Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…The Condemnation,Part 2)

Not So Shiny A House.

Not So Shiny A House.

When I leaned back into my vehicle and shut the motor off, I looked away from Michael. He realized then that something was very wrong. I am a college-educated working-woman. I was also raised in a town  known today as a “ghetto-town”. A ghetto-town on its way back up. A town in New Jersey, incorporated over 300 years ago, with quite a few historical sites and where many immigrants landed after Ellis Island.

It’s where my grandparents decided to set their sights for home when they married. Originally, a town mix of many varieties of cultures. Polish, Hungarian, Russian, Slovakian, German, Austrian, Italian…basically a melting-pot of neo-Americans. Living in that town taught me many things. By the time I was growing up and.. educated in the public school system, the  ethnic backgrounds had changed significantly.

It was still a melting-pot town. But now the influx of immigrants were of Puerto Rican descent, Cuban, Dominican and other latino backgrounds. The public school system, when I attended was 92% other and 8% white. Beginning in elementary school, I didn’t think about my classmates. They were simply my friends. I was very different in the way I looked at people. Color had no bearing on a person to me. I looked at what they were about on the inside.

All of this made me who I am today. My family was well established in my hometown. I never wanted for anything.  Sent to college, it was a given in my family that all would go on to higher education.  As a young child, offered ballet classes, tap-dancing, horseback riding, sailing lessons, tennis lessons, I eagerly attended all.  I was a Girl Scout. I took sewing and cooking classes. My family attempted to see that their daughter was well-rounded.

What all of those things did to me was educate me in people. Of course I learned about each topic at hand. That’s a given. I wasn’t a bored pupil. I was always eager to learn. I was a voracious reader. A voracious learner. Always willing to experience life, even as a little girl. And this has followed me through my life. Perhaps this is what makes me a Survivor.

Michael knew me from the day I moved into the house on Chelsea. He had attempted to arrange liaisons with me. I was never interested. He would flirt outrageously with me in front of Daniel. He would claim to be with white women since he was 15 years old. He was constantly trying to prove himself to me and as I would see through the years, to others. I wasn’t interested in him in any other way but as a neighbor. I always made that clear to him.

We would talk on our porches in the nicer weather. Talk politics, the neighborhood, the town. He knew the type of person I was, and the education I had. He knew what I was about and where I was going. So when I say I leaned back into my vehicle and sighed, it was a gesture, a nuance of sorts. My body language was conveying something to him. Not of defeat, but of relaxation.

Michael  saw I  relaxed. He had just undermined my life. He had destroyed everything tangible I owned. Although he didn’t realize this at this particular time, nor did I.  I was yet to find out about the urine, feces and shards of glass in the black garbage bags he had his moving men surreptitiously hand over to me from my house on the day of closing. So in a sense, my relaxation was now a warning sign to him.

It’s fascinating to watch a pompous, self-centered person collapse in front of you. Their whole demeanor and posture changes dramatically. They literally slump down into themselves. Almost as if they are melting. I would say that’s as good an explanation for what was happening inside of Michael’s mind at that precise time. He was melting down.

He looked worried. And with good cause. This man who thought he could buy his way into a lifestyle, own people and properties to push his weight around, was now finding out that perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea. He was about to realize that what he thought was a gold mine wasn’t so shiny after all.



All works past, present and future are protected under a CCC. Creative Common License, Kaarie Blake Musings by Kaarie Blake is licensed under a Creative Common Attribution-Noncommercial-Noderivs-3.0-Unported License



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