. The fist day we sat in rows on the floor in the gym and the teacher explained his expectations and what we would do. The gym teacher I understand, while not a new teacher was new to the position. The old gym teacher had retired the year before and the new had actually been the assistant principal for some time. A year later we found out one reason he was transferred was that he was having an extra marital affair with the the guidance counselor who was herself married to the science teacher. Trying to split them up was apparently one of the reasons he was chosen to fill the vacated gym teacher position. He seemed affable and fair but also clear in his expectation. He did not seem the type I would be able to sweet talk. The ability to type and print had not spread as widely as the ability to xerox and copy so the syllabus had been written out in cursive and then photo copied. It had no date and one is forced to wonder at least in hind sight if we were maybe looking at a bunch policies first put down in the 1980's by someone sporting a still stylish afro. Of course it covered attendance and grading, tardiness, sick days. All stuff that in my fear of the post class showers I had never really thought about but which nevertheless made sense. However there in clear writing, on the document that was a force of law in my world it stated that I was responsible for bringing and cleaning my own gym cloths AND soap, shampoo, towel and OTHER SHOWER SUPPLIES. It was hardly a surprise. It seemed the entire zeitgeist of western culture had taught me to expect this. I was relieved that this first day would spare me the indignity, but it was obvious that it would be the last day of my innocence. Knowing that not having the supplies would only entail an ever escalating argument that I could not win, or even worse, being forced to shower without proper supplies and then wander in un-towled humiliation for the rest of the day, I went home and picked out my shower supplies.
I was terrified to the point of nausea the next day. Riding the bus into school along the country roads, I wished every stop would drag out, as each kid piled on stop by stop I could not help but notice the extra bulk of my backpack. It was loaded down with all the heavy new text books of middle school. However it was especially stuffed today because it also contained, neatly folded and then stuffed into whatever space remained, a towel, shampoo, soap, a wash cloth and my best approximation of gym cloths. Once the busses had disembarked the several hundred students in a logistical feat similar to the D Day landings (only I was sure I was more scared than any private on Omaha Beach), they roared away leaving us to mill around the cemented over court yard awaiting the bell to ring. Although there were 4 sets of double doors, when they were opened all at once, the several hundred students pushing in would form a human throng pulling everyone, including me and all my quaint gym supplies to our inevitable fates. I made my way to my locker to remove the books I would not be needing this next period and then on to the boys locker room. Inside we picked a locker and then changed into our gym cloths. Most did not have any actual gym or basketball shorts. I just word a pair of regular shorts and a T shirt. Nobody got naked. Guys would change their shirt or pants one at a time showing no more than the latest fashion of white underware (boxers were a rarity). Most guys were careful to not end up with just their underware on without at least their gym shirt already in place. This changing routine was new. It was only on rare occasion I had seen other students in underwear or been seen. Here we were the first few minutes of the second class and it was already well passed any previous experience. That we were expected to do this as part of a routine seemed to make us all a bit more mature. We were not little kids now. As we shuffled out into the gym, briefly passing through the main hallway between the entrance to the boys locker room and the doors to the gym, clad in our gym cloths, I felt almost like I was going off to war.
We had all been hesitant and our time to change had been slow so the bell had already rung by the time we stared to shuffle into the gym. We got a stern lecture about how we would need to be faster or face tardy marks. Presumably our dignity would be battered so thoroughly in a day or two that we would be expected to strip on command and in a prompt manner. The lecture on promptness given and attendance taken, we commenced with a game of dodgeball. In spite of the situation it was pretty fun. Running, jumping and throwing. Getting held back after kindergarten gave me a year of extra development and even though I was not athletically inclined I was tall and strong relative to most other guys in my grade. It was really fun but it was taking its toll. I could see all the red faces, and feel the heat on my temples. I had not really noticed when it started but by the time I did, I was already good and soaked. I'd try and wipe my forehead with my arm but both were wet and slick to the touch. Worst of all, every few mins, the teacher would blow his whistle and my heart would stop, because I knew at any given moment he give the command to "hit the showers". This was even true when the class was only half over. I didn't know how much time we might need. There were not as many shower heads as their were male students so it might take some time. Those first few whistled scared me but I also knew it was probably to early. However that realization only put off the inevitable by a few minutes. I concluded that the most likely time would be 5 minutes before the bell would ring. Between that 5 mins and the 4 mins between classes, that would give us 9 mins to shower, change and get to the next class. That would probably be tight but reasonable. When the teacher blew his whistle with just 5 mins of class remaining I knew this was it and almost started to head to the door. But then he bellowed "One more round!" and had us initiate a final round or dodgeball. This was a relief but also alarming. How would we possibly have time to shower now? I couldn't really focus on the game because the hectic scramble I knew had to happen now seemed the worst of all possible scenarios. Would we be rushing naked into the showers just as a group of athletic 8th graders (near high school kids) filled the locker room to mock us as we ran out half dressed and still wet only to be late to our next class anyway? I was so upset that they would demand we do this primitive and demeaning ritual and then not even allow us the time to do it in a practical circumstance. Finally, only a minute before the bell the adulterous gym teacher blew his whistle one last time. "ok time to go get changed!".
"Get Chnage?" Not "time to shower" or "go shower" or "Hit the showers"? No such command left his lips. Nor even a encouraging suggestion "Think about taking a shower", "Consider showering" , "you should probably shower". Not even a hypothetical. "You could shower if you wanted", "you have an option to shower". Indeed given the time left, this wasn't even practically possible. We hustled out of the gym, sweaty and tired and shocked by our good luck. The most dreaded fear of our youth had failed to materialize. As we nearly jogged into the locker room, our cloths soaked with tween sweat, we removed them piece by piece and stuffed them into our aerated lockers. More guys than before stripped to their underware, maybe to help cool off, maybe to save time or maybe as a substitute show of bravery in leu of the shower we had all braced ourselves for. A few had brought deodorant and they caked on the white pasty Sure. Then, still red and wet with perspiration we re dressed in the cloths we came in with and rushed out of the locker room with just enough time to be among the last arrivals at our next classes.
I was surprised to say the least. Every indicator I had seen led me to expect to have to shower. I mean there they were, all built and ready to use. However I cant say I was sad. Confused, unclear but I was so relieved. I could handle the changing down to underwear and it seemed that gym, like basically every other aspect of middle school, was not going to be substantively any more difficult than elementary school. There was some question about weather or not the teacher might ask us to shower another day, but we had been so sweaty that if he was going to do it, that first day would have been it. There was some trepidation the rest of that week but he never once that entire semester so much as said the word shower. The terrible bomb I had feared most of my life ended up being a dud. Any curiosity I had at the time was overwhelmed by relief. This challenge not having panned out into anything I moved on to others, like just about everything else touted about middle school they all turned out to be exaggerated. If I did not forget all the emotions I felt focused on that one poorly lit and underused corner of the locker room, I certainly didn't dwell on them. A few years later, when the less official but more powerful forces of peer pressure finally got me naked under the spray, the great time I had didn't make me reflect on the lost opportunity that first Middle School gym class had represented. It was not until college, years later that I really started to reflect and research (and had the internet to do so with). When I did I saw that my experience fit into a broad cultural trend. As mysterious in its causes as its time of origin, the decline of communal showers was sweeping the nation and left me sweaty stinking and childish just when I least expected it. The once near universal cultural practice had receded so fast that the infrastructure supporting it, the showers themselves still remained. And while the water still flowed in my time, the floor was more often than not bone dry. Less than 10 years later I was to read in articles in college that in many schools the water was permanently shut off and the space used for storage. Indeed the very year I started 6th grade, the fall of 1995, saw a trio of articles in three of the nations leading papers noting the decline and pondering without clear answers the reasons. It wasn't until all those years later that I realized something momentous had happened in a quite revolution that was affecting how every person saw their bodies and interacted with their peers (and indeed with all members of society). It was not until it was far to late that I realized I had missed out of something really wonderful and beneficial. Something I needed more than I could ever understand before I had it. Its been over 25 years since that first day at middle school. The decline in communal showers was well advanced even at that date and the intervening years seen it go from an outgoing tide to muddy bottom land with a narrow and shallow channel running in a few of the deepest depressions. I still don't understand the forces that led to my shocked reprieve, but looking back all I know for sure is that I want to be part of the forces that reverse the course.

