dickie wall-eye

monday 16 may 2011…         (new post)

Dickie wall-eye is yet another bleeding freak who came into my life’s periphery in May of 2008, the same year that a whole batch of new, as yet unendured, bleeding freaks came into my life, Matthew Lacoy among them. It’s three years now that I’ve had to have Dickie wall-eye dogging my days.

The first time I ever saw Dickie and his wall-eye, I was sitting in front of the health food store in Greenfield (where Matthew reigns supreme because his cousin is a manager in that store). I was talking with yet another bleeding freak I’d only recently met. Why was  I talking to him? In my own defense I have to say that back in 2008 this guy was only mildly freaky, and was still capable of carrying on a reasonably intelligent conversation. Three years later, he is drastically more bizarre than he was then, both in appearance and in his now totally decayed mind. Anyway, he and I were talking about what had been done to me and my animals. The loss was still very, very new then. Up walks Dickie, sits himself between us, and starts shoveling up his two cents’  worth, though no one had as yet invited him into the conversation. He starts holding forth: “Well I always wanted to have land and have dogs and all that, and it ain’t gonna happen. So your animals are gone. Move on.” Ever after that day in May three years ago, Dickie wall-eye has been in my face.

He lived in Greenfield somewhere that year, and, like Matthew and certain others, was there beside me or across from me or behind me, just about everywhere I went in Greenfield. Before you jump up and scream Coincidence! Paranoia!, I’d invite any math types to either calculate or look up what the odds are that in any town or city anywhere, a certain ten or twelve people would pop up everywere a certain other person goes. We did not work at the same place, or go to school at the same place, or live in the same building, and we weren’t friends. And it wasn’t everyone in Greenfield who popped up in my face all the time, just these ten or twelve. I’d never experienced any like this in fifty-five years of living. It exceeds the odds of coincidence. It isn’t paranoia. It’s fact.

Just about every bloody time I used a pay phone from May to August of 2008, there would be Dickie wall-eye. He’d stand a few feet away, hearing every word I said (whether this was his aim or not, he was so close that he had to hear). No matter where in Greenfield the pay phone was that I was using, I could just about count on Dickie wall-eye being a few feet away. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a pal. Before you jump up and say He was waiting to use the phone!, forget it. That’s what I myself thought, the first time I saw him looming near me and my phone call. So I shortened my call with my friend to allow the freak to use the phone. He did not use the phone when I hung up, he simply walked away when I did. And so it went for four months. He would hang around my phone calls, then walk away when I was finished. Fact.

When I stayed at the Turners shelter in September 08 for the first time, there was Dickie. Now living suddenly in Turners, in the house right beside the shelter, and coming daily to the shelter to hang out. All the shelter residents rode the shuttle to Greenfield most days, but not me. I stayed in Turners. And mostly, so did Dickie. His passion for Greenfield was suddenly gone, and he now loved to hang out in Turners. There he was as I walked on just about any sidewalk. There he was in the grocery store, in the park, on the canal, in any one of several stores. There he was, in a different town, and still in my face. Fact.

I left this area in December 2008 and didn’t return for more than a few days until April 2009. In May that year I again went to stay in the Turners shelter, and there Dickie still is, living in the house beside the shelter and coming to visit every day. But this time I decide to ride the shuttle to Greenfield every day, and guess what….  so does Dickie. His passion for Turners is now gone, and he goes to Greenfield every day, and his ugly maw is once again in my face all the time. I now use a cell phone, but whenever I do, I look around to see if Dickie is near. He often is, so I learn to talk on the hoof, keep moving. 

Then I rent the room again in Greenfield, the same room I’d rented in 2008. Dickie, as far as I could tell, stayed still in the house near the Turners shelter, but nonetheless managed to be frequently in my face until April 2010, when I moved into this ponystall in Turners Falls. I didn’t see him for three, four months. I thought great: maybe he’s dead; maybe he moved to Noho; maybe he moved to bloody Timbuktu, as long as I never have to see him again. It wasn’t just the frequency of his appearances near my person, or just his eavesdropping on phone calls; it was also that Dickie was right near me when any number of very bizarre things happened: the kinds of things that were prone to happen when I was with Matthew. Exceeding the odds of coincidence. Not lies, not paranoia. Facts.

So when, exactly, did Dickie move into the very building I live in? I think it was about last August (2010), after I’d already been here for four months. Months I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him, then suddenly he lives right here. We are civil if the need arises to say hi to each other or hold the door for each other, or whatever. But I still want him either dead or in Timbuktu.

And then everything takes a new twist. In early March, only a couple of months ago, Dickie turns vicious, and who knows why. Despite my loathing of him, I’ve never said or done any single mean thing to him that would reveal my feelings. I’ve always been civil and have held the door for him if he was there. But in March, Dickie had to start calling me a bitch. He doesn’t say this within the walls of this building, because he could get thrown out. This building full of ponystalls is a special program for people recovering from alchoholism or drug addiction. So far as I know, I’m the only person living here who is not in recovery from substance issues. There was one other, but she moved out in February. I got in here because of a different aspect of the program: the prolonged homelessness aspect.

When the wall-eye wants to call me a bitch, he does so in public. On the sidewalk, at the bus stops, in the stores. He does not use vocal chords most of the time, but instead uses a very loud stage whisper that can’t help but be heard both by me and by anyone standing near us. So this morning I go down the street to the convenience store, there’s Dickie when I go to cash out. He’s at one register, I’m at the other, and we’re only about three feet apart. Suddenly I hear coming into my left ear that great stage whisper, and the word bitch. Now I know he isn’t talking to the cashier because she looks at me with this sort of “I’m sorry” look on her face, but she doesn’t tell him that he can’t call the other customers names. My own cashier is male, and he has a very embarrassed look on his face, as if he wants to melt into the floor, but he doesn’t say anything to Dickie either. Neither do I. To this moment, I have never made any response when he calls me a bitch.  He had to say it a second time before he walked out the door, just to make sure I didn’t miss it. No paranoia, no fantasy, no lie: fact.

When I’m finished paying up, he’s already outside. I go out the door, and there he is pumping gas into a vehicle that does not belong to him, but apparently someone lets him use it. He does it again, and though I’m at least twelve feet away from him, I can hear that stage-whispered bitch. I’m walking away from this verbal bullying, as I always have with Dickie thus far, and then I change my mind. I turn to face him, make some pathetic whining noises like I’m a little kid crying, and then I scowl right at him and say prick. I do not whisper, stagely or otherwise; I use my vocal chords.

It feels good. I’ve decsribed in other posts some of the nasty things the trogs around here have said to me over the years, and have also said how I regret all the times I didn’t answer back to their ignorance and their bullying. Not that answering will make it go away, but getting past my innate tendency to freeze up when someone is being a turd makes me feel better. I may never answer Dickie back again, but I managed it this once, and I’m proud of that. May all the gods I don’t believe in afflict Dickie with a horrible throat catastrophe that leaves him with a permanent trach tube, rendering him incapable of making any verbal sounds at all, except for the occasional gasp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~     (sp+ma)

(photo:  detail from greeting card)

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