The open zone for staff to rest is inside the garage. I sit on the couch after I check my father's car, which is in front of me, parking magnificently, drawing my eyes. Kay is doing his thing with another vehicle. I came here not just to check up, but I wanted to ask him a question that would clear my doubts about whether Kay knew the answer.
I replay what exactly happened to me. My head absolutely does not play tricks with me. That guy with the helmet and his expensive bike is real. He keeps appearing wherever I go, making me feel crazy inside like he knows my weakness, my secret. I hope he won't come back after the first conversation we had. I couldn't call the actual conversation because I was the one talking.
"Hey, what are you thinking?" Kay asks and sits on the same couch.
"Life in general," I say.
"Like what? College and stuff?" He says, "Or a boy?" He asks,
I glance at him. Words travel fast in this particular town. "Hehe, no," I say.
"Okay—if you say so," he says, looking at my father's car. What's your plan after school? College, I mean…have you thought about that yet?"
I smile, "Of course, you have…I would be surprised if you said you haven't." he says with a bit of chuckling. "Which college?"
"Harvard," I say.
He smiles widely, "What major?"
"Pre-med," I say.
He's shocked. "Wow." He opens his mouth. "Zia…you want to be a doctor?" He asks surprisingly.
"Why do you sound so surprised?"
"Well… you didn't seem interested in… well, how would I know? Hahaha. I mean. You haven't shown—that side…that relates to…becoming a doctor." He tries to explain. "I thought you would choose to become a lawyer and study pre-laws. You're good at stating the facts and very honest," he adds.
"Is that a good thing?… it sounds like—bad." I look at him and give him a slight curl in the corner of my mouth.
"It's a good thing! For sure!" He shouts,
I laugh, "But sometimes it's bad… not all people can handle the truth…I get that." I say and smile at him.
"Yeah, true." He says and laughs, "But without the truth, we will live with the illusion of their own lies…I think it's worse." He says.
"Yeah…Hey, Kay… do you remember when I came here… the day you put in the new custom engine?"
"Ah-ha, yeah." He makes a sound.
"Do you remember that a customer was riding the bike, waiting outside your garage?" I look at him, but he seems confused. "The black bike, wearing black, hot, big body?"
"Ha— hot and big body." He repeats. "Ahem… I think yeah, I remember…why?"
"Is he coming around?" I ask.
He pauses and leans his back to the backrest. "No…hey, about a few days ago, he came back."
"Is he a regular customer?" I ask.
"No, I haven't seen him before," Kay says.
"How could we see him before he always wears the helmet on his head?" Then, The manager joins the conversation.
Seriously? Even here?
"Can I ask? What did he come here for?...fixing?"
"No, he came here to buy some tools and stuff for his bike." The manager says.
"Why did you ask?" Kay asks, "You know him?"
"No…" I say.
"Don't tell me you're interested in him?" Kay asks.
Interested? Probably. Because he's so fucking terrifies me, creeps the fuck out of me, and so mysterious to me. If he's a thief, he might be planning and observing me and the house before breaking in. At this time, I think he would already know that I live by myself, but why hasn't he done anything yet? If he's not a thief, there's a chance that he's just a stalker. What does he want from me anyway? Or he just does it because of the fun.
"Zia," Kay calls me.
"Yeah…a bit, hehe," I say. It's not completely a lie.
One night, I walked home from Irin's place after dinner. I saw that bike park across from the house, but no rider. I strolled in the middle of the street and tried to look for the rider, but I couldn't find him anywhere. The first thought that came into my head was to kick that bike down, but I had not enough strength to do that. I might be the one who falls down to the ground instead. I decided to take a picture of it and his license plate, but I had to walk around and be near enough because it was too dark. But suddenly, the rider came back from my front porch.
What the—
He paused himself as I paused myself. We looked at each other, but we were far enough to make a run,
He was close to my house, and I was close to his bike.
And he was still wearing the helmet.
He was stunned, I could fucking tell, but not as much as me. I watched and waited for him to make his move, so I didn't know what I should do: run, kick on his bike, or ride his bike off. I quickly glanced at the key and turned to him,
Shit.
He stepped toward the street.
But the key was there. It was the wrong move, my friend, to leave the key on. As he took another step, I took a step toward his beloved bike—exorbitant; it cost him a pile of money to buy this bike.
"What do you say, huh?" I lightly said it aloud, but I didn't think he could hear me, though he knew what I was trying to do. He stepped on his right foot, and I stepped closer to his bike, and then he stopped. "Yeah, right," I whispered.
I couldn't just take the key out that instant; it would take a second. I had to find a perfect time.
Fuck, there's no perfect time. Just fucking do it.
