Colossus Revisited
On interviewing John Hinckley Jr. while twenty-five year old woman
On March 15th John Hinckley Jr. asked
Where are you?
To which I replied
Philadelphia.
On March 14th I reached my 125th (and final) day of unemployment. I had exited the world of (remote) work in November for various reasons, chief among them the feelings of abject loneliness and general helplessness brought on by staring at a void (monitor) in a new city in the same building in which you spend nearly all your waking hours. All of this to do tasks whose end results you cannot (and do not wish to) morally defend.
It was bleak, but that’s a topic for another day.
Today I want to talk about how I spent my last day of unemployment. First, I did what any self-respecting young adult woman would do on her last day of freedom and smoked a bowl before going on a walk with no particular agenda. I’ve spent most of my life being very very very good- I’m trying to be better at being less concerned about that. So I smoked and went on a walk with no particular agenda.
It was nice- I felt free. My life was going to change tomorrow- I knew that. I tried to let it hit me, tried to soak it in.
When I’d had enough I headed home. I was on my block, ready to head back in when I saw the Guy I’ve Been Seeing had sent me a tweet.
I laughed- I had only earlier that week sent my very first Request for Interview to a celebrity who had randomly reacted to me reposting her story on Instagram. Shockingly, she did not reply. But I had done it because he told me to and because I was trying to impress him- so I decided to try again.
And this time I succeeded.
I screamed in the kitchen, shared my shock with my roommate and then booked it to the library to figure out what the hell to ask The Man who Shot Reagan in My Very First Interview.
I got there I read I watched I listened I took note.
Love has gone, and now my life is gray
Love has gone, and now my world is grey
He sings below eyes a thousand miles away
He’s wearing sunglasses in his Lonely Dreamer video- arms look smooth, hairless
He looks to the lyrics- reassurance
After that I packed my things, ate a big meal, tried to sleep.
On the morning of I ate a cinnamon raisin bagel with pistachio honey. I drank my cold brew, took a shower, sat at my four months’ dormant desk and waited for the call.
We talked for twenty-seven minutes. I remember none of it, but my audio file does- and what I’ve released the past two Sundays are the two parts of the original, unedited transcript of our call.
Fifteen days later I still can’t believe those words are true and real even as I type them.
I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to make up for the fact that I was not kidding about Just Starting My Career and printed out QR codes, drew on posters, cut out words, and put boots on the ground to get The Word out.
Among the recipients of said word were: book sellers, a man at the impoundment lot, a woman wearing cut-out jeans on 15th, some guys hanging out on 5th, the mail slot at Good’s Vintage, and (via link) all of my male Hinge matches.
I called on people who’d done me favors before. I walked in places that felt right. I ran into a retired editor at the Inquirer on 10th and Christian who asked me to send the piece to him. I walked around beaming and hundreds of hand-outs later received just three no’s, all of which were pretty expected.
As I’ve moved around the past two weeks I’ve felt for the first time in a long time that I am not marked. I felt protected by proxy. Connected by proxy. Known. For moments here and there- known.
Men have told me to be careful.
Both my father and a work friend expressed concern that I look like Jodie Foster. I don’t agree, but I appreciated the comparison. My dad asked me to please not give him my phone number to which I said okay.
When I showed up at the house of the guy I’ve been seeing on the verge of a panic attack for reasons almost entirely foreign to my involvement with Hinckley, the first question he asked was “Are you safe?”.
Funny question.
I mean, no, but not for the reason you’re thinking.
My father is a salesman. I know from him how to present myself as someone who has something you want without being too forward or desperate about it. It was easy to engage the men-
I know how to put on darker makeup, I know how to tilt my head just right, I know how to widen my eyes to look coy, pinch them to look sharp.
Approaching women was markedly more frightening. Yearning to let them know before anything I’m on your side I’m on your side I’m on your side. I’d die to be spared the immediate condemnation. It hurts too much to watch it through their eyes- I worried still- would they condemn me? For fraternizing with a stalker? Just for putting myself out there? As far as I could tell, they didn’t. Instead they asked me how it was. When I said scary they nodded.
Jodie Foster confessed to feeling guilty we applaud her and as we should but let’s not act shocked I mean c’mon of course she did this is how these cycles repeat themselves again again again unless and until we face them.
I’ve been walking around worried that I’m betraying her. Jodie Foster. The thing is, though, I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me. Our aims likely intersect in the universal ways many of ours do, but I’d guess they’re largely different, career-wise at least.
And anyways
I did this not because I agree with his reasoning. I cannot will not ever excuse a man for terrorizing a woman in such a way.
I did this because
Too many of us have adopted a particular and pungent defeatism when it comes to what we can do with our one life on this earth. This is not to say that there are not legitimate reasons for these attitudes being dominant. Life is relentless, cruel and uncomfortable for far too many. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t continue to try. At the very least to listen to one another, to lend a hand when possible. Lasting change requires community.
I’ve long been a history buff- and a Reagan hater- as well as a woman who is at really any given time actively considering law school- but the reason I am so glad I got to talk to John had less to do with either of those and much more to do with my own stake in more fully understanding the way severe mental illnesses and prolonged isolation debilitate people- sometimes to a previously unrecognizable state.
John has seen things most of us will never have to. For that we should count ourselves lucky. But beyond that- we should treat him with kindness. After all, he survived. He pushed through to the other side.
That’s an act of bravery in itself. That’s a love offering in itself.
And I was being serious when I said I liked his music. You should listen.
To the man in the smoke shop on 8th I said
Do you remember me?
he said Of course I do. And even if no one else listens- or reads it- I will.
P.S.
okay that’s it
Was having a shitty morning yesterday, feeling like a loser with no future. Something about this really cheered me up. Maybe the way that you just put yourself out there and were able to do something really cool.
Anyway, this is the girl from Philly AIDS Thrift, please come back with more articles cos I really liked reading this.