Setting off sirens

“You can’t keep running forever,” he yelled after me.

The scariness of stopping for him one more time made my blood boil. My rushing adrenaline surged faster, propelling my curvy legs as far as they could from Starbucks. 

Some days I ran for fun. Some days I ran out of anger.

Days like today? I ran out of necessity.

I continued jogging past the bus stop where I made eye contact with him across the street just a few minutes earlier. He could have been anyone, but his unkempt, moppy brown hair gave him away. When he smiled, his gray braces glistened in the summer sun.

Strange for a middle-aged man.

“Are you one of my students?” he asked me during one of my walks. The rain had saved me that day. I pulled my hood further over my head as I stared at him blankly and muttered “no,” into the wind. I swung my grocery bags and continued my hike home between traffic and entertainment studios.

“You look familiar,” he called after me.

“I’m not,” I called back.

That wasn’t the first time.

The first time, I was jogging to explore my city, the beautiful Toluca Lake, nestled in the Southern California valley. On my best days, I’d run past a restaurant that served tangy hydrating lemonade, the always-packed Trader Joes on the corner, and the vacant office buildings, where I’d wonder if maybe I’d work during regular hours one day.

That day, I jogged past a cute cafe with outdoor seating. I loved the antiquated charm that meshed with the modern city. After scoping out the gourmet bakery on shared plates between couples, I darted through a crosswalk. 

The best part was that I could run whenever I wanted to, and no one minded.

“Excuse me, miss,” a man called after me.

My ponytail whipped my cheek and my toes slid to the tips of my Nikes as I stopped to see who needed me.

Maybe I dropped my phone? I frisked my waist, searching for its shape in the band of my yoga leggings.

He paused his phone conversation by pulling the receiver slightly away from his ear.

“You’re beautiful. Can I get your number?” he asked me.

I smiled, probably awkwardly, as I noticed his dental situation matched many silver strands that were littered throughout his hair.

“Um, well, since you’re on the phone,” I started, “why don’t I take your number down?” I asked.

I internally thanked myself for my quick wit. In reality, I’d practiced this response every day after the conversation with the last rando who tried to get my number and took no excuse for an answer.

“Sure,” he said. 

A wave of relief washed over me. I typed in his digits and, as I pulled the phone away, I saved him in my contacts as “Do Not Call.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, lying through my pearly whites.

“Call me later,” he said.

“Okay,” I fake-promised.

I did not think I’d see 40-Year-Old Virgin for a third time.

We were just five minutes from Hollywood, the home to millionaires. The city with beautiful, aspiring models. The land of dreams, ripe with possibility and free from responsibility. And here, I saw the studio lecturer on the sidewalk again. His eyes lit up as they landed on mine.

One split second of an innocent look in his direction, and I knew I confirmed his hopeless-romantic suspicion that we were “meant to be.” Since we graced the same street at the same time, there was no other explanation than that we were destined for each other.

I just wanted an iced coffee.

My heels pounded into my shoe soles as I power walked faster to the caffeinated oasis, as if my arms slicing the air would give off some karate-type warning.

It didn’t.

I settled in a cozy chair near the baristas who served me my vanilla sweet cream cold brew with sugar-free hazelnut syrup. I pulled up Pokemon Go, a gut reaction to calm my nerves and wished away the random luck I’ve had lately.

I drew circles with my finger on my mobile game, in an attempt to catch a cute character.

A Pikachu got pissed at me and then ran away.

“We meet again,” a voice came from behind my phone. For a minute, I thought it was the villainous Team Rocket. To my disappointment, it was Brace Face.

I sunk into the chair, like I could turtle my way out of this one. I looked up at the man sitting cross-legged from me, reading a newspaper, and I silently begged him for help.

Brace Face decided to stand with his hands on his hips, subconsciously making himself appear bigger than he was, like a suitor who had proudly captured his prey.

I borrowed a tactic that worked for my 17-year-old cousin and kept my eyes glued to my phone, the same way she ignored her mom when she called her for chores.

“You could at least acknowledge me,” he said. He gritted his teeth together, looking like a 80s kid trying to smile for a school photo.

“I don’t know you,” I let everyone in the Starbucks know that I had no idea who this stranger was and that he had no right to be mad at me.

A quick attack of glances from around the intimate coffee shop did the trick, and he turned his focus toward the rest of the room to defend himself.

I’d never shoved a glass door so quickly, and the unmistakable “ding” gave me away.

I slurped the last of my bittersweet elixir and tossed the cup into the recycle bin outside. 

The setting sun reminded me that I should get home soon. 

Home. I’m not even from here.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I won’t be able to run forever. 

Maybe, eventually, I’d have to settle down. Settle for something. Settle for someone. 

Settle for him?

Nothing made me sprint faster in my life than I did at that moment. On my way home, through the city that promised so much to me and nothing all at once, I recounted all the days in my head that I prepared for this moment. The dark nights, pouring rain, the sweltering sun risking a heat stroke. The only person who got me through it all was me.

He could follow me—even through my worst days—but he would never, ever catch me.