I'm just clocking out at the end of a work shift. It's after dark. I've stayed later than I was supposed to, because someone didn't do things that are supposed to be done on first shift, and I had to catch up so that it all didn't fall on the 3rd shifter. Instead of 8 hours, I've been there for 9. It's almost midnight.
I worked on "fast forward" all night, and I'm feeling it. My legs hurt. My back hurts. My ribs hurt, and I don't even know why. I just want to go home, take more than the recommended dosage of ibuprofen, and crawl into bed with three or four blankets over me.
The last heavy thing I did tonight was change one of the big BIBs. (BIB = Bag In Box. It's the syrup for one of the colas in the soda fountain.) Those things weigh 50 pounds, and I'm the only girl at work who can really handle them. The co-worker on shift with me can't even lift the darned things. She pointed out that it was empty, watched me lift it, flip it, and shove it into place, then finished attaching it while I went out to run the nozzle to get the air out of the hose so it wouldn't spit on our customers.
Now, I'm thinking that maybe I shouldn't have flipped it to turn it over. That was a bit much. The way my shoulders feel, I may have been overdoing it there... but it was fun to watch my co-worker's eyes widen when I did it. I made it look like less effort than it was. I guess it's my one weakness of ego - If I can't be cuter, I at least like being bigger and stronger than the other girls.
Once the time clock lets me out (and it takes about 5 times for it to read my print) I leave the back office, say goodbye to the night shifter, admonish him to greet everyone at the door with a smile (a robber is less likely to hit your store if he knows you're alert and you got a good look at his face as he walked in) and then head out to my van.
That's when I remember - I had to walk tonight. My van wouldn't start. It wouldn't even turn over. My husband was all ready at work, so there was nothing I could do. I walked here, and now I'm going to have to walk home.
It's only three blocks, but the way I feel, it might as well be three miles. Better start walking now, or it's only going to get worse.
I step out into the chilly air, zip up and put up my hood, and set out down the street back to my place. Every step is a battle. My body just doesn't want to move. Except when I have to cross the street, I am almost entirely focused on just putting one foot in front of the other without falling on my face. It seems like an eternity.
One block down, two more to go. I step up onto the curb, and continue trudging forward. The windows in the houses beside me are all darkened. Everyone else is all ready in bed. Even the yards are unlit. No one's porch lights are on. Shadows are starting to look creepy. I'm starting to think about all of the robberies we've had at neighborhood businesses this season. There haven't been muggings, but still... shadows are starting to look creepy.
I force my legs to work a little harder. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can rest. My thighs protest, and my hips sound off in agreement. I sound just like the crispy rice cereal I had for breakfast.
I still have 2 1/2 blocks to go. This sucks.
I'm so focused on my own movement, I barely notice and at first don't even register the movement beside a tall tree off to my right. I've passed it when I realize what I've ignored. I hear footsteps on the sidewalk behind me.
Crap. If I look back, I'm going to look paranoid. If I don't, I won't know who is behind me. I could change course, but there's no other route to my place. I'd end up walking a lot more, then having to loop around, and I don't think my legs can take that. Besides, this is the best lit part of the area. It's on a main street, not a side street.
The other walker seems to be matching my pace, right down to my uneven step. Until I started paying attention to the sound of those footsteps, I didn't even realize I was limping. Damn, I must look so vulnerable! Why didn't I call someone? I have friends who would have given me a ride.
Well, because it's rude to call people late at night, isn't it? I wasn't expecting this, so I didn't bother anyone.
I'm such a dumbass.
I feel like I'm being mocked. My stalker knows that I can hear those footsteps. When I pick up the pace, so does he. It's on. I might as well stop pretending to not know.
I turn and look, and am surprised to see that he's much further behind me than expected. I'm almost at the end of the second block, and he's still clear back by that tree. Maybe he's not following me after all. Maybe the weather is just affecting the acoustics, or something like that.
As the though goes through my head, my stalker lengthens his stride and begins to catch up. In the darkness, I can't see his face, or any other details, except that he's a big, tall guy with a coat that goes below the hips and has a hood, which he's wearing, casting a shadow over his face. On his feet are some kind of heavy soled boots. He's now advancing on me with a purpose. What is he going to do when he finds out I don't have any money?
Adrenalin shoots through my chest like fire. I turn and force my aching muscles to move. Each step is torture. I feel like I'm literally tearing my hips to shreds, but I'm running anyway. I try to scream, but I can't breathe. Behind me, I hear him catching up, but my body won't move any faster. I feel a sense of impending doom. I know this is going to hurt, but not how badly. My mind is racing, trying to figure a way out of it. I realize I'm going to have to fight.
As the thought hits me, so does he. One huge hand slams into my back, and I fall on my face, my hands, chin, my nose slamming into the pavement with a loud smacking sound. I roll over and try to kick him, but he's not there. Looking around wildly, I see him standing beyond my head. I still can't see his face. I scramble to get up, but he grabs the back of my coat and shoves me back down, face first into the sidewalk again. I'm no shortie - I'm 5' 9", but this guy makes me feel small. He's at least 7' tall, and has a good 40 pounds on me. I'm reduced to kicking and flailing uselessly, like a little kid. I feel my feet gain purchase on the sidewalk, and try to push away, but instead I feel the weight of my attacker on my back. He pushes me down, grabs my arms, and pins my hands to the ground beside my face.
I can feel his breath moving my hair. In my ear, a deep, but decidedly feminine voice says, "Do we have to do this every time?" And I realize that the chest pressed against my back is awfully soft for being a man's chest.
Oh, God. I'm being mugged by a 7 foot tall woman. I try to turn to get a look at her, but I can't move. I try to ask what she wants, but I can't breathe. My hands are pinned, and so are my legs, but the position she's in doesn't lend itself to any kind of action, unless she intends to start biting me, which she'd have done by now if that was the intention. My heart is pounding, and my whole body hurts. I figure she's waiting for me to signal surrender by not struggling any more.
I'm about to force myself to relax when I hear another voice from behind us. "You idiot. You're not going to get anything out of her that way. Cut it out." That one is male. I recognize it, but I can't remember from where. The sound of it scares the crap out of me, sending shivers through my entire body.
The shock of hearing that second voice, when I didn't even know he was there, woke me. It was dark, and my husband was in the room. He'd gotten up and gotten ready for work, and was about to leave. I was awake long enough for him to kiss me goodbye. I thought I'd get up, but it was only about four hours after I'd gotten to sleep. My head was heavy, and my body just didn't want to move. Even though the dream really freaked me out, I was so tired that I slipped back to sleep anyway. I drifted in and out for another two hours, until the light made sleep impossible. If it were dark, I could go back to sleep again right now.
I have really been feeling helpless lately, dealing with the crap I'm going through at work. This dream could be my mind's way of picking at that scab, but that doesn't explain the male voice and why it scared me so bad. I'm not sure what to think about that.
On a side note, this would never happen. My husband wouldn't let me walk home. If he came home from work and the van was still there, he'd come pick me up when my shift was over, not leave me to walk home in the dark.
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