TLDR: Church Youth Minister spread false rumors about me and got me kicked out of the church I had attended my whole life, for no reason other than pure meanness. I found a guy who hated him even more than I did, and I gave the guy information that he used to do a very artful and thorough job of completely ruining the Youth Minister's life. He got fired and blacklisted, couldn't find another job. By chance I saw him several years later, working a shitty job, SWEET....
About 6-7 years ago, I was a ministerial student at a conservative Christian college. I had attended the same "Bible believing" church since I was a small child. It was large, about 1,000 members, but not a megachurch.
This church had been an enormous part of my life for as long as I could remember. I played piano for youth choir, preached at the Children's Church service (which was held in the church's chapel at the same time as the adult service), drove the church bus to pick up "unchurched" children, etc & ad infinitum. I did all of this for free, not even getting reimbursed for expenses.
During my senior year in college, we got a new "Minister of Music, Education And Youth". This guy was as charming as an ice cream sundae with razor blades in it. I'll call him Mr Charming. All of the Deacons, and their wives, thought he walked on water.
He was an authoritarian asshole. In his first meeting with the church Youth Group, he announced that he had been hired to "Straighten out the youth group". One of his favorite sayings was, "When I tell my disciples jump, the only questions they get to ask are 'How high' and 'How far'".
The adults loved him and the youth hated him. Within a few weeks, half of the high school and college students, i.e., all of those without parents in the church, had quit coming to church.
Most Youth Directors would have gotten into trouble over this, but he had the audacity to proclaim, in front of the entire congregation in the Sunday morning worship service, that he had "eliminated all of the thorny ground from the Youth Group" (a reference to the Parable of the Sower in the Bible), and the Pastor and all of the Deacons loved him for it.
He didn't waste any time going after what he really wanted: the Pastor's job. The pastor, whom I'll call Pastor T, was about 60 years old. Within a few weeks of Mr Charming's arrival, rumors started circulating about Pastor T's health (he was an avid runner and cyclist) and that he "just didn't seem to be as mentally sharp as he used to be" (he frequently quoted long Bible passages from the pulpit, entirely from memory without mis-stating a single word, sometimes in Greek or Hebrew). Worst of all, however, was the accusation that he was "really too liberal" for the church. In my denomination, it is the kiss of death to even be suspected of being a "liberal".
None of these accusations made any sense, but people kept talking about them. I have no idea why the Pastor didn't find out. Or maybe he did find out and was just too scared to do anything about it.
In some denominations, like Catholic or Methodist, the denomination assigns pastors/priests. Not my church's denomination. Each church "calls" the minister. This guarantees that every pastor always walks a razor's edge - the slightest slip and you're out. You don't even have to slip. Maybe you even do the right thing and it still offends enough people (it doesn't take many, just a handful if they hate you enough). Then you're out. Or maybe, like Pastor T, some creep just lies about you and gets your job. And, since the church often owns your house (the "parsonage" or "manse"), your entire family is suddenly homeless and destitute.
Then I became a target. I still don't know why.
A couple of months after starting to work for my church, Mr Charming called me and informed me that my "services were no longer needed" at Youth Choir, Children's Church, Bus ministry, anywhere. In fact, he said, he did not even want me to participate in any of these functions at all. Not even go to the Sunday Morning Worship Service.
I later found out that members of his family had been hired by the church, at very nice rates of pay, to perform these functions that I'd been doing for free. His wife got paid more for playing a beat up piano at the one-hour Youth Choir rehearsal than the main Organist/Pianist got paid for playing for adult choir rehearsal plus Sunday mornings and Sunday evenings, when the Youth Choir sang. (The wife could barely pick out the notes on a piano. This lady radiated bitterness, resentment and repressed anger. But she rarely said anything. She just sat there and glared, which was somehow even creepier than when she spoke.)
I was very hurt, emotionally, so I dropped by Pastor T's office, and tearfully asked him what I'd done wrong. I couldn't get a straight answer, except he told me that "People are saying things" about me and that if I wanted to get a good recommendation from him to our denomination's Ministers School, I'd "better shut up and do what you're told".
So, I started asking all of my church friends what people were "saying" about me. Every one, EVERY one, said, "Well, I didn't want to tell you, and I don't believe it, but here's what I heard". According to the rumor mill, I had gotten my girlfriend pregnant and forced her to have an abortion (I hadn't even had a girlfriend since Junior High) and I'd been arrested for possession of marijuana and my dad had had to pay a bunch of money to hush it up (I didn't even know what pot looked like).
There were other rumors, but you get the idea.
I did what Pastor T told me to. I never darkened the door of that church again (except once, months later, see below). It hurt like Hell. I'd devoted my life to that church since I was a little kid. But I had to have Pastor T's recommendation to get into the Minister's School I wanted to go to, and the pain was unbearable just driving by there. So I decided to keep my distance.
But I started thinking about Mr Charming. Anyone who was that evil had to have a past, and it probably wasn't a good one. I knew that, just before working for my church, he had worked at a large church, in the same denomination, in a small town about 50 miles away. That church was actually about twice the size of my church.
So he had moved from a big church to the same job at a smaller church. A bad career move? Running away from something? Ahhh ... there was something rotten in Denmark. And it smelled like an opportunity for me.
As luck would have it, one of my uncles, and his family, lived in that same small town, although none of my family attended Mr Charming's former church.
So I called one of my cousins, told her my story, and enlisted her as a co-conspirator. I'll call her Ann.
The next Sunday morning, Ann and I attended Sunday School and Morning Worship at Mr Charming's old church. Although Ann had never been a member of that church, it was a small town where everyone knew everyone, so she knew most of the people there. She started asking about Mr Charming, and got an earful.
Every one of her friends said that Mr Charming was a world class creep. He would flirt with, and even make suggestive comments to, all of the girls in the Youth Group, even those in Junior High. (He was 40+ years old and had a wife and 3 children of his own.)
And then there was the touching. Never anything obvious or illegal. But he loved to put his hands all over the young ladies, whenever their parents weren't around.
But, just like at my former church, the adults loved him because he "kept the youth in line".
Our investigation went on for several weeks. I kept a low profile so as not to arouse suspicion. Mostly, I just stood around, ate donuts, drank coffee, and talked about football. Ann did most of the work because she knew so many people and it was perfectly natural for her to attend this church in her hometown, even if it was not the church she usually attended. After church was over, we would go to her house, have a delicious Sunday Lunch cooked by my aunt, and then write down everything we had learned. By then, Ann's whole family were in on my investigation. They were as angry as I was about the way I'd been treated, and our weekly report made interesting lunchtime conversation.
Within a few weeks, I was sure that all I had to do was drive a few of these young ladies, and their parents (friends of my aunt & uncle), down to my old church, let them tell their stories to the parents of a few girls in the Youth Group, and Mr Charming would become Mr Unemployed.
But it kept getting better and better, so Ann & I kept digging. And I really wanted to keep a low profile if I could, because I didn't want to piss off Pastor T any more than I had to. He knew a lot of people in the denomination, and he could easily ruin my ministerial career before it even started.
Finally, after a month or so, Ann grabbed me by the sleeve and said, "You've GOT to hear this".
She introduced me to a well dressed, very large guy, maybe 30-35 years old. I'll call him Fred. We slipped off into a Sunday school room where we would not be overheard.
It turned out that Mr Charming had had a multi-year affair with Fred's wife. Fred had kept his cool when he found out, talked with a lawyer and had spent months gathering evidence. Text messages, voice mails, emails, even photos and videos with Fred's wife and Mr Charming in them. Apparently, Mr Charming got stimulated by watching videos of himself doing the wild thing with Fred's wife. Then Mr Charming would send the videos to Fred's wife and they both would have "cyber sex" while texting each other. Later, they would hook up the old fashioned way and make more videos.
