Back to The Outsider
Prologue
The written word can be far more powerful than any of us realize.
Whatever a person writes will produce consequences at some point in the
future. Often consequences manifest themselves in very subtle ways:
someone reads that passage and is motivated to act in a way that the
author never could have imagined. One small event leads to another,
lives are changed, relationships are born or die�and thousands of
possibilities are eliminated so that one can become fact and reality.
A single passage from �Red�, a short story penned by British author
William Somerset Maugham, was destined to alter the lives of two
California college students in such a manner. It was because of just a
few words, written nearly a century before; that the lives of Mike
Sinclair and Ruthie Burns would be joined, that two perfect strangers
would come together and the paths of their lives changed forever.
Chapter 1 - Parking Tickets
Mike Sinclair and Ruthie Burns were students taking classes at the
Davenport State University, just north of the town of Santa Cruz in
California. The two students were among 50 others who were enrolled in a
sophomore-level literature review class titled �British Prose
1902-1945�. Almost everyone taking the course had no intention of
studying literature, but the class counted to fill a humanities
requirement and was considered an easy �A�. The professor was old enough
to realize that he had nothing to prove to anyone, and therefore did not
make unrealistic demands of the students. Show up to class, read the
books, be able to talk about them, and you�re guaranteed an �A�. Not a
bad deal for anyone worried about their GPA.
Mike was beginning his sophomore year. He was a native of California,
from a family that had lived in Santa Cruz for decades. Although his
parents had never changed their residence, he had traveled about on
vacation with his relatives while still in high school, so he was
familiar with a lot of different places around the US and the rest of
the world. He was well-read and very knowledgeable, which led him to be
extremely opinionated about everything. It was very difficult to find a
topic that he was neutral about, so he was not the sort of student who
mixed well in casual situations. However, if a person needed a study
partner or someone on their side in a game of trivia pursuit, Mike was
their man.
Mike normally showed up to class wearing t-shirts with political logos;
usually with a message against corporate capitalism. He bore particular
resentment against the US conglomerate Mega-Town Associates. He was
active in the anti-MTA group on campus and continuously passed out
fliers condemning the company to anyone interested in taking one. It was
obvious that in the class he would be one of the students getting an
easy �A� because he clearly did read all of the books and had comments
for each of them. Most of the other students were content to let Mike
pontificate on the assignments, because if he was talking, the others
could kick back and not worry about being called upon. Because of Mike�s
habit of commenting on everything, the professor was hard-pressed to get
his more apathetic classmates to say more than a few words. If a student
who didn�t know the answer hesitated long enough, Mike would come to the
rescue with a comment or hint. That habit was irritating to the
professor whose job it was to sort the students who had done the reading
from those who had not, but he respected Mike�s command of the
literature to not say anything to him about overshadowing his
classmates.
Ruthie was a freshman who had graduated from a high school in Salinas.
She always sat up front near the window. She was extremely quiet and
never talked unless called upon. During class she habitually stared at
the world outside, but it was clear that she was paying attention to the
lecture, because she always did know what to say if she was asked a
question. There was no question she was a very strange girl, because she
fidgeted whenever someone talked to her and never looked a person in the
eye during a conversation. Another strange thing about her was her
clothing, because she wore so little of it. A pair of old tennis shoes,
loose running shorts, and a t-shirt normally were the only things Ruthie
put on in the morning. When she sat down and the thin cloth of her
t-shirt pressed against her body, it was clear that she was not wearing
anything underneath. About once a week she wore even less, a pair of
flip-flops and a flimsy dress that was totally open in the back clear
down to her waist. She wore no jewelry and no make-up. Her black hair
was short, which was good for her because usually it was not combed.
Mike had noticed Ruthie, partly because of her abbreviated clothing and
partly because, in spite of her lack of grooming, she was very
attractive. She had a petite well-proportioned figure with slightly
olive skin, very large dark eyes, and a mouth that was sensuous in a
quiet way. He enjoyed looking at her, especially on the days she wore
her skimpy dress, but at the same time never entertained thoughts about
trying to talk to her. She was too withdrawn, no doubt, to be
interesting to talk to.
