Personal Essay: An Odd Ride Home
Military deployments, as an Air-Force wife and mother, can often become an inevitable combination of negative emotions and experiences. However, the one (of many) difficult situations that will forever stay seared in my memory is the time too creepers had stalked my son and me.
You see, I’ve always been an independent person. At one time, I enjoyed getting dolled-up and leaving my home for a day out with my ‘Lil Dude. Nonetheless, on that brisk autumn day in Wichita, Kansas, I never would have imagined that two men in a white Chevy truck would follow us home and then watch us.
On that day, my son and I did our usual: We left for lunch and shopping at Target. Frankly, I should have been more aware and didn’t think anything of the white truck that drove behind us from Target to KFC then home. When the two men parked their vehicle in front of my house, at first, I thought nothing of it.
I should have, though …
The moment those men stopped but failed to exit their truck, the hairs on my neck stood on end and a knot in my gut screamed, “Effin’ run!” That little paranoid voice nagged at me, but I told my paranoia to STFU.
First, I unloaded my sleeping son. But after three loads of Target bags, there they were: two strangers effin’ watching us. My neighbors’ visitors, to my annoyance, would always park on our side of the street. So when I noticed the white truck, naturally, I assumed the strangers were my neighbors’ friends. However, by the fourth trip from my home to my car, the realization that I was being watched made every inch of my skin crawl.
As I peeked through the front window’s curtains, I told myself, “These effers better back the eff off!” My inner mama-bear revved up. Just like experts encourage when a wild animal threatens to attack, I made myself as BIG as possible: I held my chest and head up high. The moment I made eye contact with the two men, who thought I hadn’t noticed them, I motioned and mouthed towards them: “WHAT?!”
Within seconds, the driver started the truck and slowly crept down the street. Relief rushed through every inch of me—until the passenger (who hadn’t detached eye contact from me) held his hand up and waved the most haunting wave I’ve ever had the dismay of receiving.
That night, I spent the entire evening at the window. Every sound, every shadow, every effin’ thing that felt out-of-place had me on pins-and-needles.
A week slugged by before I could drive without continuously checking my rear-view mirror or double checking my home’s front window. To this day, I still make sure to double-check any cars that have followed me for far-too-long. Nowadays, when a similar experience arises—my imagination and paranoia often overpower me. Thankfully, I’m able to channel it into my writing.
Just a reminder: While driving, it’s strongly recommended to focus on the road ahead but never forget to check your rear-view mirror.
