Danger? Or…Just Paranoia?

 

I feel him behind me. My senses finely tuned during these pandemic pacings. You just never know what may be lurking across the street, behind a bush, inside a car.

            He (or she? It’s hard to tell, but the energy is male) is across the street, maybe 50 yards behind me? I can’t tell. But not very close. Yet, close enough that I worry. Dressed in baggy blue jeans, red sweatshirt, black ski cap, and black mask, I can’t really see his face. Still,  I just want to get away from him.

            Why? Of course, there’s the obvious. He could be a COVID Carrier. But also, there is something ominous about him. Maybe it’s the black mask? Yet, everyone wears black masks, you know if they’re cool. Look at Kamala Harris and Joe Biden. Black masks. Cool! 

            Or, am I just being paranoid? I think I am until he crosses the street to walk directly behind me. Now this is weird, right? Everyone crosses the street to get away from each other cuz of COVID,  not cross the street to be nearer to someone.

            So, I cross the street to get away from him. Quicken my pace.

            He follows me. Crosses the street again to follow behind me. Too close.

            Okay, now I’m feeling a bit panicked. Why is he following me? What could he possibly want? It’s not like I have any money on me. Though he wouldn’t know that. Most people probably carry some money on them, even just walking around the neighborhood.

            I’ve been watching too much Noir. It’s not like I’m Lana Turner’s husband with a $10,000 life insurance policy and a Bier Garten Restaurant in Santa Barbara. There’s a motive for a murder.

            I turn the corner at Barrett, trying to lose him. But no, he turns too and continues following me. I hurry up Barrett and turn up 30^th street, glancing around at all the silent houses. Where is everyone? On Zoom? In bed? At the store?

            Yeah, it’s Thanksgiving week and everyone’s shopping. Like there isn’t a worldwide pandemic going on. We’re all just gonna gather together and chow down on turkey and pumpkin pie. When I went to Safeway on Sunday, it was packed with people obviously shopping for the holiday. In their carts: big frozen turkeys, aluminum throwaway pans for roasting, bottles of wine and beer. It’s Thanksgiving. Eat, drink and get Covid?

            Damn! I sure as hell don’t want Covid for the holidays.

            Which is why I’m trying to get away from The Follower, who seems to be gaining on me.

            Shit. What to do?

            Glancing up the empty driveways, I wonder if I can just run up and knock on someone’s door. “Help, Help!!! I’m being followed by a Masked Man. Call the cops!!!”

            But no. No one would open their door to a stranger, right? Not in the best of times and esp. not now with the Virus Surging through the Bay Area, felling folks in record numbers.

            I glance around and he’s still behind me. I turn another corner, up Roosevelt, and then rush down 31^st. I know some people on this street as I hurry down the sidewalk, my heart pounding.

            Is he still there? I look back. I don’t see him.

          

  Squiggy, the black cat, is out on his shady lawn. I pause, kneeling down behind a parked car, “C’mere Squiggy…” He gazes at me, golden eyes bored and placid, then sits down. Starts to groom his face.  I continue crouching, thinking how The Follower can’t see me now. Maybe I’ve given him the slip?

            Finished with his face, Squiggy comes up to me now, doing a head bump into my knee and nearly knocking me over. I start to giggle. “Squiggy! What are you doing?”

            He repeats his knock down bump. I give him a head pat as I keep an eye peeled for The Follower.

            I still don’t see him. He musta continued down Roosevelt.

            Standing now, I sigh, relief washing over me.

            I wait for a few moments as Squiggy continues to bump my leg, then bend down to give him a final pat. “Bye, Squiggy. Thanks for rescuing me!”

            Coming out of the shadows, into the bright mid-morning November sunshine, I shake my head. Was that guy really following me? He sure seemed like it, but I can’t figure out why. He could be some crazy guy, the Walking Wounded as Owen Hill calls them, just fixated on me for no apparent reason. Or he could be some guy just out on a morning stroll like I was. And he just liked to be behind me….why????

            Oh, it was probably nothing. I’m just being paranoid.

            Yet, I can’t shake the feeling of being pursued. Even though this seems farfetched, I can’t figure out why he followed me for so many blocks. I’m not young, or pretty or rich. But I am a woman alone, a small old one at that, which is always a risk. Yet, in broad daylight? In my neighborhood?

            Marching up my front steps, I unlock the door, trying to shake my fear.

            It feels so stupid now. But yet, next time I go on my walk, I’m not going to take that same route.

            Just in case….