Smile Dog

I first met in person with Mary E. in the summer of 2007.

I arranged with her husband 15 years, Terrence, to see her for an interview.

Marriott initially agreed, since I was not a newsman, but rather an amateur writer gathering

information for a few early college assignments and, if all went according to plan, some pieces

of fiction.

We scheduled the interview for a particular weekend

when I was in Chicago on related business. But at the last moment, Mary changed her mind and locked

herself in the couple's bedroom, refusing to meet with me. For half an hour, I sat with Terrence

as we camped outside the bedroom door, I listening and taking notes while

he attempted fruitlessly to calm his wife.

The things Mary said made little sense, but fit with the pattern I was expecting.

Though I could not see her, I could tell from her voice to choose crying, and more often than not,

her objections to speaking with me centered

around an incoherent diatribe on her dreams, her nightmares. Terence apologized profusely

when we ceased the exercise, and I did my best to take it in stride. Recalled that I wasn't

a reporter in search of a story, but merely a curious young man in

search of information.

Besides, I thought at the time that I could perhaps find another similar case if I put

my mind and resources to it.

Mary E was a sysop for a small Chicago-based bulletin board system in 1992, when she first encountered

smiled at JPG and her life changed forever.

...