The Worst Thing That Could Happen

Recurring Memories of a Smiling Man

[Author's note: This story contains mention of child endangerment and abduction.]

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My family moved around a lot when I was a kid. My dad was in the Navy, so every two years or so, we uprooted and moved to another coastal state. I have a definitive ranking of which states I like and which ones I hate. Texas has been at the bottom of the list for most of my life. No offense to Texans; you guys were one of the nicer populations I lived among. But Texas is a too-hot hellhole with too many bugs. Add that to the fact that I had no real friends there and the feelings of inferiority that come with playing on a sports team you're not any good at (swimming, in my case), and I don't have many good memories of that place.

Then there's the smiling man.

I'm sure half of you read that line and rolled your eyes, but trust me, this isn't some kind of "supernatural entity is stalking me" story. Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure if it happened the way I remember. I lived in Texas for the second time when I was seven to nine, give or take—a decade and a half ago. My memories of that time are hazy at best. It's entirely possible that my brain is making connections where there are none. But whether it happened this way or not, this is how I remember it.

The first time I saw him, we were at the mall. I wasn't the kind of kid who was prone to wandering off; if I ever did, I never went further than a few yards away from my mom or dad. That day, I was sitting in a lawn chair on display in the garden section, reading a book. All I had to do was look up and my mom would be there, not too far away, looking at grills or something. I felt perfectly safe—safe enough that, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I figured it was her. But when I looked up, it wasn't here.

You know how in cop shows they'll do an episode with a perp that's so mundane that no one can remember him? That's what it was like. Everything about the guy was generic. He was middle-aged, maybe, white, probably, or maybe a bit tan, and wearing a polo shirt in a neutral color. I'm pretty sure his hair was light brown, and I don't remember eye color at all. What I do remember about him was his smile. It was bright, toothy, and cheerful, the sort of smile that should only exist in a cartoon character or mascot of some kind. I remember that he asked me a question, I think about the book I was reading. I don't remember what I said, but I don't think I replied at all. I've never been good at unexpected social interactions, and this was an unexpected social interaction with an adult I didn't know who had his hand on me. I do remember my mom calling my name, which unfroze my brain and made me get up and run to her. I don't remember if she noticed the smiling man, or if I told her about him at any point during the trip.

In isolation, this memory would be weird but not terrifying, and definitely not enough to make my opinion of Texas sink lower than my opinion of the state where people actively backstabbed my entire family out of petty spite. What makes it bad is that I remember seeing him again.

The second time was in some home improvement store—Lowe's or Home Depot or some mom and pop greenhouse, I don't know. My mom was big on gardening and had dragged me there to look at flowers. I was, again, not too far away from her, looking at the cactuses and fighting the urge to pet one of the ones that looked fuzzy (even though I knew it wasn't). This detail is probably the reason why I remember what he said to me this time:

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

I don't know if my memory of the person was the same because it was the same person, or if it was a person similar enough to the first guy that my memory conflated the two. But I remember the smile, and that neutrally colored polo.

I ran away again, though that time it might have been because I thought I'd done something wrong. In hindsight, it felt like I was running away from a specter. Even if I hadn't made the connection at the time—and I genuinely can't tell if I did, it's been so long—in recollection, it's like I was being haunted by a recurring nightmare.