When I was studying abroad in London in 1989, I had many adventures. Some time ago I used this one as a contest entry but changed the actual events to “improve the story.” It never did sit right so here is the true story – no “literary-ness” – stripped down to reality. Much better.
My train arrived in Lincoln, England at noon and the hostel did not open until 4:00 pm. So, to pass the time, I hiked along the public pathway on a beautiful, warm, sunny spring day.
The path followed the ridge of a long, large hill and was far removed from a large public grazing area and golf course at the base of the slope. A dense wooded area separated the path from the open fields. I had the trail all to myself and I soaked up the sunbeams as I tramped along.
Soon an old man approached from the opposite direction and I gave him a friendly nod as we passed. He stopped and stared at me. I stopped too, thinking he was going to speak, but he shook his head and continued down the trail without a word. Puzzled, I resumed my hike. I saw fear in his eyes and could not figure out why he might be afraid of me. True, I was sporting 1/4 inch buzzed hair, combat boots, a long denim skirt with leather jacket, a backpack, and a long, black umbrella. Presentable for the London SoHo scene, but since I was missing tattoos and multiple piercings in creative locations, I was hardly the scariest outfit walking in England at that time. I probably looked more like a goth Mary Poppins.
It wasn’t long before two sour-looking young men approached – the second one wore a long, black trench coat. They both stared intently at the ground as they walked quickly. The first man ignored me as he passed, but the second raised his eyes with a look of hate and anger that slapped my face. I whipped my eyes away and sped forward. It was a few minutes before I realized that I was still holding my breath. Now it seemed all the birds were silent and even the bright, cheerful sun had ducked behind a cloud. All the peace had been sucked out of the world as I continued walking, crazy ideas screaming at me and urging me to run. I forced myself to walk calmly for a time until some instinct coerced me to duck behind some bushes to see if the crazy ideas were right.
Sure enough, they had turned around and seemed to be following me from a distance. I was trapped alone on a path I did not know. Panicked and feeling a tad silly, I hoofed it to a bend in the trail where they would not see me easily, jumped the short wooden fence, and bushwhacked downhill as quickly and quietly as I could through the woods.
About halfway I dropped to the ground – all the while feeling very silly and thinking “You look like an idiot. Of course they won’t follow! You are being childish!”
I tried not to breath as they started to pass along above me. Then I saw them stop and stare into the woods where I jumped the fence. And being childish may have saved me that day because they didn’t continue on the trail.
They followed.
No longer caring if they saw, I crashed through the underbrush and tumbled out of the woods near two middle-aged golfers accompanied by huge wolfhound. I was scratched and scared but safe! They agreed that I should stick close to them for a while and gently chided me for hiking the public path all by myself. The kind man with the wolfhound muttered, “Not safe up there for you, dearie. Glue-sniffers! Nasty piece of work.”
Minutes later, the glue-sniffers popped out of the woods, eyed my rescuers, and ambled past us, eyes straight ahead, as though there was nothing more normal than to materialize out of thick brush at that particular spot. When they were well out of sight, I thanked my protectors, found a sunny spot lower in the field, and settled to watch the horses and sheep graze until the hostel opened in two hours. There were scores of people around. Relieved and safe, I settled myself on a log, cracked open a book, and thought that was that.
Sometime later I looked up from my book to admire the happy buzz of a beautiful spring day. My eye swept across the field until it froze on a figure wearing a long, black trench coat less than 100 yards away, casually talking to a girl caring for some horses. I had no idea how long he had been there and felt panic rising again.
Just then he looked up, met my stare, and gave me the most evil grin I had ever seen. My face flushed red hot and I stared in disbelief and anger. When I was on the trail, alone, he was a predator and I was prey. Here in the open with the bright afternoon sun, he was simply trying to scare a young girl. And this girl was done running.
I jumped up, swung the pack onto my back, and shouldered my weapon. Game on.
He didn’t see me get up and so did a quick double-take when he saw his intended victim marching steadily towards him across the field. At first he tried to continue his conversation while observing my progress. I stared him down, every step bringing me closer, swinging my long, black, sturdy umbrella.
Then, abruptly, he turned and attempted to saunter coolly away in the opposite direction. I maintained my course and speed like a 5 foot 6 inch glue-sniffer torpedo. I was gaining. He quickened his pace. I sped up. It was a chase race – he walked fast, I walked faster. When he reached the fence at the road, he vaulted over it, and broke into a wild sprint down the road and all I could do was stand there and watch him run.
I never even got to use the umbrella!
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