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.