You Can Always Pray

The weather was beautiful, sunny, and there was a slight breeze, so there was absolutely zero chance that I would be headed to the beach that day. That was the thing about living in a beach town. When tourist season hit, everything awesome about living near the ocean was negated by the onrush of the summertime hordes. So instead of heading south to the bleached white sands, my dog and I were headed north, to the bar. 

Traffic in this direction was no better. The town was simply never meant to contain this many people. Adding a ferry to the lowermost point of the island hadn’t helped one bit. Rather, it hurt, because the ferry went two ways. No matter though, the bar, with the cadre of friendly faces and canned one-liners, was this direction, so we sat in the heat and waited. 

There had been a series of issues with the apartment I had rented when I arrived. It had become readily apparent that my neighbors, recent parents of a presumably wonderful baby girl, loved to get drunk and kick the crap out of each other. Within days of moving in, the thin walls had carried the first sounds of the woman beating the man senseless, the baby left to endlessly wail in the wee hours of the night. It had taken a few of these instances before I called the cops. The judge would later tell me that I should have called immediately. She was right. But I did what I did, then Child Protective Services was involved, and then the woman was in the court system, and then, somehow, they had found out that it was me who called. 

After that, things escalated quickly. Death threats, screamed through the walls, brought police officers who said they couldn’t do anything without proof. Evidently the woman was a professional liar. No matter, I got cameras the next day and a week later had a mountain of evidence. Then came the restraining orders, and then they were forced to move out with a heavy police presence. 

But unfortunately, that was not where it ended. Oh no, it couldn’t possibly be that easy. 

Because as I sat in traffic, rubbing the scruff of my dogs neck, I scanned the cars around me, seeking love, affection, and everything else we look for in traffic jams. It was then that I saw her, two cars back behind me, staring right at my rearview mirror. 

Now, how did I know it was her car? Well, that’s simple. If you want to know your neighbors name, and don’t want to dig through the trash, you have to hire a private investigator. Despite the frequent death threats, caught on camera, neither the police or the property management company will hand the name of a potential culprit to you. Personal safety be damned. ‘To Serve And Protect’ my ass. So a private investigator it was. 

I rapidly found out the names of my neighbors, as well as the names of all of her family and friends that had also ‘stopped by.’ They all lived in the same complex too! Oh joy. We could have a party. I simultaneously found out that my female ex-neighbor loved to follow me around. It was, evidently, my fault that her and her beau had been separated. That had been an accidental discovery. The PI had just dropped off the info I needed and then just happened to have gotten stuck behind me in a traffic jam. I had picked up his call immediately, thinking he had more info on the case. 

“So don’t panic,” He said, almost laughing. “But I am behind you, and so is she.” 

“You’re kidding me.” I replied, doing my best to surreptitiously look everywhere at once while appearing to look nowhere. I failed miserably, instead looking like a fish lolling out of water, gasping for air.

“Yup.” He said, flatly this time. “She’s been following you for three turns now.” 

Well, I’ll be damned. This woman really liked me. I mean, I am kind of handsome, but not this handsome. She must want to meet up and talk things out peacefully over a cup of tea. Oh wait, no. Last sunday she had stood outside my door with a loaded shotgun, screaming about how she was going to kill me. She probably didn’t like tea anyway. I had to lose this woman. 

“Any advice?” I said to the PI. 

“Are you armed? 

“Only a stun gun.” 

“Well,” He said, laughing openly this time. “You can always pray.” 

Great, thanks buddy. I ended the call, grateful that I had gotten the tip at all. I drove to the police station and parked outside. Evidently she had been there before because as soon as she saw me turn right towards the station, she panicked and sped off down a side street. That had been a month before. 

Now I was here, sitting in small-town gridlock, wondering if I had bear spray tucked away in the trunk, and adamantly trying not to make eye contact with any of the cars behind me. I felt like a kid hiding beneath the blankets, adamantly telling myself that if I just hid beneath them then the monsters wouldn’t get me. Except that this was reality, monsters are real, and I didn’t have my Spiderman sheets anymore. This sucked. 

I did the best I could to lose her. 

