Here in America we have a registry for sex offenders, and so when they move places they have to let the county in which they live know where they eat, sleep, work and poop for the rest of their lives. And let me tell you, they are freakin' everywhere. But, I didn't really know that until the day I was getting ready to close the deal on this house, and a friend wrote me an email that said, "Uh, you may wanna have a look at this ..." And yes, he sent me a link to the local registry, and there was my maybe new neighbor, the local sex offender, whose property backed up to my possible new back yard.

The same back yard that was the main reason I wanted the house.

I called my dad, who was my realtor, and he said to me that I could break the deal if I wanted, and that I could pull the contract and look somewhere else for another house. But, that wasn't what I wanted at all. I wanted my house and when I find something that I have to have, then I have to have it, and that's all there is to it. And when I love something it is forever, and I loved this house and wanted it more than anything.

I remember over the weeks before the deal was set and the agreement arranged, the old lady who owned it was dickering with me over $500 freakin' dollars. Back and forth she'd send the contract to me, 3 or 4 times, over this measly amount of money, and I was exasperated telling my dad to tell her to stop breakin' my balls over these pennies, and just let me have my goddamned house. I was so on edge.. I felt like she had my dream in her hands to either crush or to hand over.

But then, the backyard neighbor came into the picture and I had to consider walking away from it. My heart was breaking. So, I said to my dad to hang loose, and not to cancel the closing, that I was going to make some calls. So, I called the local registry, and the woman there said she would send someone out to investigate this particular convicted sex offender who lived in my potential back yard, and they would see what was going on with the living arrangement. But that really wasn't what I wanted.

I wanted to know what he did.

So, what I did is I found out where he had served time and I called there. I learned that he had been convicted of rape in 1976 in North Carolina, he served 25 years in prison, he got out and came back here to his hometown to stay with his mother. They said he had maintained registry and never veered from informing the county where he was or what he was doing. But I was still like, shit, this is not good. You know the stories about convicted rapists who live with their mothers after they've been sprung. Usually no happy endings...

I debated it for hours and then thought, "Fuck it. No, this is my house and I am going to closing." So I did. I signed all the papers and the old lady handed me the key, and I started moving my stuff.

I watched the house where the guy lived for a little while and I was concerned, but one day I was out burning brush and he came outside with his dogs, little West Highland Terriers, which I adore that breed of dog. They jumped up all friendly on the fence that divided our yards to see me, and I went over to pet them. He said to me, "Hey, we'll get this side of the fence cleaned up soon, too."

I was like, "Whatever. It doesn't matter, I just want the weeds down so the poison ivy doesn't get out of hand."

He saw I was using these for crap rusty trimmers and offered to let me use his tree loppers which were a godsend (I mentioned this in another blog once). Anyhow, he smelled like beer and cigarettes and was a little drunk, but not terribly. We started talking about the houses and neighborhood, and comparing names of local people we both knew and know. I learned he went to school with my older sisters. He told me that he'd been living with his mom for the past couple of years... but, before that he'd been living in North Carolina for a long time.

I was like, "Yeah, I know." He knew I knew. So he told me everything.

It would have been interesting if it hadn't've been such a sad story. He came from sort of a privileged background, and he called himself the black sheep of the family. All his siblings went on to college while he went into the marines after high school where served a few years. One weekend when he was on leave and drunk at a bar, he met a woman and took her into the restroom.... and he said to me, "And I did it. I did what they said I did."

He almost started to cry then, but it felt like it was about the years lost to him more than anything, it seemed that way. Sort of a cry of self pity, but the shame was obvious too. I asked him where she was now, and he said he didn't know. But he said that he also didn't remember doing it either, because he'd been too drunk. So, basically he served half of his life in prison with only a hazy memory of the act that put him there ~ performing probably the worst kind of violation on another person.

I wondered if he imagined when he left here after high school that he wouldn't come home again for 25 years. When I saw his photo in the hundreds of photos of the others convicted who have registered and who now live in my town, I never imagined that I would see one of them to actually speak with them about their unspeakable crime. It was such a strange thing to be talking with my sex offender neighbor on a sunny day in late summer in the backyard of my new house, while I trimmed branches with his borrowed loppers and he told me his story while petting his dog. And the old brush that used to hang from the broken down fence between our yards burned in the fire, and the breeze blew a smoke that swirled around us.