Newscoma

I decided to go and hear what folks were saying about the big-bellied rapist yesterday.

I’m not going to use their names here and basically what I learned has been very accurately covered in this story from The Pacer, which is a publication for UT Martin. It’s a good read and focuses on the lack of communication about certain aspects of the case and how that has created tension/rumors around the community.

The TBI is here and the local police departments have beefed up patrols trying to ensure safety but there is a heightened level of anxiety. Two students on campus have created a Facebook page that is offering a place to talk about where to purchase pepper spray/self-defense tools and is also escorting women to where they need to be. It’s a good idea, seems to be highly organized and is a place where students are getting validation for the fear they feel. I also noticed that it is also a place where folks are saying what they are hearing. It’s what we’ve all heard quite frankly but there hasn’t been any confirmation on any of these aspects so when it comes to rumors, I’m taking some of it as just another reason to be cautious but not necessarily as fact. There is even an interactive map on where the attacks were created by a student on Google maps.

The rumor mill is feeding a lot of the fear in the town as well as the rapist. It’s the old, very real standard that there is a monster in our midst but we don’t know who the monster is. Folks just want to know what’s going on. And, let’s remember, we live in a society where we are all a little bit of Gus Grissom. As we aren’t hearing official notification on certain aspects of the case, people are trying to put things together themselves. I’m afraid that’s not very helpful and is feeding into the terror.

Women need to know what they are up against.

One young woman said “I’m very concerned that I don’t know what he’s actually after. Is it college students? Is it younger women or does he care? I wish we knew more about what he’s after. I wish the police would let us know if there is a pattern. Are they blondes or brunettes? What is the age range? I really want to know.”

I don’t know at this point if the TBI is allowing local law enforcement authorities to give any information out so they have more to work with. I’ve seen this happen before and the TBI usually locks down a case. I’m not saying I agree with it, but it’s usually pretty standard procedure. This has just been my experience at least having worked with them in the past.

“One question I have is that I’m not clear of whether or not he’s in the house when they get home,” another woman asked. “Is he already inside? And how is he getting inside? Is he breaking in through windows or picking a lock? I wish this was clearer.”

That’s a good question. I talked to a local business yesterday afternoon who has quite a bit of rental property. They are being very aggressive in handing out information, trying to meet with their tenants and checking locks in their townhomes/apartments/houses to make sure everything is in order. I believe that’s an excellent idea. There was also some discussion of meeting with their renters and offering practical advice and answering questions.

“I’m scared. Every little noise scares me because the last rape happened just down the street from me,” yet another concerned woman said. “My son and I are terrified. I keep hearing all this different stuff and it’s hard to determine what’s real and what’s not.”

One of the toughest young women I know still lives with her family. The incident that happened on Sunday scared her and the girl that I know who is usually billy bad ass was very somber. “Dad left for awhile and I was asleep but I heard him lock the door as he went out to breakfast with his friends, which woke me up. I didn’t go back to sleep until he came home. I guess I’m more freaked out about this than I thought.”

Personally, I don’t believe older women are in this guy’s demographic if you piece this stuff together, but that doesn’t really matter in the big picture. Women are scared and rightfully so. When folks are sitting over a cup of coffee or dinner, or even a beer, and they keep hearing information that has not been verified or denied, it creates a larger issue and feeds more fear. This issue concerns me. The mystery of the monster in our midst and the conversation laced with terror coming from women will continue to grow.

The feelings are valid. Everyone wants to feel safe and they don’t.

I was talking to my friend The Engineer and we both agreed that right now any man with a big gut is being eyed warily. This, of course, was to be expected, but in a conversation that included several community leaders late yesterday, there is some heightened concern that an innocent man is going to get hurt.

But the paranoia is there and, I guess, at this point can’t be avoided.

“Everyone on campus was looking for someone, anyone that fits this description,” one female student said. “I found myself really studying men who have a big stomach. I know that may not be fair, but who knows if that’s the guy.”

One thing I’ve seen happening as well is that each night, there is another rumor of another attack. There hasn’t been one since Sunday but my phone and email account has been inundated with messages asking if there had been another attack on Monday and then again last night with one woman even leaving me a message on my Facebook page.

This is the anatomy of the fear in the community, but the reality is very simple.

We are a town waiting for the next one. The rapist seems to be escalating his attacks. So one of these days, one of these messages is going to be real.

As I said, we are a town waiting.

