Taking the Long Way Home
I was 13. The bus would take me home from school in 15 minutes, but I liked taking the one-hour walk home. While walking on a main road, a van pulled over some 100 feet away from me.
It wasn’t a family van, it was one of those utility, boxy-looking ones. The van door was open and a man was waving at me with both of his arms.
I was too far away to hear what he was saying. Usually, I love to help people, but something told me to keep walking. So I kept walking. I look back five minutes later and this guy is walking behind me.
Relaxed pace. I’m not worried, but I walk a little faster. I look back maybe two or three minutes later and he’s still walking, but closer, and waving his arms again.
So I start jogging a little. Now he’s jogging. Then I start running as fast as a I can, not stopping to look back. At one point, I turned onto the next street and couldn’t see him anymore.
I was so cold with fear, out of breath, waiting for the intersection light to change. The light changed and I went back to walking, but I was out of breath.
Five minutes later, I look back and I can’t believe my eyes. He’s still following me. So I ran the last two minutes to my building, even though I didn’t want him to see where I lived.
I ran into the building lobby, looked through the glass doors. He wasn’t there. I pushed the elevator button, and went back to the glass door and saw him on the street far away, still walking.
I’ve always tried to make sense of what he was going to do. This was a busy suburban area. Was he going to just stab me and run away? What did he want with me in particular? Did he just leave his van behind to get towed?
So many questions. So, so weird.