A Tourist in Mayberry

Part 7/1) Hero or Villain: The Collector

The Collector Speaks (as told to Geoffrey Guthrie):

I was obsessed. I wanted something someone would miss and long for, pine for, be mad with grief over the loss of, be unable to be consoled. This missing thing needed to be alive and loved. This missing thing needed to be unable to survive without help. What was more helpless, more needy, more beloved than a baby? I knew where to get one. Right next door.

I was only ten years old when I took my first baby. I was young and, though I already knew the repercussions and dangers of harming things close to home, I was more prone to recklessness and impulsivity in those early days of collecting. I made some mistakes.

The baby boy belonged to a young couple who lived a stone's throw from my front door. The couple was ambitious for a better life, and they both worked. They left the baby with a sitter who lived across town. Though young and inexperienced, I was not stupid. I did have the sense to steal the baby from the sitter and not from right next door.

The sitter was a single mom who kept the extra baby so she could stay at home with her own baby boy. She also kept a couple of children in the summertime, but this was fall and school started back, and she only had the soon-to-be my baby and hers at the time.

I scouted the abduction site for several weeks before I took the baby. I feigned an on again, off again flu so I could spy without interruption or impunity. I knew the sitter's routine. I knew when the baby was fed and when the baby took a nap. After a few days, I formulated a plan. I was patience. I noticed the daily routine, I knew the babies went down for a nap after lunch and slept for two hours. I knew the mailman came promptly 30 minutes after the babies were asleep.

The sitter had little to entertain herself and a small amount of time to be alone each day, so naptime/mail time was her favorite part of the day. She had little family so there was seldom personal mail, but she was an avid catalog fan and received these sometimes two and three at a time. She rarely ordered anything, but this was her daily escape each day. She kept a notebook of inspiration, and she clipped and glued in ideas for her future artworks, future travels, and her future education - anything inspiring to her or moving her to be a better person and more than just a mommy or a sitter. This was her idea and inspiration book, and she worked on it everyday at naptime. She was meticulous about color and neatness and theme. She included some clippings from the newspaper that spoke to her. The idea book was a work of art. It took a lot of time for her to assemble, and I knew this because I watched her for weeks. One day when she was finished with it for the day, I took the book and perused and acknowledged the artistry and dedication, and snuck it back in when she went to bed.

I was a master at breaking and entering even at ten.

I watched and I waited. Naptime seemed like the best opportunity, but the sitter was too attentive. One day, one of the babies was sick and fretful and started to cry during naptime, and the sitter set her idea book aside and was right there. She did not take her eyes or ears off the babies.

Even at ten, I knew we all make our own fate, so I made mine. On this day, a package was delivered by the mailman. The sitter tried to explain that she did not order the package, and she could not and would not pay for it. The mailman insisted it was her package. Right there on the package was her name and address. She did not need to pay for the package, it was already paid for, no charge to her. It was free. The sitter was skeptical, nothing was ever free, unless it was "to a good home" free. The mailman hinted the package might be from an admirer. The sitter was intrigued by a package delivered to a house that never received packages. What could it be? She finally agreed to accept it and signed for it. Later, when the police asked for a description of the sender, the sitter said it was from a secret admirer, and it was a secret to her that she had an admirer.