How a scarf and a history of syncope got me arrested

It was cold and my hands clutching the paper grocery bags were stiffening by the minute. The distant honking of car horns and police sirens echoed through the night as I walked, breathing in the frigid air that turned my breath to smoke. I buried my neck and nose into my thick scarf and in the relentlessly cold weather of Ohio, I marched for 30 minutes along the winding sidewalk which would eventually lead me to my apartment. The only thing reminding me I wasn't alone was the eerie streetlights and the occasional shut-in houses along the way. I had been walking for such a long while that the bustle of the traffic had faded and I could no longer hear the rumble of the city. Until... something, or someone, was making the soft pitter-patter sound of feet behind me as I was nearing the next streetlight. I went rigid but continued walking, not wanting to stop and glance behind me but not wanting to break out into a run either.

 It was probably nothing. Why would there be someone following me? Was there someone following me? At this point, the suspense became too much and I spun my head around for a quick look. There was someone! A dark figure purposely avoiding the flickering light of the lamps. I blinked and when I opened my eyes and my breath came short, he was sprinting, coming straight for me. I turned on my heels and took off. My loafers slapped the pavement and adrenaline coursed through me, allowing me to run faster than I ever have in my entire life. My scarf was strangling my neck finally decided to let go, flying behind me. It was an expensive piece and I had spent quite a bit of money on it, so I peered back to spot it, and to my surprise, the dark individual was no longer in pursuit. I squinted my eyes in confusion. Then, without thinking, I crept over to where my scarf was lying in a heap on the black pavement and carefully picked it up. I chuckled nervously while studying the shadows all around me and turned to leave. He was right in front of me. I yelped in surprise and the groceries fell from my hands, bouncing along the sidewalk at my feet. He shoved a knife in my face and I instinctively threw my hands into the air, abandoning all ideas of escape. He wore an inky rib-knit balaclava and pulled back his lips to reveal a set of ferociously white teeth you'd expect to find on a Great White. I forced myself to meet his gaze and was immediately gouged by two deeply intelligent eyes. They were an intense and ravenous green, never still, studying every inch of my horrified face as his smile widened. He towered over me.

“I need you to do me a favor.” he drawled.  

I started trembling and shut my eyes tight, waiting for him to mercilessly butcher me. 

“Hey,” he repeated, this time in a honeyed voice, “I said I needed something from you.”  

I had never encountered a mugger before, but I could tell something was off about the way this man spoke and carried himself. Firstly, he was wearing a brand new Brunello suit accompanied by a pinstriped tie which, to be frank, cost more than my car. My eyes then dropped to his freshly polished dress shoes that reflected the moonlight. I looked back at his covered face.

“What kind of a mugger are you?” 

 A fire ignited behind his malachite eyes and he parted his shark teeth to let out a howl.

“A mugger! He mocked, convulsing with laughter. He grabbed me by the jacket and dragged me towards him until our faces were practically touching. The smell of men's Dior perfume flooded my nostrils and I crinkled my nose.

"Listen," he sneered, "you ever been to the Huntington bank?"

"Yes," I uttered. "I have." He pulled me even closer until I could see the deep black soul hidden behind his irises, which were shimmering with delight.

 "I'm going to need you to make a withdrawal for me."

Was he serious? I couldn't shoplift an apple if I tried. Surely, he was joking with me.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, trying hard to prevent my voice from quivering. 

“Come on, it'll be fun,” He joked. Joked! What was wrong with this man? He must have broken free from the local mental institution. Yes. He had gotten loose! But... that wouldn't explain the $3,000 suit and the smell of Sauvage Eau de Toilette. I began to stammer violently, too shocked to muster any real words.  

“I'll get the necessary supplies to you tomorrow and... " He clicked his teeth, "we'll see how it goes from there.” He loosened his death grip on my jacket and I let out a breath of relief and cleared my throat.

 "I'm not robbing.....anything!” I was beyond reasoning at this point. There was no way. I bent down and started to pick up my now bruised fruits, placing them back in the bag. I shook my head in disappointment. The oranges had burst and the brown spotted bananas were now mushed beyond recognition. What a waste.

“Oh, yeah you are.” He insisted, catching my eye and pulling me back to reality. The man was holding a switchblade, the type you'd likely see used in The Godfather. Glistening, swift, and sharp enough to cut diamond. I swallowed.

“It's not all for nothing, you’ll get a cut, and all you have to do is walk in,” He made motions with his knife a little too close to my face, “demand the money, and walk right back out." He touched the blade against my cheek.

"They’ll listen to you, you’ll have a gun after all.” He kept talking but I had zoned out. I could no longer hear his words, just saw his lips moving. His smile widening. A dull buzzing drowned out his nonchalant description of my illegal actions to come. The detail washed from his face and poured onto the ground. Time seemed to stop as I fell onto the ground. There, I laid face to face with what appeared to be a bruised banana. However, it too was melting away as a black hue crept into my vision. I passed out.