Finally, Fred confronted his wife. She denied everything, but the evidence was just too much. Fred told her he wanted a divorce, full custody of the children, their house, his retirement money, his business, her engagement & wedding rings, everything, even the dog. She hired a lawyer, but laws and courts being what they are in this rural Bible Belt county, her lawyer told her that if the judge saw the videos, she'd be lucky if she ended up in a homeless shelter with all of her worldly possessions under her bunk in an garbage sack.
Then Fred turned his attention to Mr Charming. Fred still sincerely loved his wife, and he was convinced that Mr Charming had deliberately ruined his marriage. Taking Mr Charming to court, suing him for "loss of consortium" and otherwise making him legally miserable would take too long.
This is the rural Deep South. Many people around here prefer a more direct approach. In rural counties, the police and any "jury of your peers" will probably include people who have known you since kindergarten. So, if you have a good reasons for your actions and you aren't too stupid about it, there are things that you can do.......
Fred scheduled an appointment with Mr Charming in his church office, who did not suspect a thing because Fred was a Deacon and his children were in the church Youth Group. Remember that I said Fred was big? 6 foot 6 inches at least, 300 pounds, and if there was an inch of fat on him, he hid it well. Looked like he could pull up a 100 foot oak tree by the roots without breaking a sweat.
Fred told me that he brought several friends with him, and, of course, the videos. One friend blocked the door. Another unplugged the phone. A third one stood behind Mr Charming and "encouraged" him to stay seated in his chair.
Fred made Mr Charming watch about 10 minutes of one of the videos. Then calmly said, "I'm going to stand here and watch you pack up your stuff, then you're going to walk out of this building and never show your F****** ass in this town again. Or we'll be back."
Mr Charming did as he was told. A month later, he had a new job at another church, my old church, and started ruining another whole set of lives, including mine.
Fred actually did not know where Mr Charming had gone. He had been led to believe that Mr Charming had moved out of state. He was surprised, gratified and angered, to learn that this scumbag was only 50 miles away.
This had all happened just a few months before. Fred was still deeply in love with his wife. They were getting counseling and he hoped that they could save his marriage.
But his hatred of Mr Charming was still fulminating. Like Mount Saint Helens a few minutes before the explosion. He presented such a face of restrained rage and vindictiveness that it scared me, and I wasn't even the one he was mad at.
The next day, Monday, I drove back up there and gave him a copy of the directory of my old church. It had home addresses, phone numbers and email addresses for pretty much every member of the church. I showed him the pages that listed all of the Deacons and other church leaders. And I marked some of the church's major financial donors.
I explained my situation with Pastor T and asked that my name not be mentioned. "No problem", he said.
The next Sunday, I could not resist visiting my old church to see how things were going. Mr Charming was nowhere to be seen, nor was any explanation given about what had happened to him.
One weird thing, though, the pastor looked scared shitless. His voice, usually resonant, loud and almost musically baritone, trembled during the whole sermon. I slipped in just before the service started and made a point of sitting in the very front row, center pew. The look on his face when he saw me was worth all of my trouble.
I didn't know it at the time, but Fred had gotten right to work and done a very thorough job. The whole church had gotten multiple "anonymous" emails with photos and videos of Mr Charming and Fred's wife in various ..... well..... compromising positions and states of undress.
Deacons and major donors got emails plus Express Mail packages just for good measure. Mr Charming and Pastor T had been left out - they didn't know anything until the phone calls started pouring in.
After the worship service, it did not take long for my church friends to figure out why I was there. It was very gratifying. I was something of a hero, although I kept swearing that I had no idea what they were talking about.
Things continued to blow up in my former church for months afterwards. Both Pastor T and the pastor of Mr Charming's old church almost lost their jobs, because they had lied to my old church's committee of Deacons, who had recommended hiring Mr Charming, about why Mr Charming had left his old job. But somehow they managed to stay in the pulpits at their churches, although a lot of church members left my former church, which caused some financial problems.
There was talk of legal action for sending unsolicited porn to little old ladies and other people in the church. But nobody ever was able to prove that Fred did it. I don't think they tried very hard. After all, his wife was in the videos and photos. Both churches really REALLY did NOT want this to become a court case, because of Mr Charming's trysts, and the fact that he had spent years screwing a Deacon's wife while he had unlimited, unsupervised access to dozens of church youth, would then become a matter of public record. So they hushed it up.
I never saw Pastor T again. I had lost all of the trust and respect that I had had for him, and I was sure that he had figured out that I was somehow connected to the whole fiasco. So my chances of having a preaching career in my denomination were precisely zero. By that time, being a pastor, like Pastor T, was the last thing I wanted anyway.
I withdrew my application to minister's school, and eventually completed a Doctorate in Archaeology at a different grad school, Magna Cum Laude. I've been teaching at a large, public university in the Midwest of the USA, with summer gigs on archaeological digs in Europe. And I am very happy.
One last, very gratifying, event, THE REASON FOR THIS POST:
All that happened 6-7 years ago. Fast forward to last March. I went to pick up a friend at a large downtown urban bus station in the US. Everyone hates this place. Not only is it crowded, it is poorly maintained and filthy. It smells like spoiled garbage mixed with diesel exhaust and seldom-cleaned public restrooms.
My friend's bus was late. I stopped by the news stand to get myself a soda and candy bar.
Who do you think was re-stocking the shelves?
Mr Charming.
I just sat across from the news stand and enjoyed my drink and snack.
He recognized me, then turned away. I just sat and watched him, re-stocking shelves full of porno mags and junk food.
REVENGE IS A FEAST THAT IS BEST ENJOYED COLD.

Setting the Stage for the 2021 Draft

It's time to start looking forward to the 2021 NFL Draft now that we are officially eliminated from the postseason AND are picking at #4 (as of right now. I don't expect that to change much, especially given our final two opponents, the Washington Football Team and New Orleans, will be looking for either a division crown or an outside shot at the #1 seed in the playoffs). The big question surrounding who we should pick will be swirling for a while, with people throwing out Micah Parsons or Pat Surtain II. I don't think, however, that we will be picking anything other than a QB. Coach Rhule has already criticized Teddy a couple of times already.
As I've said before, I believe the plan all along was to let Teddy take the reins this year so that the team would have some veteran leadership, and then see where he guided us. Then, in 2021, the plan was always to take a QB in either the 1st or 2nd round, and let that QB sit behind Teddy for the majority of the 2021 season, and then cut ties with Teddy at the end of 2021 and let the drafted QB take over going into the 2022 season. (This is why Teddy's contract has a $21m savings if we release him after the 2021 season.)

The 2021 Draft Forecast

The 2021 Draft is unique because it is THE QB Draft. Trevor Lawrence and Justin Fields have always been the two favorites going into season, much the same way Andrew Luck and RGIII were obvious #1 and #2 in the QB prospect rankings in 2011. But beyond that, this year there is a load of talent in the 2nd and 3rd tiers of QBs that could all make franchise QBs. Trey Lance was always considered the "third wheel" of the group, and Zach Wilson was seen as the back-end of the 1st round guy. He's obviously moved up with stellar play, but so have guys like Mac Jones.
Now that we're picking 4th, I've noticed some posters say we should try and trade up to #2 and get Fields. This, should be, out of the question. The Draft Trade Value Chart is still very much a baseline for teams to use, even though it is now over 3 decades old. Looking at the Draft Value Chart, the #2 pick is worth 2649 points. That is our destination. Our #4 pick is worth only 2297, which puts us almost 400 total points behind the #2 spot. To make up that ground, we would need to likely give up our 3rd round pick to move up as well. Normally that's not a huge deal, but the problem here is that this Draft is incredibly lopsided towards QBs, which pushes every other position down the board. There are LOTS of LT prospects in the Draft that can be had in the 30-38 range (Leatherwood, Radunz, Christensen, Little, etc.) and even more LB prospects to be found in the 50-70 range (Werner, Surratt, Collins, Robertson, etc.). We can't risk that range of picks moving up when there's so much other value on the table later on.
