Amanda Filipacchi - Love Creeps

The summer semester was approaching, and Alan tried to decide what classes he would take. He was drawn to a class called How to Say No Without Feeling Guilty (And Yes! to More Time). He marveled at how far he had come, because two semesters ago he considered signing up for practically the opposite class, called How to Get Anyone to Return Your Phone Call.

In the end he signed up for map-reading, swimming, and beading.

Alan went to the first class of his map-reading course in high spirits. He arrived at 6:45 P.M., fifteen minutes early. To his horror, Lynn followed him into the classroom. She sat two chairs away, and he stared at her in amazement.

“You can’t take this class,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because this is my class.”

“But you’re sharing it with these other people,” she said, motioning toward the seated students.

“You’re not interested in this class,” Alan said.

“Yes I am.”

At that moment, Roland entered the classroom and sat between them.

Alan and Lynn looked at him, horrified. Alan said, “You guys should not take this class. It’s very bad for you.”

“Why?” they both asked.

“You don’t even know what class this is, do you?”

“No, what class is it?” Roland asked, suddenly alarmed.

“It’s called Lost in Space: Map-reading for the Geographically Bewildered.”

Roland laughed and blushed on Alan’s behalf. His laugh, this time, came out as a long “Nnnn” sound, with only a little bit of jiggling and wavering to indicate it was a laugh. “I see what you mean. We might die of boredom or embarrassment.”

“No. You guys are stalkers. Not even in recovery, like me. This class is just going to stimulate your stalking urges even more.” Alan was trying to speak in a low voice, which a quick look at the other students assured him was not low enough. They were glancing at each other with curious expressions on their faces.

“Why would it stimulate our stalking urges?” Lynn asked, like a rapt student.

“Because this class has to do with space, geography, destination, traveling, which are all elements of stalking. Not to mention the element of following. Following a map.”

Roland was midway through an eye roll when the teacher walked in, saying loudly, “What is a map? A map is an overview of something. It allows you to see things in perspective. Don’t you wish everything in life were as easy as following a map?”

“No,” Alan said. “I wish following a map was as easy as everything else in life, or I wouldn’t be in this class.” There were some chuckles.

“I want each of you to tell us about a time when you were lost. If you cannot recall a time when you were lost, I want you out of this class.”

When it was Alan’s turn to speak, he said, “It’s hard for me to recall a time when I was not lost. I’ve been lost my whole life. I’m a recovered stalker, you see, and most stalkers become stalkers because of what psychologists call an ‘attachment disorder,’ stemming from the childhood absence of a caring and consistent parent or guardian, usually in the first six years of life. But that wasn’t the case with me. What caused me to become a stalker was my poor sense of direction. The first time I was lost, as a young child, was traumatizing. It was in Central Park, and I finally just started following someone, hoping she knew where she was going and that her knowledge would rub off on me. Well, it didn’t, but it introduced me to the sick pleasure of following. Ironically, having a poor sense of direction is very inconvenient for a stalker, because it makes it hard for him to find his way home.”

The teacher raised his eyebrows and turned his attention to Roland. “What about you?”

Roland decided to call the teacher’s bluff. “I’ve never been lost.”

“Think harder,” the teacher said. “I’m sure there was a time when you were lost. Otherwise, I want you out of this class.”

“Well,” Roland said, softly dropping a paper clip under his desk, “I don’t know if it counts, but I’m lost now. I’m lost as to what I’m doing in this class.”

The teacher stared hard at Roland and suddenly turned away, saying, “Yeah, it counts.” He paused. “Now, let’s talk about the map-reading personality, people who have an easy time reading maps versus those who don’t, and what it means. As one may suspect, people who have a hard time reading maps are often more creative.”

Alan realized he must be the exception to that rule.

“And the ones who are good at reading maps,” resumed the teacher, looking at Roland and Lynn, “are often more analytical, more orderly, more anal, everything you would expect.”

“Less loved?” Alan asked.

“No, not less loved,” the teacher said.

“More loved?” Roland asked.

“No, I wouldn’t say that either,” the teacher said. He then opened a small suitcase and took out various maps. He placed them on his desk one by one, saying, “I’ve brought a lot of maps. Here’s a map of a department store. And this is one of your psyche. And this one helps you find your way around in life. This little green map helps you find out what you really want.”

Alan stood up, relieved that he had an excuse not to take this class with his stalker and his stalker’s stalker. “I’m sorry,” he said to the teacher, picking up his shoulder bag, “I made a mistake. I thought this was going to be a class about how to read real maps.”

“Oh no, please don’t leave,” the instructor said. “I can teach you to read any kind of map you want. I have astrological maps, cooking maps, maps of the heart, body, and soul. Sexual maps, athletic maps, morality maps, antique maps.”

Alan shook his head. “I’m sorry, that’s not at all what I had in mind when I signed up for this class.”

He was about to take a step toward the door when the teacher exclaimed, “Sit down! I was kidding.”

Alan was too stunned to sit back down, so the teacher told the whole class to get up, and announced that they would all be going into the subway and begin the course by learning how to read subway maps.

The teacher locked arms with Alan, to prevent him from slipping away, and led him toward the door. As Alan passed the teacher’s desk, he glanced at the maps scattered on top of it. The titles of the maps were, “Map of the Mind,” “Map of the Heart,” “Athletic Map,” and “Sexual Map.”

Once they were down in the subway station, they stood on the platform facing a large map of New York City. The teacher, whose arm was still locked with Alan’s, said to him loudly, “Why don’t you tell us what train we should take to go to … let’s say Union Square.”

Alan felt mildly insulted at the ease of it. He told them the Number 6, they all took it, and when they came out the exit the teacher asked him which way was north and which way was south. Alan didn’t know, and when he guessed, he got it wrong.

Secretly on the verge of tears, but hiding it well, Alan said, “I’d rather we go back to reading the maps of the heart and of the mind.”

The professor seemed pleased and said, “Fine. What’s the quickest way to make someone love you?”

“Not by stalking them, that’s for sure,” Alan muttered, glaring at Lynn and Roland.

“To treat them well?” a student volunteered.

“What are you talking about? This is a map-reading class, not a psychology class. I need facts, concrete information,” the teacher said.

They were all stumped.

“Through the stomach?” Lynn ventured.

The teacher snorted and took the students back down into the subway. “We will now learn how to ask people for directions. Roland, you begin. Ask the first person who walks by how to get to Times Square.”