----------
The semester progressed as Mike and Ruthie pursued their lives. They
both fretted about their classes and their finances, had unpleasant
moments with their respective roommates, and worked on term papers.
Ruthie, in spite of her shyness, managed to get a job at the in the
Student Center at the coffee shop. Starting the last week of September,
she worked from 5:00 am until 11:00 am, taking responsibility for the
initial cash count, setting up the equipment for the day, receiving food
orders, and opening for business at 7:00. Two co-workers showed up at
7:00, but during the first two hours of each morning Ruthie usually
worked alone, which she preferred. She took advantage of the solitude to
listen to her favorite news show on Public Radio as she set up. When the
newspapers arrived, she took a break to go through them. By the time she
actually started serving coffee, Ruthie had thoroughly informed herself
about what had happened in the world the day before.
Mike frequently bought coffee at the store before going to class, which
meant seeing Ruthie running about in a blue apron worn over her
abbreviated clothing. For some reason he felt that she looked sexy in
that apron, especially on the days she wore her backless dress. With her
bare back it was easy to imagine Ruthie wearing the apron with nothing
underneath.
Whether or not Mike wanted to accept it, he was beginning to feel
somewhat attracted to his classmate. Throughout October he still did not
imagine that he would ever have any type of relationship with her,
because she definitely �was not his type�. However, he had to admit that
he enjoyed looking at her. He started leaving money in the tip jar, but
only did so when Ruthie was working. Mike was not an overly generous
person with his money, but he was willing to part with a dollar each
time he bought coffee in exchange for a slight smile of gratitude from
her.
Nevertheless, throughout October Mike�s mind was not on Ruthie except
when she was nearby. When he saw her in class or in the Student Center,
his thoughts about her were a vague attraction, and that was about it.
At that point in his life he certainly was not losing any sleep over
her. He still took it for granted that her strange, quiet personality
would not suit him and that what he needed to do was find another
political activist like himself. Yes, that was what he needed, someone
who understood the evils being committed by those who love money, a
strong woman whose intellect could match his.
----------
The assigned readings in the literature class for the third week of
October included several stories by William Somerset Maugham, which
included the classic �Red�. Assigned questions requested the students to
comment on Maugham�s attitudes about colonialism, his concept of class,
his descriptions of interracial relationships, and his attitude towards
women. That night Mike and Ruthie took their respective copies of
Maugham�s stories home and read the following:
�And so the little wooden house was built in which he had now lived
for many years, and Sally became his wife. But after the first few weeks
of rapture, during which he was satisfied with what she gave him, he had
known little happiness. She had yielded to him, through weariness, but
she had only yielded what she set no store on. The soul which he had
dimly glimpsed escaped him. He knew that she cared nothing for him. She
still loved Red, and all the time she was waiting for his return. At a
sign from him, Neilson knew that, notwithstanding his love, his
tenderness, his sympathy, his generosity, she would leave him without a
moment's hesitation. She would never give a thought to his distress.
Anguish seized him and he battered at that impenetrable self of hers
which sullenly resisted him. His love became bitter. He tried to melt
her heart with kindness, but it remained as hard as before: he feigned
indifference, but she did not notice it.
Sometimes he lost his temper and abused her, and then she wept silently.
Sometimes he thought she was nothing but a fraud, and that soul simply
an invention of his own, and that he could not get into the sanctuary of
her heart because there was no sanctuary there. His love became a prison
from which he longed to escape, but he had not the strength merely to
open the door - that was all it needed - and walk out into the open air.
