Let's Not Meet Again

Leopard Shirt Man

Ok, bit of background. There was a time when I was 17 where I sort of lived in two houses. We were moving, and my dad lived in the new house, where he had a job, and my mom, my siblings, and I lived in the old house, where our friends and school were. The new house wasn't anywhere near the old one; it was about six or seven hours drive. On a good long weekend we could make the drive, and my dad would come up in our Smart car whenever he could.

One weekend I was off on break, and was going to spend a few days basically camping in the new house with my dad. I felt totally safe with him, I was looking forward to the trip, and even the time alone while he worked.

The trip started out normally, we stopped at a rest stop about quarter of the way there to pee and we planned to stop at the halfway point for gas station tea and another bathroom break. we were familiar with the gas station and had stopped there many times. It was a Royal Farms, if you have those near you. It's a chain place, and relatively safe compared to some of the greasier places.

We went in and I hit the bathroom while dad made us both tea. I noticed a man looking awfully stoned standing near the men's room and the fire exit. He was wearing an entirely too tight leopard print shirt with a white jacket and he had slimy white-blonde hair. He looked maybe 45. I smiled politely and went to my dad, where I felt safe. (I'm socially anxious, but not cripplingly.)

My dad isn't huge, but he's kind of a prepper and knows self defense better than I did at the time. I knew that if there was someone who wanted to hurt me, he'd be there.

Checking out with our tea, the stoned guy was right in front of us and he turned around to talk with us. The first thing I noticed was that he seemed more aware now. Less stoned for sure, but still off somehow. In a different way. He was laughing and talking with the cashier about the Cosmo magazine on the rack. He wasn't buying one, but he said and I quote, "Nice they sell these everywhere these days."

He seemed to be trying to initiate us into the conversation. The cashier was just trying to ignore how much he was looking at her boobs and cash him out. "So, uh, how many months?" He asked us. At first I was wondering if he thought I was pregnant.

I'm A big girl, but my weight's on my hips and thighs, and I'm not shaped like a pregnant woman at all.

"Pardon?" my dad asked the man, putting an arm around me. "How long have you two, uh..." he grinned, raising his eyebrows.

My dad immediately dropped his arm, which was unfortunate because I felt safer with it there. The man, seeing some kind of opportunity, put his hand gently on my right hip.

"Oh, No, this is my daughter!" he said, a bit baffled, and too unprepared for the situation. The man's hand slid a bit lower. "Mmm, is she single?" he said to my dad, as though I were property he was buying. "No," my dad snapped, "She's not. Goodbye."

The man left, thank goodness, and the cashier rolled her eyes and told us that he was a regular, and to be careful going out because he smoked by the entrance. My dad and I waited until we saw him enter his car before we left.

I never feel safe in the Smart car. It's tiny and it always attracts a lot of attention because it's a bit of a novelty.

There was some traffic as we continued, and it was getting dark, but I swear that that man's red truck was always somewhere behind us. I pointed it out to my dad, who said that he probably wouldn't follow us all the way to the house, seeing as we split off the highway soon and the drive was still about three and a half hours long.

The truck followed us for two hours, but finally we stopped seeing him. We were on a more secluded road, a two lane one with hills and curves but still well traveled. We stopped again at a rest point, and I was in the car watching the road, when I saw the red truck drive past on the road. He had still been following us only an hour from the house. Thank God he didn't notice that we'd pulled off, he might have known where our new house was. Too-Close-For-Comfort Leopard Shirt Man, let's not meet.