With all of that being said, the focus here is on Trey Lance versus Zach Wilson. My guess is that most of you have only heard the name or saw highlights of Trey Lance, and possibly even Zach Wilson. I've been fortunate enough to watch a ton of NDSU games, and have been able to watch Zach Wilson play this year since the FCS has taken the Fall off, and Lance is preparing for the NFL Draft (sans one showcase game, but we'll get to that).

The Prospects: Trey Lance

Height: 6'4 (listed, will probably be closer to 6'3 1/2)
Weight: 225lbs (listed, though he'll probably weigh in around 220)
Age: 20 (will turn 21 right after the Draft)
2020 Stats: 15-30/149 yards/2 TDs/1 INT | 15 rushes/143 yards/2TDs
Highlights: Here you go
Pro Comparison: Deshaun Watson
(Before I start, here's a cool little video from College Gameday that ESPN did earlier this year.)
The numbers for Trey Lance seem weird when looking at them objectively. Only played in one game this year, and played an extremely odd game. But there's more to Trey than just his numbers this season. First, NDSU only played one game this Fall, due to the FCS sitting out the Fall sports program and moving to Spring. His 2019 numbers are eye-popping, however.
192-287/2786 yards/28 TDs/0 INT | 169 rushes/1100 yards/14 TDs
Those numbers are absolutely insane. Sure, they come against FCS teams, but even still, he's a man amongst boys.
There are times when it looks like Trey Lance is already an NFL QB. He calls his plays from the huddle, he calls his own protections from under center at the LoS, and then takes his snaps from under center and operates out of either an I-formation or a single back set a majority of the time. In fact, read this excerpt from ESPN about how Lance approaches the gameplan of football.

During game weeks, Lance studies hours of tape in preparation. On Mondays, he reviews the opponents' overall schemes; Tuesdays are for third down; Wednesdays for red zone; and Thursdays for two-minute offense. On Fridays, after cutting film the previous day, Lance presents the game plan to his receivers, telling them where they need to be in particular concepts.

That's right, Lance draws up his own gameplans for his receivers and their routes. So, yes, the NDSU offense does, at times, look like guys are being schemed just absolutely wide open, while Lance just throws strike after strike down the field. But it's Lance who is drawing up those concepts to get those guys free. He understands football at a level that most 20 year olds cannot even begin to process. Not even looking at his raw, God-given talents and athleticism, he understands football. A lot of the questions for players when they come out of college is: "can this guy operate in the NFL from a spread offense?" Even one of the major questions about Cam was, has he ever called plays in the huddle? Well, that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, but it is a question. Lance not only calls the plays from the huddle, he's responsible for concepts in each phase, whether it be their hurry up offense, their red zone offense, etc.
This is where the comparison to Deshaun Watson comes in. Yes, he's a mobile QB with a massive arm that can throw the ball anywhere on the field. But it's more about how intelligent he is as a QB, understanding the flow and motion of a game better than his peers.
There are obviously negatives to his game. He's not the perfect, polished QB that Trevor is, obviously. Sometimes Trey tries to rely on his athleticism to make big plays. Whether that's heaving the ball downfield off his back foot or throwing while fading to his right (something Cam had significant problems with throughout his career), Trey will need to learn to set his feet and not rely on being more athletic than everyone because, honestly, he's not more athletic than everyone in the NFL. This also comes into play when he's running the ball. Yes, Trey is fast. Like, VERY fast. I would say he ends up running a 4.5 - 4.6 40 time. But there are times when he lowers his shoulder for a boom to truck players. And he does! At least, in the FCS he does. In the NFL, he's going to have a rough time if he tries to just bulldoze someone like Lavonte David, for example.
All-in-all, Trey is my favorite QB for us in the NFL Draft. I think he has skills that are far beyond his years. He's smart, athletic, and knows football. He doesn't rely on a spread to just dominate FCS teams with up-tempo. Instead, he can slow the game down, then just accelerate past you once you've fallen into a lull. But he does need work, and I think sitting behind Teddy for a year will give him insight into the game of football that would be invaluable. And I don't mean this negatively: Teddy could teach him how to be a pro and take what is given to you, even if that means passing for 3 or 4 yards at a time. Not every play has to be a 40 yard moon shot.
Trey is also young enough that he could be our starting QB for the next 15 years if it turned out right. Think about this: Trey won't be 21 until after the Draft. That means in a decade, he'll only be 31. That's insane.

The Prospects: Zach Wilson

Height: 6'3 (listed, though he may be a true 6'3)
Weight: 210lbs (listed, though I'm not sure how I feel about that. He could bulk up for the Draft to around 215 or 220.)
Age: 21 (will turn 22 right after before the preseason begins)
2020 Stats: 221-302/3267 yards/30 TDs/3 INTs | 65 rushes/242 yards/8TDs
Highlights: Here you go
Pro Comparison: A much better Jimmy G
Zach Wilson is someone you've definitely heard of by this point. He has risen up the Draft boards, and, before the loss to Coastal, was rising up as a Heisman dark horse. Before this season, there was talk about Zach possibly hitting the back end of round 1, maybe even early round 2, but there were also some serious questions about his health, which I feel like we should start out with.
Zach has had shoulder surgery on his throwing shoulder from an injury sustained in high school. He said that the injury would feel horrible on Mondays after games. The surgery could help clear that up, and there's obviously no signs of any injuries when he's throwing quick strikes down the field. But, however, even bigger than that is that he has a torn labrum in his left shoulder that will need to be worked on. From that same interview:

Wilson, in his interview with BYU Sports Nation, added that he also has a torn labrum in his left shoulder that will eventually require surgery. He said he has been limited in his workouts, including not being able to bench press, but does a lot of workouts with dumbbells and resistance bands, typical to the routine of a healthy quarterback.

Not being able to lift is a big deal, though not terrible for a QB. As long as he is doing resistance training, he should be good. There's still some chances that he won't be able to participate in the bench press workout at the Draft, which could see some teams waver on him.
What does Zach do well to make up for the injury concerns, though? Well, for one, he throws at almost every arm angle. He has the ability to lower his shoulder and throw those weird, quick strike, side-arm pitcher style throws. He can move in the pocket while throwing accurately downfield. The "Moving Parallelogram" is a hard concept for QBs to run often, because it requires great feetwork and accuracy on the move. Zach Wilson does it with ease, and does it consistently. This is where the big comparison to Jimmy G comes from. Jimmy is great at shuffling his feet, moving out into space, and getting the "Moving Parallelogram" concepts to work to his advantage.
Here's the thing with Zach Wilson versus Trey Lance in the grand scheme of things. Trey is a dominant force athletically, being able to do everything and see everything... but the knock is it's against FCS teams. Zach has been doing this against the P5 teams consistently. He's played against Washington, USC, Utah, etc., and, though he does struggle in some of those games, he still has shown that he's tough and can play through pain and injury to get the job done. That's something that Coach Rhule has expressed happiness with, especially when it came to DJackson this year. Being tough and fighting through injury is laudable.
Will Zach need to sit for a half a season/a season to prepare like Trey? Yeah, I think he will. I think that Zach needs to learn how to make progressions from an NFL offense. It's important to note here that BYU runs a variant offense, running through the spread with motion, under center, 4 right sets, etc. And while Zach's mechanics are very good, I think that he needs to learn how to be consistent against some of the top level teams from an NFL offense. Make reads out of the spread and understand coverages and concepts.
Here's a really cool video featuring Zach's family, interviewing him on toughness and how determined Zach is to succeed. One thing that I really took away from this is that Zach has taken the time to consistently work with John Beck on his mechanics, and John Beck is a great example to follow. He's someone who has taken a path through the NFL, to the CFL, and has seen a myriad of offenses come and go. That's awesome to see that he's taking it seriously, and not just saying "well, I'm the starting QB of BYU, so I've got this in the bag."

Mikayla Murray went missing twelve years ago, on the eve of her 18th birthday. She didn’t have any big plans or anything, but her friends described her as having been in a particularly good mood for what was an otherwise perfectly normal Friday. She’d gone to school, soccer practice, work, and then came home for a night of movies with her kid brother, James. He was more excited for her birthday than she was. Even wanted to stay awake with her until midnight but, of course, had fallen asleep right away. When he woke in the middle of the night, he saw her headlights shining through his window and watched as they rushed down their country road, not knowing that it was the last he’d ever see of her. The poor kid was only five and would be forever tormented over why she’d left him, or why she’d never come back.