It was torture and at last he became numb and hopeless. In the end the
fire burnt itself out and, when he saw her eyes rest for an instant on
the slender bridge, it was no longer rage that filled his heart but
impatience. For many years now they had lived together bound by the ties
of habit and convenience, and it was with a smile that he looked back on
his old passion.�
Mike had plenty to say about the passage. He was still bitter over the
break-up with his girlfriend the previous Christmas, and he projected
his bitterness onto the character Sally. He berated the fictional woman
for being so selfish and for not taking advantage of the fact that
someone decent loved her, that she was interested only in the guy who
was better-looking but totally irresponsible. To that the professor
responded:
�Yes, Mike, I do see your point. But this story has two sides�maybe
three if you want to throw in Red. Sally, too, has a perspective,
although I don�t think Maugham developed it very well. Anyone want to
comment?�
To the surprise of everyone in the class, Ruthie�s hand shot up.
�Yeah, when I read this it pissed me off what that creep Neilson did to
her. He wanted her to be his fucking toy. That�s what he wanted. He
didn�t love her, because if he did, he would�ve left her alone�and he
didn�t even have the guts to go after her himself.�
Mike moved to the edge of his seat and his hand went up, but the
professor ignored him.
�Interesting, Ruthie. Care to elaborate on that last statement?�
�I mean�he forced her to marry him. And he did it by getting her family
to nag at her until she couldn�t take it any more. He forced her to do
something she didn�t want to do, and then he had the nerve to get pissed
off when she wasn�t happy. I mean�I wouldn�t be happy either if I had to
be owned by some sicko, and that fucking sicko wouldn�t let me have what
I really wanted.�
Mike tightened his lips and kept his hand up until finally the professor
recognized him.
�That�s why women are always unhappy! Because they�re all chasing after
crap they can�t have instead of being happy with what they do have! She
had a hell of a better deal than most women in that place!�
�So? She didn�t want him and he forced her! He never even gave her a
chance to talk! I think that totally sucked and he should have spent the
rest of his life trying to make it up to her! The rest of his fucking
life!�
It was clear that both Mike and Ruthie were dealing with much more than
a simple disagreement over an old story. It was obvious that he was
projecting his own anger (which was nothing new), but now it was obvious
that Ruthie was projecting hers as well. Neilson and Sally were
surrogates for their own issues and their own disappointments in life.
For several minutes Mike and Ruthie went back and forth as the rest of
the class sat watching them in silence. Mike was his usual argumentative
self, but Ruthie�s passionate participation seemed totally out of
character for her. As she argued she became angrier and started
searching for a way to cut at Mike and get him to shut up. Finally she
said something that many other students in the class had felt like
saying all semester.
�You know what, Mike? There�s another story in the book called �Mr.
Know-All�. You ought to read it.�
About half of the students knew what Ruthie was talking about, and of
those, the majority laughed. There were a few claps and a whistle. Mike
sullenly quit talking, because he knew that any response he could think
of at the moment would only make the situation worse. Ruthie quit
talking as well, seemingly embarrassed by her outburst and show of
combativeness. Neither spoke throughout the rest of the class.
That night he read �Mr. Know-All�, even though it was not part of the
course readings. He cringed as he finished the story, because he
realized that Ruthie had been right about him. What was worse was that
undoubtedly the story was dead-on about how the other students in the
class must have viewed him. His opinion of her changed, because she was
a much more perceptive person than her normally shy behavior would have
one believe.
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The next morning Mike passed by the Student Center to get his usual cup
of coffee. He was an early riser, so he was one of Ruthie�s first
customers of the day. On that particular morning she had worn her
backless dress. She briefly flashed her large eyes in his direction and
began preparing his usual drink, a simple 20-ounce cup of coffee. When
she turned around and bent over slightly, her apron bulged forward and
he could see the side of one of breasts under her loose clothing.
She blushed as she passed him the cup and took his money.
�I read �Mr. Know-All�.�
�And�?�
Mike shrugged slightly. �I guess there�s something to what you said.�
Ruthie handed him the change. �More than something...�
�You really think I�m that bad?�
Without looking up, Ruthie opened a carton of half-and-half and poured
it into a metal pitcher.
