I really have to watch myself; a few days ago I could not remember what year it was when filling out a check nor how to turn on the clothes dryer. Someone gave me a bag of pears and it took me three days to recall whom. Brigham asked why one of his sharp knives was opened and for the life of me I don’t know what I used it for. One evening I lost time somehow and was ready to go to bed—when I checked the clock it was only 6:45pm. Must have been a time paradox. Hmmm. But this week is better—I allowed myself to drive further than a few blocks and I don’t fall asleep the minute I sit down.
So, back to the future. The weekend was lovely and warm; shorts and tee weather. Yard work was pleasant until this morning when I heard leaves crunching and found Weird State Highwayman standing in my backyard. (exasperated sigh) Crap. Weird State Highwayman has asked me out intermittently for the past 23 years. Yes, I remember this because I can recall the very yard I was standing in when he appeared up the alley the first time he asked me out; a rental down by the end of mainstreet. I made a ‘no’ excuse at that time.
Every couple years his radar picks up my location and I must endure the uncomfortableness, inner irritation, and guilt as I think up a new reason to say ‘no’. About 5 years ago, he’d appeared on my porch out of the blue with a paint brush—I could not believe that he’d partially overheard my conversation at the grocery store about home painting estimates. He was ready to ‘help out’. I looked at him (incredulously)—“I’m sorry, but my dad is dying at this time. There is no way I am going to paint my house THIS MONTH!” and “No, I can’t even think about going out.” He drove by a few times that week; I saw him while walking. Here’s why it annoys me: Every time he asks me out, he is just on the verge of another divorce!
Anyway, I looked up when I heard the crunching leaves and he stopped short saying, “Uh, I just wondered if I could ask you a question?....”
I must have had a flash of annoyance cross my face. He didn’t come any closer. Or perhaps he didn’t like the big butcher knife I was brandishing high in my hand. (I’d been cutting down my little wren houses.)
“What?” I said bluntly and “Where did you come from?!”
“Um, I saw you when I got gas and decided to drive through your alley. Don’t worry, I’m NOT A STALKER.” ( INTERESTING!) I raise an eyebrow. (My insides snidely curl as I recall Mom’s old goat stalkerman said the very same thing!***plus, I’d noticed that truck go through the alley twice in the last few minutes…) “Don’t you want to go out?”
I am so proud of myself. I make no excuses but stay nicely cordial. “No, I really don’t want to go out. It’s just not my thing I guess!”
“Really? Uh, you never want to……..? Would you take a bribe?”
(Huh?!) “No thanks, it just doesn’t interest me….”
He mumbles something about being beautiful (ha!) and how he’ll still be asking when he is 70 years old as he backs out of the yard…. And I didn’t bother to ask him if he was still married like all the previous times.
This whole encounter puts me on edge—I don’t know why I always feel guilty about my choice to say no—don’t want to hurt feelings I guess. I went around towards the front of the house and Thank God mom and Motorcycle Gary pulled up just then—they actually saved me from conversing with Country Bumpkin Man, who’d just appeared in my neighbor’s FRONT yard. AAAAGGGKKK! If I come unraveled it’ll destroy the entire universe!!!
Country Bumpkin is a whole nuther blog…
Give me another pain killer please.
***Question: Why would a man say, “Don’t worry—I’m not a stalker.” Had there been a previous accusation? A judgment of personality? A suspicion? There’s something prepenseful , a little foreboding about that statement. Have any studies been done? What percent of stalkers have actually swayed their victim; reassured them, ensnared them in their trap with those very words? I’d like to know.
