Shivers

ALERT

 

As usual, I have to walk six blocks from my bus stop to my apartment. In spring, it is still daylight, holding its breath as darkness strikes. My route is blessed with beautiful, healthy maple trees planted about twenty feet apart. They stand on a plot of grass between the cement pavement and the gutters. Their branches reach out, touch each other, make a rain canopy for me. The sweet fragrance of lilacs mingles with spicy Italian dinners that escape to the street thru partly opened windows. It's such a lovely route that it is often the highlight of my entire day.

 

Although I seldom am out in blustery, snowy weather, when I have to be, I know the pavements will have been shoveled clean, as soon as  the storm has stopped. In fall the colorful maple leaves drop from their branches, fly in little twirling whirlpools, and are raked up by the residents, bagged, and left at the curb for pick-up twice a week.

 

In spite of all of this, I am careful, wary, keep my purse against my breast, mace in my pocket, and a whistle on a lanyard I made back in my Girl Scout days. It feels secure around my neck. While I don't like it, my cell phone is in my purse, not really handy. I've taken a few Tai Quoin Do classes and feel as assured of my safety as possible. Yet, somewhere in my mind I let fear creep in when I walk alone.

 

And tonight is the night I hear them, footsteps behind me, male footsteps that are duplicating my rhythm, not coming closer nor falling behind. I stop suddenly, turn quickly to confront the follower. No one is there. My heart pounds. I feel a bit wobbly. Something brushes my arm. Instant movies reel out in my brain. I am going to be raped, killed. A maple branch rises as its heavy load of crinkled leaves falls all over me. Nevertheless, I sweat on this cool evening.

 

The steps behind me kick up the leaves, make them crackle like sparklers on the Fourth of July.

 

This time the touch on my arm is real. It is human. It is light. I can barely see the person but manage to make a tall person wearing heavy black shoes. A small female voice asks if I want company. She tells me her name is Margaret Jennings and she sees me on the bus almost every day. 'You really scared me, Margaret. How come you wear such heavy shoes? You sounded like a man stalking me would sound.' There is a moment of silence as the tall woman comes closer to me. I am definitely not comfortable with this situation. She takes the time to answer my question. 'My walk sounds like a man because I am a man who happens to have a woman's voice.'

 

That is enough for me. I mace her/him, run the rest of the block home and dial 911.