�You�re not that bad, but sometimes you need to know when to shut-up.
You know�I hear people in class talking about you, making jokes�because
you�re always talking.�
Mike blushed at both her comment and the embarrassing memory of having
20 of his classmates laughing at him. �Well, you didn�t exactly help me
yesterday.�
�Why should I? I thought you were wrong and I told you. Why shouldn�t I
say what I think, just like you?�
�You really felt that strongly about it?�
�Yeah. I did. I wouldn�t have said anything if I didn�t.� She handed him
the pitcher of half-and-half. �Could you do me a favor and set this out
on the counter?�
Mike reached around the corner of the stand where there was a shelf full
of condiments and napkins. He set down the pitcher. She turned around to
dump a filter from the espresso machine and replaced its contents with
new coffee grounds. Mike admired the girl�s bare back as she worked and
suddenly was hit with an overwhelming urge to run his hands over her
smooth skin. Against his wishes, he realized that his feelings about her
had dramatically intensified.
He decided to change the subject and see if he could get to know her
better. He felt that the fact that she had asked him to do her a favor
was an opening, however slight; a hint that she might be willing to talk
a bit more about herself and move beyond the unpleasant encounter from
the day before.
�So�how do you like it here? Working in the Student Center?�
�It�s OK. Better here than the cafeteria or the pizza place.�
�You don�t mind opening?�
�No. I don�t mind. I like it. I�m used to getting up early from when I
was in high school. I get here, and things are quiet. It�s nice,
actually�the first part of my day I get to relax and get paid for it.�
Mike hesitated, trying to think of what else to say or ask. A group of
sorority girls showed up, chatting loudly and ordering expensive
complicated mocha drinks. A co-worker of Ruthie�s came rushing in and
threw on his apron. She gave him an unpleasant look, presumably because
he had come to work late. The moment to converse had passed. Mike put
his usual dollar in the tip jar and left for class.
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After leaving the Student Center, Ruthie rushed back to her dorm to have
lunch. She got off work at 11:00 and had her first class of the day at
noon. It was imperative that she get something in her stomach after work
because her schedule did not allow her to eat breakfast. Going to class
with nothing but pastries and coffee in her stomach didn�t cut it. She
rushed into the cafeteria, grabbed several pieces of fruit, a glass of
orange juice, and some rice, and filled a salad bowl with vegetables.
She snuck the fruit into her backpack and ate the rice and salad. She
washed everything down with the juice. As always, she ate alone and was
out of the dining hall within 10 minutes of sitting down. A quick trip
to the bathroom on her floor to piss and brush her teeth, and she was on
her way back to central campus. She made it to class just as her
professor was about to start lecturing.
At 1:30 Ruthie got out of class and for the first time all day had some
time to relax. She had a favorite spot on campus: a tree-covered area
that separated the Economics Building from a large parking lot full of
parking meters. In theory the lot was for campus visitors, but students
filled it up early in the morning and stayed parked at the meters all
day. There was a rush in the area in the early morning and late
afternoon, but in the middle of the day it was totally quiet and very
rarely was anyone around.
During her first week at the university, Ruthie had realized that if she
went into the shade under the trees, it was very hard to see her from
either the parking lot or the sidewalk leading to the Economics
Building. As for the building itself, the foliage completely concealed
the ground from the windows. If anyone came from either the parking lot
or the building, a person sitting under the trees could see the passerby
long before the passerby noticed anyone was sitting under the trees.
That detail was important for the way she planned to spend her
afternoon.
After making sure no one was in sight, Ruthie laid a towel on the ground
and took off her dress. As was normal for her, she wore nothing
underneath the flimsy garment. She totally hated having to wear
clothing, and had it not been illegal, she would have spent her life in
the nude. The light dress was the next best thing, because it covered
her enough to keep her within the confines of the law but did not feel
suffocating on her skin.
