Following

It was 6:28 PM when I set the security alarm to ALL ON and locked up the store. A sense of forgetfulness tickled me as I twisted the key. I ignored it.

To get to our apartment from where I work, I take a fifty minute walk. It was chilly that evening, in a California sort-of-way. I noticed a certain carelessness to my step as I wallowed in the freedom of pastime.

A girl with red short-cut hair came towards me, flittering lightly over the pavement. She wore stonewashed jeans, a green top and a red purse. She smiled at me. I did not have time to smile back before she had passed.

I continued to walk, perhaps twentysome steps, and then I stopped. I said a bad word, which I was not proud of, and threw glances all around me to ensure that my impulsive discourtesy had not attracted an audience.

You know that sinking feeling that settles in your belly when you realize you've forgotten something? That enervating inner voice that grazes your subconscious with a spiteful "I knew it"?

It can be frustrating to retrace your steps, to return to what you've already left behind. Sometimes it's quite necessary. It brings a different perspective to your journey. I headed back. I unlocked the store, turned off the alarm, and grabbed the iPad and my white-rimmed shades. Then: alarm back on, door relocked, and I was on my way again.

As I went through the Spencer's parking lot, that girl with the red hair (the one that smiled at me but ten minutes ago) stepped onto the pavement, wielding an overflowing grocery bag. She swept in front of me and was evidently heading in my direction.

I felt stupid. The girl and I had shared a fleeting moment of connectedness, an innocent smile in the passing. I wish we could have left it at that. As we again found ourselves sharing the road, I felt as if we were violating the anonymous exchange that had taken place between us. This was becoming too intimate with me tracing her footsteps like in a child's game.

My thoughts raced, plaguing me with possibilities of discomfort that could arise from this situation. What if the girl had recognized me outside the grocery store, and merely pretended it was not so? What if she suspected I was stalking her?

I slowed my pace. Just to be on the safe side.

Please, may she part from this road, I prayed, into a driveway, or onto a trampled path, or off to an anywhere but here.

She stayed her course, same as mine. Oh, the Gods must have giggled in their omnipresence.

But as the minutes slipped by, I soon came to question my anxious disposition. We were both walking on public ground, were we not? Furthermore, she was probably indifferent, why, even oblivious of me walking behind her. And frankly, I would have preferred to walk a little faster rather than conforming to this imaginary predicament. So, goshdarnit, I increased my pace, just a tad, so I could pass the girl, and spend the rest of my walk buried in abashed self-reflection.

To my utter dismay, she began to walk faster too.

So, she was aware of me after all. And she must think I'm a creep. What if she would panic, and start screaming for help? Maybe I should just turn around, and seek an alternative route...

She stopped. And here I made a serious mistake, for instead of just walking on, unperturbed, as if nothing had happened, I too came to a halt. I couldn't help myself. My legs froze in unison with hers, as if we shared an invisible corporal connection.

We stayed still. She did not look back. I did not move. It was very, very silent. Even the breeze held it's breath. Finally, she cocked her head just a smidge and spoke over her shoulder:

"Are you following me?"

"I, um", I stammered, "no, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You've been following me from the grocery store."

My cheeks were burning. "No, no. I'm just going home."

She swiveled around and that smile flashed over her face again.

"Then, why are you embarrassed, silly?"

I blushed. "I am... I don't know."

I started walking again, eyes downcast, but as I was about to skirt around her she held out her arm, like a palace guard protecting sacred ground. She pursed her lips.

"I think I might be lost", she admitted.

I hawked. "Well, it's sort of a common side effect."

"What are you talking about?"

I never had to answer, for her eyes suddenly expanded and the realization hit her like an arrow to the chest.

"Oh, no, you didn't!"

"Just, waitaminute..."

She crossed her arms, eyes blazing. "This is about that damn blog, isn't it?"

I tensed up, half-expecting to have to defend myself, and then realized there was no need for that.

"I don't even have a home, do I?" the girl said, lips pouting. "I'm a nobody. Just a paper-thin excuse for you to have something to write about."

I was silent for a few moments, thinking.

"Well?" she snorted.

"Do you feel any different?"

"No."

"Do you know where you live?" I asked.

"Of course I do, stupid. I live right there."

She whipped out a hitchhiker thumb and pointed at a yellow-paneled house only a block away. A scrawny, shirtless man stood in the driveway, polishing the yellow finish of a 1968 Chevrolet Corvette.

"I gotta go", she said with an air of nonchalance. "My boo and I are going skinny-dippying at Pirate's Cove."

"Oh. Sounds nice."

She shook her head. "Such a liar."

I shrugged. "It's kind of what I do."

She reached into her grocery bag and handed me an apple with a Red Delicious sticker on it.

"For the walk home", she explained.

I thanked her, but I didn't eat the apple right away. Neither did I eat it when I came home. I tried to tell myself I wasn't hungry. The truth is, I was scared. If I'd take a bite out of that gorgeous apple, would it be there still when I opened my eyes?