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The Longest Walk |
| Written by Nathan Weaver | |
| Thursday, 20 March 2008 | |
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Share it:      It was the same as any night. I was always the last to get out of the theatre. That retard, Mr. Johns, always found some reason to chew me out after a performance, “Really, Lilly,” every time he’d start the same, looking at me the way he does, creepily, “Do you have to screech those high notes?” “Yes,” I’d reply, “I do.” As I walked from the theatre to the street, I could see my car sitting in the parking lot by itself. It wasn’t much of a car, but it got me places. The parking lot was lit with orange street lights, you know the ones. I waited on the edge of the sidewalk as one car drove by and disappeared into the night, just beyond the stop light. It was when I stepped out into the street that I noticed him. On the corner of my eye, I saw a man coming up at a rather fast pace. He moved behind me, but I could hear his footfalls coming closer and moving quickly. A thousand images shot through my mind: getting hit over the head, shoved to the ground and punched, grabbed and scurried away, all images ended in rape and possible fatality. The street was only a two lane street, but it the lanes were oversized, it normally takes thirty seconds to cross. And I have no doubt it did so this evening, but it really didn’t feel like it. I didn’t know you could cram so many thoughts into so few seconds. Turn and fight! No, that’s stupid. I left my pepper spray in the car! I’m an idiot. Should’ve bought that gun. Like I’d know what to do with it, anyway. Run! Like a B movie? The phone! I pulled my cell phone from my purse and flipped it open, “Hey, Mom!” I stepped upon the curve and onto the sidewalk, I turned to see him, “No, it was okay, the show went fine.” He walked right up to me and stopped. He stared at me, “Sure, mom, yeah. I’d love to go get some ice cream. You know me, I just love ice cream.” He was close enough that I could smell his breath and fragrance, it was Old Spice. I had a boyfriend that wore that once, boy that was odd. I always thought Old Spice was for old dudes. He was still staring and I was taking mental notes. Tall, Caucasian, mid to late twenties, dark hair that was short to medium in length and parted on left side, deep-set eyes, Old Spice, garlic breath, five o’clock shadow, long trench coat possibly made of wool and black (or dark blue), old blue jeans (not new ones that look old, but actual old ones), Converse and a band T-Shirt. I think the tee was for Kiss, I could be wrong. Whichever band has the huge lips… oh, wait, that’s The Rolling Stones, I think. He turned and walked away and down the sidewalk, and I was feeling a burden lifted with each step he took away from me. I walked over to my car, still watching him on the corner of my eye. He was getting further and further away from the orange glow of the parking lot, “Yeah, mom, the show was great.” As soon as I got inside the car, I threw my phone into the passenger seat and started the car. I peeled out of the parking lot, thinking my lucky star and missing mom. Wishing I could give her a big bear hug and thank her for popping into my thoughts in that moment. She’d been gone for three years now. Love ya, mom… wherever you are.
THE END. Copyright 2008 Nathan Weaver |
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