She lay on the towel under the shade and pulled out two textbooks and a
notebook. She had about two hours to prepare for her next class, so
she�d be relaxing and studying under the pleasant shelter under the
leaves with the breeze caressing her bare skin. She pulled out a pear
from her backpack and munched on it while she took notes.
After she had been studying for an hour, she heard the whirr of a
bicycle coming down the sidewalk. She looked up, but did not bother to
get dressed. Bicyclists always went by so fast that they had no time to
look towards the trees. Still, just to be sure, she always kept her eye
on any bicyclists until they were out of sight.
This time the bicyclist was someone she knew; her classmate Mike
Sinclair. He was wearing the uniform of the Campus Parking Department
and was loaded down with ticketing paraphernalia. She watched as he
dismounted from his bicycle, pulled out his ticketing machine, and
approached the first car out of several hundred that were parked at
meters that had not been paid. He typed the car�s information into his
machine, pulled out what looked like a small receipt, stuffed it into a
red envelope, and placed the envelope under the windshield wiper of the
car. Within 30 seconds he was done and had moved onto his next victim.
Ruthie watched Mike with concern. The students had been taking advantage
of the lot to park at the meters all day without paying, which meant
that no one could get a spot after classes started and the area was
deserted after 9:00 am. If the freeloaders were chased out and the
meters used by people who actually paid them, there would be a lot more
movement in and out of the lot and she would lose her private spot to
lie out naked. What could she say to Mike: don�t do your job so I can
lie here in the nude? That probably wouldn�t work.
Mike went up one row of cars and worked his way down the next, ticketing
each and every one. A frat guy yelled at him:
�Hey, parking Nazi! How�s it feel to be paid to be an asshole?�
�Feels great! How�s it feel to be born an asshole?�
Ruthie smiled at Mike�s comeback. She continued to watch as he came
closer and closer to where she was sitting. She decided to put on her
dress when she heard the faint rattle of the ticketing machine�s
printer. It was close to the time she had to leave anyway. She packed up
her books and walked out to where her classmate was working.
�Still working on trying to be popular? I don�t think this is the best
way to do it.�
Mike understood that Ruthie was trying to make a joke. He was not a
humorous person, but tried to play along with her:
�Well, if I can�t be famous, at least I can be infamous.�
Ruthie smiled slightly. She asked Mike how the ticketing machine worked,
since she had never seen one up close before. The device looked like a
very large calculator with a roll of receipt paper on the end. Mike
allowed Ruthie to look over his shoulder as he used his finger on a
touchpad to type in information on the car he was ticketing: license
plate, description of the vehicle, violation, and if it was present, the
student parking permit number.
�Here, you can push �print� if you want.�
Ruthie pushed the �print� prompt and the ticket was printed out. Mike
tore it off and stuck it into a red envelope. He looked the fanny-pack
that contained his ticketing supplies and quietly said: �shit�.
�What�s wrong?�
�I�m running out of envelopes. I�ve hit pay-dirt in this lot and now I
have to go back for more envelopes. I didn�t realize I�d need so many.�
�Pay-dirt?�
�Stats. Management pays attention to how many tickets we write each
month, and it looks like it hasn�t occurred to anyone to come over here
to this lot. It�s just meter tickets, but they�ll add up.�
�So�you�re gonna be ticketing here? Permanently? Not just today?�
�You bet. This�ll be my new home. All these violators�I didn�t realize
these meters weren�t getting paid. This�ll be great for my stats.�
Mike noticed the disappointed look on Ruthie�s face. �Are�you�OK?�
�Yeah�I�m fine.�
Mike was puzzled by his companion�s expression, because she didn�t look
fine. She looked very depressed.
�Ruthie, I mean�if you�ve got your car here, just tell me what it looks
like and I won�t ticket it.�
�I don�t have a car.�
�Then, what�s wrong?�
�It�s nothing�really��
�You got friends parking here?�
�I don�t have any friends�uh�I mean�I don�t have any friends who are
parking here�.that�s what I mean.�
Ruthie blushed; not just because of the slip, but also because her
correction was not convincing and she knew it.