It wasn’t until the sun came up on that cold Saturday morning that anyone realized something was wrong. Her parents entered her room to wish her a happy birthday, only to find her bed empty, car gone, and phone off. They’d started their rounds of calls to all Mikayla’s friends, but nobody had seen or heard from her. Panic really started to set in when Mikayla’s car was found abandoned on the side of a heavily wooded road, facing the wrong direction, practically in the middle of nowhere. There were no parks or hiking trails, nor were there any signs of a struggle, or any evidence of where she might have gone next.
Until Mikayla’s parents followed that road on a map. They knew she had a boyfriend, Tom. He was a year older and had just gone off to college. He’d been trying to get Mikayla to come visit him but her parents forbid it. But if they hadn’t, this was the very road Mikayla would have taken to get there. So while Linda Murray filed the missing person’s report, Paul Murray sped on up that road, all the way to Tom’s university. Tom swore to him (and, later, the investigators) that he hadn’t seen her in weeks. That he’d been in his room studying that night. His roommate confirmed as much, with the added disclosure of having later gone home, where he’d then spent the weekend. The rest was uncertain. The police looked deeper into Tom and found strands of Mikayla’s hair in his car, which proved nothing foul, but it spooked him enough into admitting that he’d seen Mikayla more recently than he’d stated. That he’d picked her up late the weekend prior for a midnight drive. This sounded precisely like what had happened the night she’d gone missing, but police found nothing to substantiate it. Tom was eventually cleared as a suspect, and the Murrays would never let it go. They were certain he was involved in Mikayla’s disappearance. So certain, that Paul Murray spent several nights sitting outside Tom’s dorm, waiting to catch his daughter going in or out. Tom’s family wanted to press charges, but Paul had friends in the Sheriff’s Office, who’d assured the family that it would not happen again, and left Paul with a very stern warning. But being friends with law enforcement only went so far, as the case would soon go cold, with days, weeks, and months passing by without any further updates. The public moved on, while the people in Mikayla’s life were left with this dark cloud of uncertainty, wondering what had happened to her. If she was out there somewhere, alive.
And she was. She was about to return home after more than a decade gone. Because I’m Mikayla Murray, and I ran away that night to start a new life.
That’s what I told the Murrays, anyway. I had no fucking idea what happened to that girl.
———
I’m awful, I know. I’m not proud of myself. I was desperate. Homeless, and on the run. Smoking a pack a day. Sleeping with men from bars for money, only to spend it at another bar and do it all over again. I was stuck and needed a plan. Then I saw her face. Mikayla Murray. It was on a bulletin board at some cheap motel I’d been passing through. There were half a dozen girls on there, but Mikayla stood out, her blonde hair straight and pretty, her blue eyes as wide as her smile. It stopped me dead in my tracks, because she looked like me. Exactly like me. I could’ve swapped in one of my old high school photos and nobody would’ve noticed. Not that anyone was paying attention to this board or these girls anymore. Even the lady at the motel, who’d spotted me staring, said, “They ain’t comin’ home, dear, but I don’t got the heart to take’em down.” I was curious, enough to turn on the phone I’d kept in my bag just in case. My father had long stopped paying for it, but the motel offered free WiFi and I’d used it to read more about Mikayla. I learned that she was only two years older than me, and that the photo in the lobby wasn’t just a one-off. She resembled me in every other photo, of which there were many, along with theories about what had happened to her. I couldn’t have given any less of a shit about that rabbit hole. What got my interest were the earrings Mikayla wore in these photos, or the necklace her mother wore at the press conference, or the watch on her dad’s wrist. As I dug deeper, it became clear that the Murrays had money, a fair good amount of it. After entertaining Jerry from the bar (and stealing his jacket), I ripped a butt late that night and decided… one of those girls was coming home. And it was going to be me.
The Murrays still lived in the same house, an hour west of the small Michigan towns I’d been nesting in, which worked perfectly, as I’d been toying with the idea of going back home to Chicago. It was a cheap way to justify the awful thing I was about to do, because in reality there was no fucking way I was actually going back home, even with Murray fortune in my pockets. It’s frightening what we’ll do to ensure we’re the good guys in our story. As I dished out a small chunk of my remaining cash to hop on a bus, I felt no hesitation, or fear. Sure it was risky, but I wasn’t planning on being there for more than a night. I’d done enough research on Mikayla to get in, find what I could take, and get out. I was going to beg the family to give me one day before alerting anyone that I’d returned. To let me rest in my own bed before being swarmed by whatever media Nowhere, Indiana had to offer. After miles and miles of cornfields, I’d hoped to have plenty of time to escape that wave. When the bus arrived at the station, I could’t help but notice how out of place it looked, like it had been copied and pasted from somewhere else, standing out among the run down outlets, shops, and restaurants. I spotted a seedy looking bar next to an even more questionable looking mechanic and thought about making a detour. I needed a drink. But I couldn’t. I had to make sure not to talk to anyone. I couldn’t risk being mistaken for the town’s longest missing girl, not here, not now.
So when an older man approached me outside the station as I smoked one last cigarette, I’d panicked. He asked if I could bum him one, said that he really needed it. So I did, just to make him go away. Then he started rambling on about his car having broken down in this shithole and how he was stuck here until they fixed it. He told me his name and then asked me my mine. I told him it was Abby. It’s not. He said I’d reminded him of his niece back in Iowa, something I pretended was interesting. Maybe I can pretend to be her too, I thought. When I finished smoking, I wished him luck and set off for what I came here to do. I shoved the rest of my cigarettes and lighter deep into my backpack, along with my real identity, and when I turned down Lincoln Ave, I was no longer me. Or Abby. I was Mikayla Murray.
———
The Murray’s lived a pretty secluded life. Their home sat alone in the middle of endless planes, their neighbors barely dots in the distance. I was starting to understand why Mikayla might have run away. Although, the house itself was beautiful, with many protruding sections and gables, a wraparound porch, and a large, two-door garage. There was even an inground swimming pool out back (now covered and topped with autumn leaves), and a cute little gazebo further off in the field, draped in numerous flags and dreamcatchers, with flower pots lining the railings. It certainly didn’t look like the kind of place tragedy had struck.
I stepped quietly up the stairs and was almost spooked by my own reflection in the glass of their front door. Nerves were definitely setting in now. I rang the bell and felt my stomach sink. What if my dirty-blonde hair wasn’t light enough, or if Mikayla had had some obvious birthmark I’d overlooked? I was sweating underneath my coat, unable to recall the name of the name of the man I’d taken it from. When the door opened, my heart stopped. Linda Murray was standing there in her casual weekend wear, pleasantly confused.
“Hello,” she greeted me. Then her face went white in an instant, like her soul had left her body. She shrieked and clasped her hands to her mouth, bursting into tearful exclamations. “Oh my god!” she kept repeating. She suddenly lunged forward and squeezed me tighter than I would have liked, her arms attempting to wrap all the way around my backpack. I stood there awkwardly, bracing all of her weight onto my mine, as she surely was about to collapse. The dog at her legs was barking madly, and, as Linda’s tears dropped onto my back, all I could think about was how pissed off I’d be had I gotten caught because the fucking dog didn’t recognize my scent.
“What is it, Linda?” Mikayla’s dad called from somewhere inside. He soon appeared in the doorway, his button-up tucked into his jeans, and when saw my cold, pale face poking over Linda’s shoulder, he stumbled back.
“What is this?” he gasped. His eyes went wide and his bushy grey mustache twitched. The dog was still barking, reminding me that I was in fact a stranger in this house.
I smiled and said, “I’m home, Daddy.” I was trying to make myself cry, and if Linda had squeezed me any harder, I just might have. She held onto my sleeve as we let go, as though afraid her daughter would run off again. Paul Murray was still staring at me in disbelief, when something shifted in his face and he stepped forward.
