stalker (deux)

Returning to my frightening tale of spectres and returns from the grave . . .

The story of Serafina's and my wedding, our non-honeymoon (caregiver responsibilities precluded our going away together even for a single night) and other related activities deserve their own postings, which I'll get to as time and inspiration allow.  Simply said, it was a beautiful and wonderful day, perhaps the best day of my life, if only because it cemented my relationship with Serafina.  It allowed us to get on with the pesky process of immigration, and it made legal what had been in our hearts from almost the first . . .

The important thing to tell you, my dear reader, for the development of this particular tale, is that exactly one week to the day after we were married, I got a fateful message on Facebook . . .

The note wasn't from a familiar name, at least it didn't seem to be so at first glance.  I nearly deleted the message without thought.  Then, just as I was about to trash it, I recognized the name.  It was a note from none other than my first girlfriend from back in the 1970's, the one that I'd been told was dead . . .

Balloon Head was alive!

The message I got from my former girlfriend included the first in a string of what would become a rather odd pattern of happenings and coincidences that followed my first girlfriend around like a literal shadow.  She told the story of how, on the day Serafina and I were wed, while driving along the Mississippi River with her nephew, she had noticed a sign on the side of the road with my last name.

The sign itself has it's own entertaining aside, as it had been decorated by my blushing bride.  There were several balloons attached, so yes, I must admit to you, my dear reader, that one (coincidentally) even had a "balloon head" replete with it's own artistically drawn smiley face.  All courtesy of a Sharpie pen and a bride with nervous energy.

The funny thing is, the sign announcing our wedding, was itself an afterthought; something we'd thrown together to help a couple of directionally challenged friends, hoping they'd actually find our festivities.  Without thinking, we'd also managed to include our own balloon head in the wedding.

Recognizing my name, motivated by fond remembrances of youthful times together, the lady called Balloon Head couldn't help but try to look me up.  She'd hunted for me online, found my Facebook presence (among others) and sent me the message I was currently reading.

To say that I'd made myself easy to find was an understatement.  I'd been considering a run for political office, so my website was located at the hopeful politico's classic web address - my name plus a dot-com.  I probably don't need to tell you that my site was complete with photos of myself at work and play, it's own detailed biographical page, and a number of political and patriotic writings.  There were even listings of public events and parades I planned to attend.

I only realized in retrospect that in striving to make myself the model of a trustworthy, transparent and totally available public servant, I was also creating a gigantic billboard styled advertisement for a potential stalker.  You can't draw a better road map to a person's life than the web presence of a politico in today's age of social networking.  I was seeking exposure, and believe me, I got it . . .

To say that I was surprised to her from Ms Balloon Head would be more than a little understatement, I was floored. As you might remember, for more than 30 years I'd believed her to be dead.  Somebody somewhere had some 'splainin' to do!