There was a park right off of the main drag that I knew had two one-way loops, independent of each other, that made kind of a figure eight if you were viewing it from the sky. I took a hard right into the park, then drove at irresponsible speeds around the wildly flailing, angry families around me. I didn’t care. I drove even faster, seemingly catching air over the vicious bumps meant to stop exactly this kind of driving. This park had been designed for family fun, not evading violent and obsessive twenty-something-year-old drug addicts with accountability issues. I looked to my right as I began to finish the loop. I saw her, just starting on the other side. It was like racing someone from opposing sides of a carousel. There was no telling at this distance whether she could see me or not. I sped up. 

At the intersection I had a choice. Return to the main drag or go right onto the second loop. She would expect me to hit the main drag, so I stayed in the park. This wily coyote wasn’t getting shot today, no sir! 

As soon as I hit the farthest point of the second loop, I darted right into one of the many parking lots, spun the car in a half-loop, then backed into a spot next to two similar cars. They were, thank God, both the same color as mine. Then I pulled the recline lever on the passenger seat, gently told my dog to lay down, then did the same for me. I know you’re supposed to put the face mask on yourself first, but my dog was the greater liability here. Then we waited. 

Not a minute later, with my head just barely peeking out over the dashboard, the woman drove by, intently staring forward with a hatred I could sense from a distance. Involuntarily, my head slowly inched backwards, as if trying to slide underneath a surface of water without making a ripple. Luckily, the sun was behind me and shining full bore into the face of the woman ahead of me. She sped past, ignoring the nasty bumps that were obliterating the suspension of her vehicle. I didn’t not envy her steering wheel. Poor thing was getting wrung to death. 

I waited fifteen minutes then started driving to the bar. Along the way, I called one of my buddies to see if he was there. He had just arrived with his girlfriend, and laughed at the tension in my voice. That’s how it goes when you’re a man with a stalker. Everybody just thinks it’s a giant joke. I wasn’t laughing though. I told him to be on the lookout for a short blonde woman. He laughed again and hung up. 

For the rest of the drive I felt like a hawk penned up in a cage. There just wasn’t enough room in the once-roomy vehicle. I couldn’t breathe, my chest was dominated by an inwardly-focused pressure, a vacuous black hole that sucked in everything but tension. Somehow, barely paying attention, I arrived at the bar. And, circling around to the side where I usually parked, there she was. 

The car was empty. I could see that immediately. But that just made things worse. Where was she then? And why was she here? I called the cop that I had talked to several times before. He didn’t pick up, so I left him a message, telling about what I had seen that day. I was sure he’d get right on it. My dog could sense something was seriously off and started to growl as we came close to the front door. Even in the car, he could smell something nefarious. 

Good fucking boy. It was then I got a text message. 

I think she’s here bro. 

There were laugh-y faces. Like this was a big joke. This woman who had come to my door with a loaded gun, on camera, multiple times. Who had lied to the judge in front of me on several instances. This woman who had an infant at home but was choosing to follow me around instead of getting therapy. This woman was here. I couldn’t breathe. After the divorce I had just gone through, this had been the last thing I had needed. But this was what I got. I had to face this fear. I had had enough running. 

Funny what trying to take away a man’s favorite bar will do. 

I walked right in the door, immediately saw her, and walked straight up to her. She didn’t even have time to reach in the very large bag she was carrying. She looked straight at me, snarling and about to start screaming. 

“100 feet.” I said calmly. My dog strained against the leash, begging to be let free at her. The entire bar was silent, all eyes were on our little tête-à-tête. She kept staring but I saw fear start to crawl in. Good. Hopefully she was afraid of leaving a little girl to struggle through the foster care system. I called the bartender by name. 

“Call the cops.” I said, trying to keep my voice as cool and collected as possible. “This woman is violating a restraining order.”

And with that, she grabbed her heavily sagging bag and bolted for the door. An older woman was coming in through the other side, so my favorite ex-neighbor, with every ounce of her strength, pushed her aside and bolted through the door. Two regulars started to follow her outside. One began helping the older woman to her feet.

“Hey!” I yelled, and they both turned. “Make sure she doesn’t mess with my Jeep!” 

One of them nodded and went through the door. I turned to the bartender. He had already poured me a drink, which I downed in two gulps. My dog leapt up, his tail wagging, both feet up on the edge of the bar. The bartender was a spiritual man, just like me. 

“Can I get you anything else?” He said, already pouring another one. 

“Pray for me.”