“Come here, baby girl,” he uttered. Linda passed me off like a toy she did not want to share. Paul pulled me into his arms and held even tighter than she had. We rocked back and forth for a moment. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he whispered. Linda rushed for the door and yelled inside, calling for her son James.
“Come inside, baby,” Paul beamed as he released me, keeping a hand on my back and beckoning me inward. “It’s cold, come!”
We moved into the foyer where Paul asked to take my coat, which I happily handed him. Now that I was inside, I could practically smell the bar on it. “Your bag, sweetie?” he added.
I shook my head and said, “No, that’s okay.” He made a face and I worried it was suspicion, and then worried more that my worrying was the only thing suspicious. I had to settle down. I’d nearly jumped when Paul turned the locks and hit a button on the alarm system. It chimed louder than I would have expected. I wondered if all this had always existed or if it was a result of their daughter having slipped out one night, never to be seen again. One of her coats still hung on a hook by the door, untouched after all these years. Now mine hung next to it. Well, Danny’s or whatever.
As we moved even further inside, I was blown away by how nice this place was, so much so that I’d slipped and let it show; nothing in this house was supposed to be surprising to me. It was hard not to be impressed by the high ceilings and book shelves, or the many sofas beside a grand marble fireplace, or the fact that this was just the room that branched off to all the other rooms, one they’d probably hardly ever used. As I continued to survey my surroundings, a figure high above caught my eye. It was James. He looked down over the railing and looked more flabbergasted than anyone to have seen me. At seventeen, he was now the same age his sister was when she vanished, only much taller, but with the same baby face.
“Look, James! Look who it is!” Linda cried joyfully. “It’s sissy! Come give her a hug!”
I wanted to puke. James didn’t move right away, and when he did it was this slow, cautious crawl. I figured surely, of all people, I’d have been safest around James. After all, he’d hardly ever known his sister. Yet the baby blue eyes behind his jet black hair were piercing into mine, searching for the girl he so dearly missed. I couldn’t think of what to say to him, and was distracted by the feel of the cigarettes in my bag. I needed one.
“Hi,” was all he mustered, stopping at the foot of the stairs.
“Hey goober,” I replied. I had no idea if that was something Mikayla ever called him, but neither had anyone else. James and I then did something resembling a hug and let go. Linda looked on, face red, still overcome with emotion. Paul was smiling at us.
“Let’s go sit, yeah?” he suggested. “You look exhausted.”
He wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t wait to sit down. There probably wasn’t a piece of furniture in this place less comfortable than the mattresses I’d been living on for the last decade. I held in my amazement as we marched from room to room, deeper and deeper into the house. Linda was still exhaling this stuttered, painful sob, and kept reaching to touch me in any way, a hand on the back or a light brush of the hair. It was annoying, but then again I’d never learned how to have a mother. When I shrugged Linda off, she looked heartbroken. It was at that moment that I finally began to feel like the asshole I knew I was.
After passing through the kitchen and down another hall, we stopped in their second, larger living room. It was very open, the ceiling reaching all the way up to the third story, with photos lined as high as a ladder could reach. I followed Mikayla’s progression of school photos, remarking how eerily similar they were to mine, and how they were one photo short. There was an upper level beside us, where a grand piano sat in one corner, and a bar in the other, separated by yet another fireplace. I imagined how nice a Christmas tree must’ve looked in here, even during the day with the natural light coming in through the sliding glass doors to the back porch.
Each Murray dropped onto a separate couch on the lower level. Paul gestured for me to sit next to Linda, who, of course, was eager to be next to me. James was slouched directly across, staring down at the ground. The rest of us were darting our eyes, waiting for someone to begin.
Paul cleared his throat. “Let me just start by saying that… we’re not mad.” Linda was nodding feverishly in agreement. Paul went on. “We just want to know what happened.”
Something inside my gut wrung. If my actual dad had showed even an ounce of this concern, I might not have run away myself. Instead, he took his brother’s side. My abuser.
I dropped my head. “I needed to get out of here. I felt trapped. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I just didn’t know what else to do. I’m really sorry...” It certainly wasn’t Oscar-worthy, but I wasn’t playing the long-con. I only needed to be passable long enough for me to swipe several of the items we’d passed along the journey to this room.
Paul nodded slowly, gazing off somewhere over my shoulder. “Okay,” was all he said. It was somehow worse than anything else he could have said. For all I knew, Mikayla had had a great life here, with a loving family. Now I was making them feel responsible. Each of them was staring off somewhere, letting my story sink into their minds. I wanted to sink into the couch.
“Where did you go, Mikayla?” Linda suddenly wondered.
Paul leaned forward. “No, Linda. It’s okay. She’s not a little girl anymore. That’s her business. Listen baby girl, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. All that matters now is that you’re home, and you’re safe.”
He reached for my hands and held on gently. It was strangely comforting. For the first time in my life, I’d felt cared for, and safe. In my short time there, I’d completely flipped my thinking. What if Mikayla was just another stupid teenager rebelling against parents who were only trying to protect her? What if she’d sneaked out to celebrate her 18th birthday with her college boyfriend at some frat party? What if he slipped something into her drink? Or if she got too experimental? What if someone offered her something she’d never tried before, and she took it? To be cool? To show off in front of her college boyfriend’s college friends?
I’d spent my whole life wishing I had hers. What if she’d just left it?
“You know what? I have an idea,” Paul said with a clap. “Linda, why don’t you go out and get stuff for pork sandwiches? I’ll cook up some tater tots? Yeah?” He was looking at me with raised eyebrows like I was supposed to know what the fuck he was talking about. So I pretended to. This must have been some sort of Murray tradition or Mikayla’s favorite meal.
“That sounds great,” I replied. I tried to smile at James but it was clear he wasn’t ready to forgive his sister for abandoning him.
Linda hopped up. “Mikayla, sweetie, do you wanna come with me?” I hated how often she was saying her name, and how she spoke to me like I was five.
Before I got a chance to respond, Paul chimed in. “Hun, let her breathe. Run to the store, I’ll get things started here, and you,” he said to me, “go rest up. It’s gonna be crazy here by tomorrow. I just wanna have one night as a family first.”
I could not have agreed more. Everything was going exactly as I had planned, maybe better. There was a really shiny, diamond-studded vase across the room calling my name, right next to an autographed jersey of some football player I’d never heard of. I was gonna walk out with one while wearing the other.
“Go on up to your room,” Paul said to me. “We’ll come get you when it’s ready.”
Linda pulled me in for another hug and kissed me on the side of the head. She looked over at James and saw that he was looking rather lifeless. She caught his attention and made a tipping motion toward her mouth, to which James replied, “I took them already.” He finally glanced my way, but it wasn’t quite the look I wanted to see. There was more than just betrayal in his eyes.
Everyone broke at once and dispersed, Paul heading for the kitchen, and Linda making her way out. I grabbed my backpack and followed a sluggish James up the stairs, feeling good about how things were going so far. Until it occurred to me that I’d had no idea which room was Mikayla’s. It wasn’t something she’d ever have forgotten, not even after twelve years. James and I rounded the corner and were faced with a long, narrow hallway with several doors. I feared I was going to have to guess the right one, when James threw me a lifeline.
“Hey,” he began. He’d stopped in front of his door and turned to me. “Do you want to hangout? Watch a movie or something?” Even this had come out tense, like he was being forced to ask. Then I remembered that this had been the last thing he and Mikayla had done together.
“Yeah, sure,” I said happily. “I don’t think I’m ready to see my room yet anyway.”
James nodded, and the knot in my stomach untwisted. When we entered his room and I was surprised by how neat it was, so much so that it felt wrong laying my dirty bag down. James’ baggy jeans and messy hair gave me a totally different vibe, but his bed was made, the walls were bare, and the desk in the corner looked like it had hardly ever been used. The one window in the room had a perfect view of the setting sun beyond the fields. Its shadow cast a line between the pool below and the gazebo that was just barely visible from this vantage point.
I heard a lock click.