We don’t know anything official. We may not be hearing anything official at this point but I do know that is not stopping the conversation.

One woman summed it up perfectly. “I’m just scared. I don’t want to be alone. This man raped a girl in front of her own parents. If he will do that, he will do anything.”

It’s usually happens to me about three days before Christmas every year. I become a bit emotional.

I don’t know why, or maybe I do and then I just ignore it, I then forget about it and then it comes as an annual event and there I am again. Damn cycle of holiday emotions.

I think some of my perceptions of this holiday goes back over three decades when I would spend the Brady Bunch Christmas at my grandmother’s house. We called her Nanny and she was a jovial woman who smoked Salem cigarettes, laughed this deep hearty laugh and could outcook anyone in three states. She read her bible, she went to church but she loved a good Tom Collins and was unapologetic about it. She taught me a lot and I miss her. She was a paradox and a wonderful role model who taught me that kindness was important and to treat people the way I wanted to be treated. She also didn’t believe you had to be one thing.

You just needed to be yourself.

When my grandfather died, she slowly withered away. She is the only person I know, although it was diagnosed as breast cancer, that passed away with a broken heart. There isn’t any way you could convince me otherwise.

We tried to recreate the joyful Christmases we had with her. The truly awful Christmas tree that had wire stuck with some sort of flammable branches on it, the presents that would fill a room, the amazing feast she would cook in her small kitchen that met us each year as we anxiously anticipated Christmas Eve. We tried to find that in which she created.

And each year, we failed.

Because it just wasn’t the same. As I grew older, I have found myself looking for that feeling I had when she was alive. Big Daddy is unabashedly not a fan of the holiday, though he tries (Nanny was my mother’s mom) and Homer gets it closer to my grandmother than anyone. I loved my own mother dearly, but when her mother passed away, she sort of abandoned Christmas. Not the actions of the holiday, but the feelings in her heart.

So, each year I seek those joyous feelings of Nanny’s small house. And each year, I find a few days before Christmas not being able to find it. And I’m disappointed. And it comes out in anger then an emotionally full moment where I realize that some things in our lives we cannot replace.

Now, this is whiny. I get that. And to be honest, this year I’ve had more fun than I’ve had in years. But that feeling struck me yesterday. The longing, that desire to feel.

That need for my childhood passion in which my grandmother was the real Santa Claus.

I am blessed. I have a wonderful life. This upcoming year is the one that will make or break me professionally. I’ve been aggressive in changing some of the things in my life that I want to alter and I’m pleased that I can take one thing at a time now instead of getting overwhelmed by the many distractions that are life. There are so many people in this world that have less than I do. I’m pleased I have love. I may not have a new car or the job I’ve been seeking, but I have family whom I adore and friends who would do anything for me as I would for them.

And yet, I miss that laugh and the twinkling of her eyes that was more about Christmas than any present.

Now back to your regular scheduled programming at Newscoma.

Photo from here.

I’m having a bit of a panic about Christmas. In less than two weeks, we will be eating roast beast, opening presents and passing out from exhaustion from the holiday frivolity.

I have one problem.

Ummm, presents? I have a few purchased and that, campers, is about it.

I’ve been a bit busy and then it hit me this morning that I have to really get cracking. My dilemma is that I hate discount chains and in the past I’ve been able to actually put some thoughts into what I was getting for everyone. This year, I’ve had something scheduled or just normal stupid work crap slamming me into the wall. Then, when I do have time I’ve sort of just passed out.

And, I’m like Scarlett O’Hara who said “I’ll do it tomorrow, dammit.” (Didn’t she say that? I’ve never read the book and I’m not going to so don’t harass me about it. I know, it’s good, but, umm, no.) Well, I’ve put everything off until tomorrow then tomorrow comes and I see something bright and shiny and forget that gifts must be purchased.

So, now I’m scrambling. SQ told me some things she wants but I swear I can’t remember a thing she has told me as I’ve been having some sort of Alzheimer’s this year.

So, in the spirit of being fair, the guys are getting toilet paper and the ladies will get lip balm and I don’t even have to go to Wal-Mart to pick these things up.

I keed.

So, today, if I can manage it, I’m going to sneak away as soon as I’m done at work and go piddle around in an effort to do the gifty thing.

At least I hope I will. Good Intentions tend to fall to the wayside for your friendly Newscoma.

Can you say “PANIC!”

I knew you could.

***sigh***