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.

Urban Bus Adventure: Vladimir

It was dusk one October evening and I was standing at a bus stop in a park waiting for my bus. I was about five minutes early and kept looking at my watch to see how much time I had left to wait for the bus to arrive. In between glances at the clock I was noticing the people around me. 5:40 -- a student with his pack pack standing about five feet behind me. 5:42 -- three transients (street people) gathered around a park table. 5:44 -- a woman jogging in the park. 5: 46 -- "Excuse me, excuse me. Please to tell me the time." I looked up. An elderly man was standing in front of me. He was wearing slacks and a polo shirt with a straw hat. His broken English and thick accent told me he wasn't American. "You want to know what time it is?" I asked. "Yes. Yes. Please. Thank you." He nodded while he spoke and then smiled. I gave him a half-smile and looked at my watch. "It's 5:47." "Thank you," he responded, and then, "Tell me, are you married?"
I looked at him a bit surprised. "No, no I'm not."
"Ah, that is too bad. Why you no married? In my country a girl like you would not be without a husband. Perhaps it is because you don't wish to be married?"
Feeling a bit uncomfortable at this point I tried to redirect him, "Oh, you're not from here. Where are you from?"
He informed me that he was from Russia, his name was Vladimir, and he was 85 years old. All this was verified by his producing a driver's license with said information printed on it. Seeing his age, I let me guard down a bit. Surely he was a harmless old man, just trying to be friendly. Boy was I wrong. The next thing out of his mouth was a question about my plans for the evening. When I informed him I was on my way to study for the evening he was a bit disappointed. He then proceeded to tell me that my evening would be better spent at his apartment drinking vodka with him. He was sure that I would be great company and he assured me that he could satisfy my desires for companionship, and even if I was a bit uncomfortable a little vodka would fix everything.
A bit horrified at his suggestions, I tried to let him know very gently that I wouldn't be accompanying him to his apartment and I was sure he could find someone else to go with him. He agreed that he could find someone else, as he had many women over there very often and they always left very happy, but why did he need to look for anyone else when he had me. I tried to remind him that he didn't have me and I wasn't interested. He ignored me and continued insisting that I go with him. I found myself willing the bus to arrive so I could find safe haven in it. To my horror, when the bus did arrive Vladimir got on with me and sat next to me. I tried to ignore him, but he insisted on talking to me and attempting to give me his apartment address.
Thankfully my stop was a short distance away and I only had to endure this "elderly gentleman" for a brief amount of time. As I pulled the bell to signal my stop I stood to get off the bus. That's when Vladimir informed the bus driver that he couldn't let me off because I was his date for the evening and I would be going with him to his apartment to drink vodka and have some fun. The bus driver looked at me like I was some sort of sick girl, as though he actually believed this guy! I shrugged my shoulders and told him I did indeed want to get off at this next stop. I wasn't sure what my Russia aggressor would do once that bus stopped but I was determined that I was getting off and away from him.
As the bus pulled to a stop I grabbed my backpack and hurriedly walked to the front of the bus. Vladimir began to protest that his beautiful evening was coming to an end with my exit. I didn't look behind me, I just kept pushing forward. As I stepped down the bus's steps another girl began to climb up. I stood on the pavement a moment and watched as she sat where I had been sitting. Vladimir instantly began talking to her. Phew! At least I was safe from him. Poor girl, though. She had no idea what she had sat down next to.