It happened: A guy I knew in high school slit his grandmother's throat
As if it weren't creepy enough that my high school’s IT guy was videotaping girls peeing, one of my classmates, James Clark, just repeatedly stabbed his grandmother with a pocket knife, slit her throat, and then left her to bleed to death in their breakfast nook. I seriously saw James Clark every day for three years, but he was the most normal bland guy of all time. Not even in a creepy way, but in a blah Old Navy vaguely athletic way. Apparently in the years since high school he had become a psychotic, alcoholic, homeless murderer. But let me step back for a moment and see what I can remember of the old James.
I took maths classes with James. Our teacher had the same disease Robin Williams had in Jack, i.e. she looked 120 but was like 35 years old. Anyway, in maths he would always do the Blossom “Whoa!” thing. I never watched Blossom so I really didn’t think much about it, but he did that all the time, which should have been a red flag. Another thing I remember about him was that he had terrible acne but it was concentrated in between his eyes in a patch the size and shape of a guitar pick. But strangely enough, in the photos of his arraignment, his skin was totally clear. It might be too soon to say, but there is strong evidence that grandmothercide is fantastic for one's complexion.
I’m trying to remember more about him, but I really can't, and in essence anything I might remember is useless. As his mother pointed out in a post-murder interview, he was “not the same James”. Exactly, identity is fluid. One minute you get a huge fucking kick out of the Blossom “Whoa!” thing, the next minute all you can hear are voices telling you to kill your grandmother. To quote Heraclitus, "On those stepping into rivers the same, other and other waters flow."
Perhaps to read tragedy in this story would be wrong. His mother also said the grandma had “always said she wanted to die suddenly” and to die at the trembling hands of one’s own family might be the best way to go. When I’m old and grey I can only hope to be laser-stabbed by a grandchild suffering from some futuristic mental illness.
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