“Could anyone in back give me the license plate number of the man following us?” A nervous hush inundated the bus as I frantically wrote down the series of numbers and letters. I apprehensively walked off the bus and started to walk to my long-awaited…safe domicile. It felt as if years have elapsed—I thought it was too late. The rusty, powdery-blue Cadillac watched, waited, and wanted to know where I was going, but just in time…he drove away.

For four consecutive days, the Cadillac watched every meticulous move I made. His seat was pushed back, his arm shadowed his face, and he followed the bus so close I could see the miniscule embellishments on the upholstery. He would wait until I entered my home, then drive away. I tried to obviate his next move, but he would appear where I least expected it.
On the fifth day, I walked off the bus, thinking that day was going to be different. He was there. Lurid visions of murder, capture, and rape sporadically ran rampant throughout my mind. My pulse quickened, and I started to breath heavily. I ran. My mother, confused, awaited me with arms wide open. The rash conjectures I once thought nothing of, started to unveil their truth. I was terrified with what could happen with one more day to pass.
My mom called “911” as I sat on the couch. She summoned a police car to our house and yet again it was too late. I heard the policeman make a quip comment to my mom saying, “Oh…that’s just the mailman.” If this is true, I guess no one ever received mail on our street again. He never came back.
This terrifying experience taught me not to be lax, and follow my gut feeling. I also will know when and how to act in times of distress. I have pushed most of these feelings out of my mind to cope with the emotions, but I have taken away a learning experience. I will forever have with me, the image of the clandestine Cadillac.