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Mrs. Bundy

For the mother of a serial killer, a chance to connect with victims on live TV offers a shot at redemption.

The television camera panned across a field filled with hundreds of people, many waving ugly banners and cheering. Some guzzled beer, other gulped coffee between bites of powdered doughnuts. The unfolding scene exuded a dark, circus-like tone, the disquieting rumble of a happy yet mean crowd. I flinched as a flushed, sweaty man suddenly dominated the screen, shrieking, “Die, Bundy, die!” 

From my perch on a patterned sofa, I was watching fiery rhetoric, while surrounded by preternatural calm. I couldn’t reconcile the bloodlust on the television with my current modest surroundings; oak side tables and fluted lampshades that suggested time had slowed years ago.

“If anyone deserved to die, it’s Ted Bundy!” screamed the television.

A woman’s voice broke in, polite but flat: “Would you care for some coffee or tea?” 

Fellini could not have devised a stranger scene. I responded to the woman standing near me as though we were attending a garden party.

“Yes, please, I’d love some tea.”

“ROSES ARE RED, VIOLETS ARE BLUE / GOOD... Continue Reading

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Today’s Headlines

Sep 03
More Headlines