Ominous Walk

I had my first uncomfortable -- probably dangerous -- experience in the cemetery yesterday.  I've walked there for years, and now this.  I am a little shaken and a lot pissed.  I treasure my time alone, and now one of my favorite places has been marred.  

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I am about half way through my walk and have stopped to look out over a huge ravine when a large white van passes me and then, to my dismay, begins to back slowly in my direction. The back of that van looks really big and has no windows, and the guy driving it looks a lot stronger than I am.  I am hoping that he is accompanied by a woman -- the cemetery roads are winding and confusing and people often ask for directions.  No such luck.  

 "Have you seen a little deer?" he asks out his window.  

What kind of a dumbass question is that?  I wonder.  In a 400-acre cemetery there are probably 400 deer.  

"No, I haven't, " I respond.   

"There's a little deer in here -- so friendly and tame -- been here about a month," he persists.  

"Nope," I say.  All the deer around here are nonplussed by humans.  My husband passed within three feet of one when he was out running the other night. Is this the adult version of the "Want to see my kittens?" trap?  

Warning signals are passing through the back of my brain.  Its reptilian portion is emerging from what had been a rather dull nap during a pleasant walk through crunchy yellow and brown leaves, reminding me that would-one attackers are supposedly repelled by confidence.  

"Haven't seen any deer today."  I look directly at him and feel a sense of panic as I realize for certain that there is probably no one else within a mile of us.   

He looks at my dog.  Small and cheerful, but you never know.  I'm hoping he's looking at my cowboy boots, very hard and very pointed.  Maybe he's thinking, now that he's actually pulled beside me, that I am older and more resourceful than he might have imagined from a distance. More alert, too.  And not the least bit afraid to use those boots.  

Later I realize that at this moment I am actually really scared, but I am not letting myself know that. "No deer," I say firmly, and begin to move away. He puts his car in gear and I walk with determined steps in the other direction.   

The second half of my walk takes a lot less time than the first.  I don't see another soul until I am within half a mile of the cemetery gate where a young woman is finishing her run and opening her car trunk.  I stand some distance from her so that I don't startle her and wait for her to remove her iPod to tell her that someone has just approached me in way that has left me extremely uncomfortable.  I hope that if she comes back here to run she leaves the iPod at home -- it was probably two full minutes before she had any idea that I was behind her.  

I have a lot of time to think on the way back.  I feel like an idiot for not glancing at the man's license plate, but I conclude that you can manage only so much at one time.  Staying safe is going to have to be good enough.  I try to decide if I am overreacting, but then I realize that not one of my male friends would stop his car to attempt a conversation with a woman walking alone in a deserted location.  I am not overreacting; this guy has gone way beyond the normal boundaries between strangers of opposite genders.  

So.  No more late afternoon walks in the cemetery.  What a BITCH.

    

On a happier note (and with a thank-you photo that I hope works; I had a lot of trouble with it the other day): I couldn't be more flattered than to have been nominated as a Weekly Pic by Guest Editor Jim, one of J-Land's finest writers and gentlemen.  Thanks to him and to those of you who have emailed your congratulations and left comments.  And if you haven't been by his journal before, take a peek, and be sure to check out its name.  There's a remote chance that I will make it to Skellig Michael this summer, in part thanks to what I've learned from Jim.