�Look, I gotta go to class. I�m running late.� She turned to walk off.
�Ruthie!�
She stopped and looked back over her shoulder at Mike. �What?�
�Are you working tomorrow?�
�Yeah.�
�I�ll see you then. Jo as always.�
�OK.�
Mike watched her as she walked towards the Econ Building. The late
afternoon sunlight shined through her dress and made the cloth almost
transparent. His heart stopped as he studied her attractive figure and
realized that she was not wearing any panties. He wondered if she was
aware of the extent to which her body was visible under that thin cloth.
----------
As soon as Ruthie disappeared around the Econ Building, Mike mounted his
bicycle and sped off to the Parking Enforcement Office. He put a fresh
battery into his ticketing machine and grabbed several fist-fulls of the
infamous red envelopes.
He returned to the lot to continue ticketing at the spot where he had
left off. There were hundreds of cars, stretching out in every
direction. Mike knew that he would only get to a fraction of the
violators that afternoon, but the following day he would be on the lot
right at noon and work it non-stop until his shift ended. He was very
efficient with the machine, being able to write about 80 tickets per
hour if the violators were parked in a small area. If he stayed out all
afternoon the next day and the machine held up, he calculated that he
would be able to write around 400 tickets. That would be a new record
for the department and one that would be very hard to beat. He would
come back day after day until the students got the message that a meter
was not a �free parking� sign. October was going to end very well for
him.
By 4:30 students began returning from their classes to leave for the
day. As soon as the violators saw the dreaded red envelopes on the
windshields closest to the sidewalk, some of them started running to
their cars. Around the lot there was swearing and insults directed at
the parking officer, but he was used to that. Working for the Parking
Department had its advantages, but popularity was not one of them.
The truth was that Mike was totally unconcerned what the students he was
ticketing thought of him. He hated the people he ticketed every bit as
much as they hated him. For the most part they were irresponsible rich
types: spoiled pot-heads, fraternity guys and sorority girls, and
student athletes. They were a varied crowd, but they all had several
things in common: wealth, privilege, attitude, and a feeling of
entitlement. They drove expensive cars that had been given to them by
parents or sponsors: BMW�s, Jeeps, even a few Escalades. Mike delighted
in taking a dig at the elite crowd and their fancy cars whenever he
could. His uniform and his ticketing machine gave him the power to
harass people who otherwise would be untouchable. Yes, the elite crowd
hated Parking Officer # 036, just as much as he hated them. Mike wanted
them to hate him: he wanted to make their lives miserable and make
himself worthy of their hatred.
As 5:00 approached, he picked up the pace, trying to squeeze as many
tickets in as possible before the lot opened. The last ticket he wrote
was at 16:59, on a bright red BMW with sorority stickers. Yes, maybe it
sucked having a ticket on one�s windshield that was written one minute
before the lot opened, but even with only a minute to spare, the
sorority bitch could not argue that it was not a valid ticket.
----------
A few minutes later Mike returned his ticketing machine to the
dispatcher. He announced that the next day he would need an extra
battery and 400 envelopes. The older woman looked up.
�Four hundred? What are you gonna do with 400 envelopes?�
Mike smiled: �Stuff tickets in them.� He handed over his radio and
added: �can you keep a secret?�
�Hun, d�you know how many secrets I�ve heard? C�mon, you know I keep
secrets.�
�No one�s been paying the meters over at Econ-A. It�s all cars with
student permits and none of them are paying. Tomorrow they�re gonna be
mine. There�s 400 spaces out there and I�m getting them all.�
The dispatcher smiled sarcastically: �You know you�re a real jerk, Mike,
but we still love you.�
Mike forced a smile, not sure how to take the dispatcher�s final
comment.