“We need to go, now,” James whispered. He let his neutral expression drop into one of panic. I watched in confusion as he rushed over to his closet and threw on a sweater, cursing under his breath as he did so. When he looked up at me again, it was like he’d forgotten I was there.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
James shook his head. “He knows. He knew the whole time.”
My brain was automatically rattling off ways to salvage this, but there was no point. I was caught, and something other than my identity was bothering him. That made me nervous.
“What gave it away?” I wondered.
He looked at me like I was crazy. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here? He killed her! He buried her!”
My heart stopped. “What?” That wasn’t in any of the theories I’d read online. Like everyone else, I had been so sure it was the boyfriend, Tom. It was obvious. But the look of fear washing over James’ face was hitting me as well. “How do you know that?”
He took me by the arm and dragged me to the window. “Look,” he spat with a outward finger against the glass. Far beyond the covered pool sat the gazebo, lifeless and weather worn, with noticeable chips in its white paint. Only its right side was visible from behind the rest of the house. I could see the flags encircling its beams, waving calmly above a row of gardening supplies. James was breathing heavily as he stared out at it, his eyes fixed, even as he spoke. “He built it right after she disappeared. And we’re not allowed to use it. Calls it his garden. I climbed it once when I was ten and he beat the shit out of me. But I’ve seen him out there at night, a couple times. Spraying the plants. Fixing the dirt. And look—” He hurried to his dresser and rummaged through before pulling something out and jamming it into my gut. I reached down. It was a dirty, purple bracelet, all stretchy and rubber. It had Mikayla’s name on it. I played with it in my hand.
“Remi dug that up last year,” said James. “Dropped it right at my feet. And I remember it! I remember her wearing it that night!”
I stared at it and let it slide down onto my wrist, trying to find any counter to his theory. “You saw her drive off,” I reminded him.
“I saw her car drive off.”
There was a voice in the back of my mind telling me he was delusional. But the voice that believed him was louder, and much more afraid. I watched, mouth agape, as he struggled to tie his shoes. He kept messing up and starting over, spitting more curses under his breath. My thoughts were swirling. “James, why haven’t you called the police?”
“Because I can’t!” It was louder than he’d intended. He stood up and recollected himself. “My dad is friends with the sheriff. If a cop pulls up, he’ll kill us. If I run, he‘ll—he’ll—kill my mom! I don’t even think she’d believe me!”
I put my hands up to quiet him but the fearful cry he’d been holding in had burst out. He covered his mouth to push it back in, along with the snot and tears that were oozing out of him. He rushed over to his bedside drawer and picked up a bottle of pills, swiftly popping a few into his mouth. My chest was getting tighter. “Why can’t we just play along a little longer?” I said. “I’ll leave tonight.”
“If we go downstairs, we’re dead. We were dead the second you got here. The police, the news, they’ll all be here tomorrow whether you’re here or not. They could find her. I could tell them. My dad might snap, like he did on Mikayla. You don’t understand, he’d rather die than get caught. And he’d take us with him, I know it. So we need to go. Out the window. Now. We’ll just run.”
At that point, it no longer mattered to me if James was right or if he was out of his fucking mind. I wanted to get out of there. I looked out the window again. It was starting to get dark. I would’ve preferred a more casual escape over jumping off the roof, but if what he was saying was true then we had no choice. I was craving a cigarette more than ever, and that alone was almost enough to get me on that roof.
“We could take a bus,” I said. “It’s how I got here. It’s only a couple miles that way.”
“I know where it is. We just have to stay off the roads. We can use the fields for cover, and then once we—”
There was a knock on the door.
“James?” It was Paul. He tried turning the handle. “Everything all right in there?”
Without hesitation, James ran for the window and opened it. I could hear the faint chime of the alarm from somewhere out in the hall. Paul’s jiggling of the locked door grew more aggressive. “What the hell is going on in there? Open the door.” When he started pounding on it, I threw on my bag and joined James, who was already halfway out the window. Together we scurried on the roof, hopped onto the back porch, and dropped down onto the rather large portico above the back door. I’d almost fallen down the side but James held me up. A loud crash came booming from back up in his room. I looked up.
“Don’t stop!” James yelled.
He jumped first onto the lawn, and I followed. Both of my feet and knees took the impact hard, the ground underneath the autumn foliage deceptively solid. James helped me up, and we took off running. Against his advice, I looked back and saw Paul peeking out James’ window. He shouted to us and then disappeared. James had already separated himself a good distance from me. I kept pushing my legs as he called back for me to do so, my backpack bouncing off my ass with each stride. There was a road in the distance, the same road I’d trudged along to get here. I could see where it met the orange and purple sky. It felt like it was never getting any closer.
A gun shot rang loud, ripping across the plains. Paul was now standing by the back door aiming a rifle in our direction, his cries chasing us behind the gunpowder. Another bang and my legs buckled. When I’d reached the gazebo, I hid behind it to catch my breath. There was a sharp, debilitating pain in my side. I held myself up on one of the railings and thought I could feel my heartbeat vibrating against the wood. I swore if I’d survived this, I would quit smoking. I peaked around the corner and saw Paul hurry into the garage, James calling out for me by the road. But as I stood there frozen against the gazebo, flags caressing my shoulder, I thought about the girl buried underneath. What if James was right? What if nobody ever found Mikayla’s remains? What if we didn’t make it out of there, and nobody ever knew? I thought of my own story, unheard and not believed. When I’d told my dad what my uncle had done all those years, he hit me. I couldn’t let this story stay buried too.
I took out my lighter and lit a flag, and then another. The fire burned slowly, picking up quick as it caught onto more flags and dreamcatchers, then down to the plants below. I stumbled back and watched the flames spread and dance along the darkening sky. I hoped, at the very least, it would be a distraction, and more so enough to attract law enforcement. I could hear Linda’s shrill voice crying out at the sight of it. She’d rushed around the side of the house with groceries in her hands, calling out for her husband who had just sped off in his truck. He was coming.
I made one last dash for James, who was impatiently waving me on. He took my arm and led me across the road his father would soon be turning onto. We slipped into the cornfield and kept going until we heard the roar of an engine pass by. We froze until there was nothing but the wind, the pain in my side still nagging me. As dark as the sky had rapidly grown, it was even darker in that field, the corn towering over us, clinging to life as much as we were. Paul’s headlights were shining through from not much farther ahead. We waited in terror, for a crunch, or a shout, or, ideally, for the truck to zoom off. Another gunshot rang high into the air. I gasped and had to cover my mouth to quiet my breathing.
“What are you doing with my son?” Paul called in a singsongy fashion. We could hear him walking about over the sound of his engine purring. “Where the fuck are you?” His footsteps wandered around, farther, closer, then farther again, separated only by the sound of swishing corn as he searched randomly along the outer edge. There was a pause, followed by a door slamming shut. Paul’s truck whirled and sped back down the road. I exhaled as James tugged on my arm and instructed to keep going. We pushed through more corn and followed along the road as best as we could. I never would have imagined being in this situation when I’d walked down it earlier that day. Now I was wishing I never had.
Sirens suddenly wailed nearby, and eventually rushed past us. The glow of the flames had grown noticeably brighter in the distance, the smoke visible high above the fields.
“Holy shit,” James gasped. “C’mon, we need to keep moving. Are you okay?”
“Yeah...” I wasn’t.
We shuffled farther through the corn, shoving it aside more aggressively as we went. I could hardly see more than a few feet in front of me. After a while, we could hear a steady buzz of passing vehicles, indicating that we’d reached the city, but also the end of the cornfields. We stepped out onto a road and into the glow of street lights. I felt like I could breathe again, for just a moment.
“You ready?” he said. “We gotta move quick, but we gotta blend in.”
I’d realized in that moment how truly young James was, and how insane I was for having put my life in his hands. I was twenty-eight, but felt just like the same little girl I was all those years ago, hoping her father would protect her. I’d only hoped James was better at it.
We dashed across an empty street and then slipped into the downtown area. I kept my head down. Most of the businesses on the strip were closed for the night, but the bar I’d seen earlier was now glowing in its neon signs, which did a good job masking its otherwise unapproachable façade. There were locals standing outside having a smoke, drunkenly arguing about nothing. James and I crossed the street, and when we reached the bus station, I was relieved to see the lights were still on. This relief would not last.
