Being Followed

It was dusk outside. I was riding the bus home after a final. The sun had started its decent behind the western Tucson Mountains when I first stepped on the bus, and now, twenty minutes later it was almost completely out of view. I was anxious to get home before the darkness had totally set in. I was alone and I had to walk to get to my house. There were no street lights on my street and although it was a relatively safe neighbourhood, I didn't want to be walking in the dark by myself. Besides, a strange man had gotten on the bus several stops back and he hadn't quit staring at me since he got on. He was the typical unshaven, scruffy mess most of the Tucson street people are. His eyes looked bloodshot and he seemed to have hard time focusing on what he was looking at. He didn't smile or try to engage me in conversation, just stared. He had what I call a hard stare - he didn't flinch and nothing you did seemed to phase him - he just continued staring at you. I told myself I was being a tad ridiculous. The guy was probably drunk and not interested in hurting me at all. I mentally lectured myself about not letting my imagination runaway with me and not being paranoid. Still, as the other passengers on the bus got of at their perspective spots I couldn't stop the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach from rising. I turned myself so that I was facing forward but could still keep an eye on the man through his reflection in the window. Finally my stop was in sight. I leaned forward as though to push the stop button, but someone beat me to it. I turned around, there was only one other person on the bus, the staring man. I realized the bus was stopping and then noticed that this stop was the one before mine. I breathed a sigh of relief and waited for the man to exit. He got up but then promptly sat down when he noticed I wasn't moving. He was still staring at me, even looking me squarely in the face. He was not in the least worried that I would notice he was staring at me. My stop was now in view, I had to get off. I pushed the button and stood up to go towards the door. The man stood up as well and started towards the exit. I looked at the bus driver, giving him a half-pleading glance in the hopes he would come up with some way to help me. He was oblivious. I stepped down the stairs and started down the street. By this time it was dark outside and pretty black at that. I walked as quickly as I could. I would stop every few feet to and turn around to let the man know I was aware of his presence. He was quickening his speed; my heart was pounding, fear was starting to grip me. I was only half-way home at this point. A thousand scenarios were rushing through my mind and I was attempting to push them all aside and keep panic from taking me over. I could here the footsteps shuffling behind me. They were getting closer. Every time I looked over my shoulder I could see him behind me and I could see his face with its dead stare on it, his eyes locked on me. I made a split-second decision: I tightened my backpack and took off running. I didn't look back, I didn't stop. I ignored the burning in my lungs and the spasming in my legs; I just kept going. Down the street, down the back alley to my house, through my backyard and onto my back porch. My brother was standing on the porch talking to a friend. My grand, frantic entrance caused him to arch his eyebrow and look at me with a giant question mark on his face. I was breathing so hard all I could get out was, ". . .man. . .behind me. . .followed me. . .had to get home." Apparently I wasn't interesting enough to keep him from his conversation. He turned around and continued talking to his friend. I retreated into the house, still breathing heavily, but oh so grateful to be home - safe.

Family Members

If you come from a large family you may be able to relate to this post. I was at a family gathering recently and found myself surrounded by people I didn't know, and yet they were my family. Feeling a sense of obligation to get to know them I embarked on a journey to meet and make a note of every single person I could. It went something like this:
This is your Great Aunt Nelma and her husband, this is is Judie and her husband, and this is Jeanette. This is Jeanette's daughter and her children and her son and his wife and their children. Those are your great uncles Tom, Richard and Melvin. That's Tom's wife June and their daughter Amanda. This is your cousin Ricky. This is your Aunt Dorothy and her sister (I can't remember her name!!!!). This is your cousin Jennifer and her three children Nathan, Levi, and Gillian. There's cousin Jessica and her husband Daniel and their child Colton. There's Uncle Rob and his wife and their two kids and their daughter's fiance. There's your Uncle Gary and his wife and her children, and oh, there is his first wife Irene. This is Aunt Virginia and Aunt Wilma and their children and grandchildren. There's Aunt Marie and her daughter and son. These are your second cousins and those are your third cousins. These are your cousins four times removed and that over there is their mother.
After a day of this I was feeling rather overwhelmed and wondered how in world I was ever to remember all these people, much less their names. I asked one of my uncles for a count of all the relatives living in that area. He smiled and said, "Oh, about three or four hundred in this town." What?!!!!!! Just then one of my aunts leaned over and said with a little giggle, "Don't worry, honey. I've been in this family 40 years and I still don't know who everyone is!" Well that's comforting!

Writing On the Bus

I'm sitting on the bus, on my way to class. My notebook is open and my pen is lazily scrawling across the page. It's a journal entry. Not the "Dear Diary" kind; one for class. It's supposed to be about my views of death. You know - what I think about it, how do I see death, what are my experiences - those kinds of things. I've actually had quite a few experiences with death, but I'm not really interested in writing this entry. I have a few sentences written but I am horribly bored with this assignment. The bus comes to a stop and I look up to see who is getting on. Perhaps one of the passengers will be a great diversion. Ah, here is the perfect person. A man stumbles onto the bus with four jumbo-size garbage bags. They are full of clothing and various objects. I start to giggle as I watch him trying to maneuver the bags so he can actually get on the bus. He finally squeezes past the door and flings himself and his bags onto the nearest seat. He is actually taking up three seats with his stuff. He's piddling around trying to find bus fare and then attempting to keep his bags from falling off the seat. All the while he is talking with the bus driver about how hard it is to get around the city and he wished there were easy methods of transportation. The bus driver is smiling and responding as best he can to the man's ramblings. He finally asks the man if perhaps it wouldn't be easier to get around if he didn't carry so much stuff with him. The man stops digging in his pockets for a minute to look at the driver - "So much stuff? This is just a few things I carry with me so they won't get stolen. The rest is back at home." The driver, looking a bit surprised but trying to be understanding asks the man where home is. The man replies that is back at the stop where the bus picked him up. He then goes on to describe his home at the bus stop ending with a description of the bench there that he as found to be the most comfortable one in town. Having finally found his money, he gets up to pay the fare and just as he does so the driver slams on his breaks to avoid missing the next stop. the man flies forward, his bags fall off the seat and spill open on the floor. Cursing and yelling the man picks himself up, pays the driver and returns to his seat to collect his things. By this point I am trying desperately to keep from bursting out laughing. This man is hilarious to watch. Then an idea hits me. I return my attention to my journal entry and begin to write about the happenings on the bus. Before I know it I have a whole page and a half about the man on the bus and his interactions with the bus driver. When I'm done I add a small note letting my teacher know I am sorry the entry does not fulfill the assignment but I was unavoidably distracted. A week later I get the assignment back with a note from the teachers: your distraction was most amusing to read!