I believe I have already published this story, however it is not ticked off my list of stories I am taking out of someone else’s hands. So, I apologize if I am repeating myself.
David Wolfe:
Forever Moments: FBI Profiler
By: Cherith J Gjestland
Walking in the door, our eyes met. I took my seat in my usual place noticing his eyes went from mine to my feet which made me look at my own shoes. Was there something wrong with them? Did my feet look funny in my thong sandals? Did he know I had changed shoes before I got there? Had it not been for the test that was to take place on that day I am sure with the rest of the class, I would not have shown up for the guest speaker.
He started with a case he had worked previously. Explaining the case was about a murder. How they went about finding the murderer, the murder weapon, and the intent behind the murder. I knew there was to be a guest speaker that day, but that was all. When he introduced himself, I didn’t quite make the connection between psychology class and the FBI.
Now days there are so many television shows, CSI franchises, NCIS franchises, police shows that share the in’s and out’s of police and detective work audiences are blasé and disconnected from the real crime. However, when he showed up at my college classroom none of those shows existed yet. I had never seen nor had any knowledge of the process in which a person pursues a case. I say this for a very distinct reason. There is a world of difference between real and make-believe. You would think this would be understood. Yet, I believe most people are unaware on an unconscious level while watching television as entertainment the real place from which it stems.
Perhaps because it was before the times of the CSI’s, NCIS’, and Hawaii 5-0’s that seem almost too common place anymore, but nothing prepared me for what I was about to see nor its effect it had on me. Your own personal history is something that never leaves you, it shapes your perception, and how you and the world interact.
As he spoke pictures from the case appeared on the overhead projector. A dead woman lying naked face down in the street in front of a storm drain. He kept talking and talking and the picture stayed up there. He talked some more, and the picture remained the same. Do I look at him? Do I look at the picture? Do I look away? Do I doodle and pretend I am not listening? Do I look at what he is referring to and pretend not to be effected? Do I look at the ceiling? Do I play with my backpack? Do I rearrange my notebook, pencil, pen, and book again? Do I look out the window? I couldn’t the blinds were closed. Do I keep looking at the person lying dead?
Then, came the photographs of the pig carcass that they used to replicate and determine the murder weapon. Until then I would not have known the process of such an event. Determining that a hammer was used to kill the victim. A hammer?! Who? What? How could anyone? I would never have thought something like that was possible.
He went into detail about color, color choice, and its use in the field. How he believed based on the evidence the perpetrator was a man closest to the victim, drove a red truck, was in the construction business, and was a domestic violence abuser.
Then, he stopped.
He went to his briefcase explaining he hadn’t eaten lunch yet took out a plain Hershey’s milk chocolate bar and began to eat it. I sat there unable to understand what the fuck he was doing in that exact moment. Who has a chocolate bar for lunch? How could he possibly eat?
I wanted to run outside. I wanted to breathe fresh air. I wanted to leave all my things and wait in the courtyard until class was over. It seemed to be the longest class yet, and there was still a test to take afterward.
Somewhere, I don’t remember where exactly I shut-down and stopped listening. I heard the words, I saw the people, I was aware of what was going on, but my mind stopped. I was in shock.
He finally finished speaking and left the classroom.
My teacher stood in front of the class. I tried to bring my mind back to the test subject matter for which I had studied when she spoke, I have decided not to give the test today. Relief washed over me. I was unprepared for the subject matter our speaker was going to share today because of its nature I believe it’s best to have the test on our next class day, she explained.
Maybe she was worried if students did poorly on the test they would go to the Dean and complain about the speaker. Or, maybe she herself was not prepared to view a real murder crime scene instead of the prettily placed fake blood we are accustomed to from television and movies. For there is no way to truly replicate real, or the effect something real creates.
I wish I could erase those crime scene photos from my brain. It horrified me even though I did not know the person. When he spoke, there were moments of little pin pricks that touched my skin, my ears, all over me. It was what he created in the room – at least for me if no one else.
There must be a fine line to walk between objectivity and callousness. For it will be hard to forget class that day.
WE - DO NOT AGREE! 