Permanent Record

6.16.2013–6.18.2013

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Haven’t written for days. I’m so angry that I have to take a deep breath
and figure out who and what exactly I’m angry at, because it all just
blurs together. Fucking Feds! Exhausting interrogations where they treat
me like I’m guilty and follow me everywhere, but what’s worse is that
they’ve broken my routine. Usually I’d tear off into the woods and shoot
or write, but now I have a surveillance team audience wherever I go. It’s
like by taking away my energy and time and desire to write, they took
away the last little bit of privacy I had. I need to remember everything
that’s happened. First they had me bring in my laptop and copied the
hard drive. They probably put a bunch of bugs on it, too. Then they had
copies of all my emails and chats printed out, and they were reading me
things I wrote to Ed and things Ed wrote to me and demanding I explain
them. The FBI thinks that everything’s a code. And sure, in a vacuum
anyone’s messages look strange. But this is just how people who’ve
been together for eight years communicate! They act like they’ve never
been in a relationship! They were asking questions to try to emotionally
exhaust me so that when we returned to “the timeline,” my answers
would change. They won’t accept I know nothing. But still, we keep
returning to “the timeline,” now with transcripts of all my emails and
chats and my online calendar printed out in front of us.
I would expect that gov guys would understand that Ed was always
secretive about his work and I had to accept this secrecy to be with him,
but they don’t. They refuse to. After a while, I just broke down in tears,
so the session ended early. Agent Mike and Agent Leland offered to give
me a ride back to Eileen’s, and before I left, Jerry took me aside and said
that the FBI seemed sympathetic. “They seem to have taken a liking to
you, especially Mike.” He told me to be careful, though, about being too
casual on the ride home. “Don’t answer any of their questions.” The
moment we drove away Mike chimed in with, “I’m sure Jerry said not to
answer any questions, but I only have a couple.” Once Mike got talking,
he told me that the FBI office in San Diego had a bet. Apparently, the
agents had a pool going to bet how long it would be before the media
figured out my location. The winner would get a free martini. Later,
Sandra said she had her doubts. “Knowing men,” she said, “the bet’s
about something else.”

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