(9-1-16) By Susan Resnick Guest Post
The call came thirty-three years after I’d stopped hoping for it.
“Hey, it’s Nick,” he said. “Can you file a Freedom of Information request for my FBI files?”
No last name, no context. He acted as though we’d had frequent phone conversations instead of two fleeting ones in the past three decades. Coming from a different old friend, this request may not have seemed strange. I’m a journalist, so presumably I have experience getting classified information. Someone legitimately concerned that the FBI was tracking him might be wise to ask a third party to gather the documents.
Neither of these was the case.
Instead, Nick had misplaced the mind he’d already lost and found at least twice before. He has a serious mental illness, though don’t know exactly which one – schizoaffective? Bipolar II? – because I don’t really know him. He was a kid I made out with a few times, a guy who bought me coffee in an airport once when I traveled through his city. He also may have changed the course of my life.
