He must have begun following me soon after he read my first poem, first spoke to me.
Happy [s]readingm[/s] reading everyone.
just as I had come to find out [s]about.[/s]
hen evidence was brought forward. There were pictures, tapes, drawings, journal entries found at Will Sheldon’s house. Covering his walls. Stuffed in his drawers. Under his pillows and all over the furniture. All of it, me. Moments when I hadn’t even known he was watching. All of it within the space of a few short weeks. He must have begun following me soon after he read my first poem, first spoke to me. There were tapes of me driving home, pictures of me in the school library, flipping through books. Drawings of me lying on a bed, half-clothed. His journal entries were nothing more than sick fantasies and imaginings that made me feel dirty, used.
as permanent and [s]existent[/s]
On the day of verdict, Will Sheldon was convicted and sentenced to prison for five years.
Mom stayed shut up in her room for days when the article came out on page six about a student-teacher affair. Dad’s co-workers from the firm stopped calling to ask him to go out for drinks, and I became the school outcast.