“Hey. Hey. Get up. Hey!” I gasped and sprang up. The sunlight was piercing my eyes and my entire body was sore. It was morning. I quickly checked my surroundings. I was lying in the middle of an empty school parking lot. I rubbed my aching neck, trying to recall past events. Had I been here all night? The mysterious man seized me and heaved me to my feet. Pain seeped into my skull and I put a shaky hand to the lump on the side of my head. When had I gotten this? 

“So...when were you going to tell me about this . . . fainting condition?” He asked, smirking, and holding up my leather wallet. The same leather wallet I held in the back pocket of my jeans last I checked. I sighed and he tossed it to me. Of course, it was empty. I shoved it into my pants along with my hands. 

“It hasn't happened in a while,” I mumbled to myself. He said nothing, just stared at me for a long moment with his chin resting on his fist. I avoided his intense gaze and looked away in embarrassment. No one had ever witnessed one of my episodes before. Finally, he broke the silence. 

“Alright," he flipped his coattails up and reached into his belt. "Better get going.” I gaped at him, at his outstretched hand gripping a revolver and his dishonest eyes begging me to pick it up. Pull the trigger. Rob the bank. I took a step backward. 

"What? don't tell me you've never seen a gun before." He chortled. I hadn't, so I kept my mouth shut and vigorously shook my head. His eyes widened.

"Oh god," He cackled, "Oh god you're joking." Laughter took over yet again. I'm glad one of us was enjoying themselves. He composed himself then shrugged his shoulders.

“Doesn't matter...come on." 

He wrapped his fist in my stretched out shirt and dragged me around the outskirts of the school. Stumbling, I struggled to keep up with his wide stride and fast pace. Finally, the dragging ceased. We were standing next to the library, right outside the bank. It cast an enormous shadow over both of us and I had to tilt my head back to get a good look. It had enormous glass doors, thick stone walls, and polished, granite countertops. My breathing became labored. The man grabbed my sweaty hand and forcefully wrapped my fingers around the gun. 

“Please, sir,” I begged. "I can't do this!"

“Yes you can, yes, yes, yes, you’ll be fine.” I kept pleading and whimpering. Until he took me by the shoulders and shook me, looking me dead in the eyes, 

"Think about the money." With those last words, he shoved me toward the Huntington bank. I don't remember the walk there but found myself staring up at the grand entrance. In huge letters, it read Huntington Bank. I turned back around and saw him there. He put the knife to his neck motioning that I would be killed if I came back. I swallowed hard and already, felt a sweat break out on my brow as I stiffly scaled the marble stairs. One slow step at a time. I was about 5 feet from the doors of the bank I was about to rob before I remembered to shove the bulky gun in my pocket and try to shield it from the view of the people making this week's deposit. I grasped the cool metal handle with my slick hand and weakly opened the door. The cool air hat whooshed past me from inside made my sweat-streaked face freeze and I began to shiver. I looked down at my feet as I walked along the velvet carpet and saw people taking notice of my strange and unnatural actions. They knew. They knew for sure. Paranoia choked me and I walked faster. Finally, I arrived at the front desk. I grasped onto the countertop with one hand and took three deep, nervous, breaths. Very slowly, I raised my head to look up. There was an old woman with grey curly hair and loving eyes to welcome me.

“Are what can I do for you today young man?” She grinned, showing off a lovely gap tooth. My heart was jumping out of my chest as I gripped the handle of the gun with white knuckles. 

"I'm um, here to make a withdrawal," I whispered in a faint, shaky voice. She offered me a warm smile.

"And whats the account num-"

 I awkwardly drew the gun out and aimed it about two feet above the dainty curls that topped her head. 

“I am so sorry,” I said, shuddering severely. "Just please give me the money, please." Her pleasantly wrinkled face twisted in shock and horror. Such fear flooded her soft eyes that I thought she was going to have a heart attack. Her arm reached under the counter and I heard the click of a button. Then, an alarm started shrieking. Well... this was it, the end of the line. It rang out until it got softer, and quieter, and blurrier. The gun slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor as the sound of the alarm reverberated in my head. Next thing I knew I was on the ground with my warm cheek pressed against the cold floor. The sound had completely slipped from my mind, but I could still feel the vibrations from the alarm. Frenzied feet pitter-pattered all around me. I gained consciousness long enough to lift my head and take one last look at the world outside without bars. I caught glimpses of squad cars with their lights flaring and police with guns drawn, on foot chasing a mysterious man as he sprinted to his car with a duffle bag stuffed full of cash. I felt the cold and unwelcoming metal of handcuffs against my skin as they cinched tight around my wrists. Through legs and hands, I saw him. He glimpsed back at me, as I was arrested, and grinned at me one last time before he hopped in a car and gassed it. I chuckled to myself as I was lifted from the floor. That damn scarf.