“Incoming only, folks,” the man at the desk told us. “You’ll have to wait until morning. Sorry.”
I was already making my way for the exit. James caught up with me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting the fuck out of here.”
“What am I suppose to do?” He followed alongside me, being more conspicuous than I would’ve liked.
I stopped and leaned in close. “I don’t fucking care. Come with me, or don’t. I’m leaving!”
I was on the verge of crying, the lump in my throat growing larger. James stood there at a complete loss. I looked at him and saw the five year old boy who woke up that night all alone, the streetlights above shining in his eyes like the headlights he’d watched disappear. “I’m sorry,” I added. “I just wanna go home.” I couldn’t believe I had said it, and meant it. Then I realized James couldn’t go home. If my fire failed, he was going to be on his own, on the run, and homeless at seventeen. Just like I was.
“They’re going to find Mikayla,” I assured him. “Then you’ll be safe.”
He was trembling. “What if they don’t?”
I had no answer, not one he would have liked anyway. Even if we’d made a call to the police that very moment, I could already see Paul going home and putting the rifle to Linda’s head before putting it in his mouth. I’d wondered if he already had. I think James did too. He leaned into me and started to cry. He was a whole foot taller than me, and boney, but I held onto him, not like I had with Paul or Linda, but with earnest.
“Excuse me!”
A voice suddenly called out to us. I was about to run when I saw a familiar face. The old man I’d smoked with earlier was approaching us from the mechanic’s lot next to us. His face twisted when he recognized me back. “Oh, it’s you! Abby, right? Everything all right over here?”
James and I looked at each other but said nothing. An idea crossed my mind. “Actually no, sir. We’re stuck here too.”
The man, whose name I’d forgotten, grinned. “Huh. Well. Car’s fixed! I’m about to head out if you guys need a lift. Where ya’ headed?”
“Anywhere,” I begged.
His smile faded. “Right. Okay. Sure. That’s fine. I’m gonna be driving west down 80 for a while, if that works for y’all.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s perfect.”
James and I followed the man back to the lot and hopped into his old station wagon. I took the front. I thanked the old man repeatedly, even offered him gas money, but he refused it. Said he was happy to help. He introduced himself to a catatonic James in back, reminding me his name was Frank. My eyes kept darting between Frank’s and the rearview mirror he was periodically checking. James was huffing short, panicked breaths. I’d wondered if he needed his meds.
We drove in silence for a while. You couldn’t see anything beyond the headlight’s path, just a deep empty void. The old man tried to spark up conversation, but neither James nor I were up for it. He’d asked if we wanted the radio on or off, if we were hungry, if we were cold, hot. Each time, I told him we were fine. He took the hint, and we drove for hours down the same stretch of highway having barely spoken. Until James had fallen asleep.
“I know it ain’t my business, young lady, but are you sure you and your friend are okay?” Frank kept his voice just above the hum of the radio. I assured him once more that we were fine, even though my mind was still back on Lincoln Ave, wondering what had been happening that very moment at the Murray household. If the flames revealed the truth below, or if they were extinguished before they got the chance. I played an imagined scene in my mind over and over: the fire trucks, the inspection of the damage, Paul watching eagerly nearby, ready to run. The discovery of bones, the call to the Sheriff, the arrest of the man he’d known and tried to help all those years ago, or whom he might now have to hunt down.
“Will you at least tell me your real name?” Frank asked, bringing me back to reality. We had so clearly been withholding truth from this poor man. All he wanted was just a small piece of it, maybe so he could justify the crazy thing he had done that day.
I looked down at my fidgeting hands and noticed the purple bracelet still tight along my wrist, the pink lettering of Mikayla’s name flashing with every passing street light. I’d forgotten that I was still wearing it. I thought about how badly I wanted to give her the ending she’d deserved. The one she’d wanted for herself. An escape. Freedom. How easy it would have been to do it, to say her name.
“It’s Rachel,” I uttered instead.
Frank smiled at me. “Well, Rachel. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
I let him drive us another hour. It was almost midnight. When I woke James to get out, he jumped. I had Frank drop us off at a cheap bed and breakfast, something I’d grown quite accustomed to over the years. I tried once more to pay him but he wound up giving me money instead. It wasn’t much, but the gesture alone was beyond kind. In spite of everything I’d been through that day and all that came before it, it wasn’t any less meaningful coming across someone as genuinely good as that man.
I felt bad that I’d lied to him about my name again.
———
James and I shared a bed, sleeping head to toe beside a rattling air conditioner. I wouldn’t have slept anyway. I was plenty happy with the four hours I got. When I woke early the following morning, I stepped outside for a cigarette and enjoyed every moment of it. I’d quit another day. James was sitting up in bed by the time I went back inside, his hair an awful mess, his tired eyes red. He’d asked me what our plan was. He was impatient, and I understood. I told him that we should eat breakfast first and figure it out from there. It had almost been an entire day since I’d eaten last.
When we entered the dining area, we saw that there were only a few other guests inside. I still wanted a table in back but James insisted we sit by the bar where a TV was playing the news. I gave in. He was worried about his mother, and I couldn’t blame him for that. I’d have been worried about mine too if she were still alive. I was really hoping this aspect of our lives remained different.
James was glued to the TV, even as the waitress came and took our order.
“You’re going to drive yourself crazy,” I told him as she walked away. He shook his head at me and kept his eyes fixed. We sat in silence as we waited for our food, and potential news.
“Your coat,” James suddenly recalled. “You left your coat at my house!”
I laughed, to which James looked bewildered. “It’s not my coat,” I explained.
“Whose is it?”
“Some guy named Scott, I think. Maybe Jordan.”
It wasn’t long before the waitress arrived with our meals. We‘d ordered the same thing, only my eggs were scrambled. There was something about the smell of bacon and home fries that brought comfort strong enough to make you forget that you were on the run. I moaned at the first bite. Probably could have eaten both plates. I even thought I saw a moment of calm in James’ face as he ate.
The TV caught our attention.
“Thank you, John. Authorities say they responded early last night to a fire in one very familiar Indiana home. The home of Mikayla Murray.”
James nearly fell out of his seat. I dropped my fork and a home fry fell on the floor.
“…Missing since 2008, Mikayla’s disappearance was one that rocked the small town of Millersburg, Indiana, but left many hopeful that she was still out there, listening. But when authorities found her car abandoned near the Elkhart River just miles from her home, friends and family began to fear the worst. Mikayla was gone, her whereabouts never discovered. Until now.”
I wanted to turn back to James but was afraid of the look on his face.
“When authorities cleared the scene last night at 1108 Lincoln Avenue, they made a shocking discovery that would answer a decade-long mystery, but spark a new one.”
It cut to the sheriff’s press conference. He spoke matter-of-factly while cameras clicked all around him. “The fire department responded to a 9-1-1 call around 5 PM last night. There was a gazebo on fire in the yard of the Murray residence, and when we assessed the damage, we discovered a bunker hidden underneath. Upon further inspection of the bunker, we found the body of a young woman and child. We’ve indeed confirmed the woman to be Mikayla Murray, but have no further information at this time.”
James squealed. “They found her?”
I ignored him, my face sunken. Waitresses and patrons were noticing our panicked state. Something wasn’t right. She’d been buried under there for so long, there shouldn’t have been much to find. And a child?
”It is believed that Mikayla had been held captive inside the bunker since that fateful day twelve years ago. Until last night when, tragically, both she and the child suffered fatal smoke inhalation resulting from the fire. Authorities have yet to confirm the identity of the child, or who started the fire. Mikayla’s mother, Linda, is being questioned by police while federal officials search for her father, Paul, and brother, James, both of whom are now missing. If you have any information on their whereabouts, please call this number, and stay tuned for more on this story...”
I couldn’t feel my body. I turned around and stared down at my shaking hands on the table, the world caving in on me.
“What happened?” James cried. His breathing was heavy, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, staring at me, bewildered.
I finally looked at him. “I killed Mikayla.”