I ran to the bike, grabbed the key, pushed it, twisted it, and pulled it out before he got to me and ran to the side of my yard. He was about to get to me. I quickly threw the key into the wood. While his face followed the key direction, I ran the fuck out to my porch and pressed the digit.
He turns to me,
He said nothing like usual because he was a coward who was scared to confront me face to face. But not me, I was the coward, and I admitted it; I was scared the fuck out. He stood still like a mannequin in front of my yard.
Click.
The sound unlocked.
"I told you…it's my property," I shouted. I stepped inside, but my foot hit some box on the floor. I looked at him, and he was still there, with no movement. He must be fucking mad, mad—mad. I grabbed the box, got inside, and locked the door.
I ran to my room and sneaked out to see from the window. I saw him walking to the side of the house, which was in front of my bedroom. He looked up with the helmet on. I waited for what he was going to do next. I took the phone out and showed him through the window. I demonstrated the sign; I pointed at my phone, pointed at him, moved my four fingers toward me and out, as I moved my lips slowly to be the subtitle for him.
"I'll–call–the–police–if–you–don't–leave." I moved my lips.He stood still. "FUCK—OFF." I moved my lips clearly this time and closed the curtain.
For a minute, I heard the sound.
Vroommmm.
"What the hell?" I said it out and quickly pushed the curtains away to see. That creepy stalker was riding his bike carelessly, passing my room slowly with one hand while looking up at me and showing how proud he was that my plan did not succeed. Then, he rode his fucking bike away.
Of course, he had a spare key.
After that day, he hasn't come back, which relieves me a bit, but not entirely. I sense he might be planning something, retreating to find a bigger move.
Thinking about that creep makes my head hurt.
While writing my school assignment, the big project for English class, I can't get rid of him out of my mind, and then my eyes turn to see the deep blue box. It was a package I found in front of my door that confronting night. I thought it was just a standard package from the postman; maybe it was from my father. But it's not.
I decided to take a look inside. It has been lying on the couch for a few days.
I open it, "Hah—" I gasp as my eyes widen. I pull out the white lace in a neat rose pattern, with a stripe running a long way down to the bottom.
It's a stockings.
"What—" I say confusingly and astonishingly. I expand them out, and they come with a pair. "Oh my god, it's beautiful," I say with a smile on my face. "Who is it from?" I ask myself and look at the deep blue box; there's nothing outside, and I flip the box and shake it out. Then, the white square paper falls down to the carpet. I bring it up and read the note that's written in red pen.
'A new one for you, baby doll.'
"Ha—What?" I tuck my brows together, and then I realize. "Don't fucking tell me it's from that—" I quickly throw the stockings on the bed. That night, I saw he came from my porch; he must have put it down before I got here.
Instantaneously, the thoughts that it shouldn't appear in my mind. My favorite black flower didn't disappear on its own. That creep must have stolen it from me; that means—"He was in my room!" I say it out freakily. My heart beats so fast. I also feel tickling under my skin and the back of my bones, and I feel an electric shock under my bare feet.
I quickly go to the window and look outside like a crazy, paranoid person.
Shit.
I turn my head to see the white lace stockings and bite my bottom lip.
"Fuck, but it's so stunning…" I say lightly.
But I will never ever wear it!
I rewind Miss Quinn's suggestion to find an extra class, volunteers, or extra activities. To be honest, after that conversation, I haven't done anything yet about it. I don't have any clues or anything interesting in the academy, outside, or even in this town. I could do the garage thingy; that sounds interesting, but not for Harvard.
Actually, operating cars is the same as operating the body. What the hell am I thinking?
If I can do some work in the hospital, it might help.
That's a good choice.
"Kid," the cashier calls me while putting the snacks in the bag, and I look up at her. "Be careful, alright?" she says, shifting her eyes at several men outside the store. Some of them are looking right inside. "I saw them when you were walking in here, " she says.
Then, I turned to her, and she was about to put my strawberry soda can inside the bag. "I'll take this one," I say with a smile.
"And you should stop coming out for snacks at night. It's not that safe for young girls." She says,
"If I'm hungry, Miss?" I ask with a bit of teasing.
"Then, you should come here in daylight and stockpile," she suggests serious-faced, giving me the bag full of snacks.
"Hehe, it seems too hard to live a life as a young girl," I say, taking it from her hand.
"I know…instead of being free and experiencing your life, you have to be careful and be cautious all the time." She says, "This goddamn town, full of the richest, not just money…" She looks outside and turns her face to me as I put the straw inside the can. "But richest in crime too…Where the hell do they put the money in… their cars, clothes…" She's mumbling her facts. "Their hair—"
"But not their brains, right?" I add.
"That's right—but some people have brains but ignore it." She repeats another fact, and I agree.
I smile at her, "Don't worry, I've never ignored my brain." I say as I'm about to leave. "And I run fast, too."
"Good." She smiles.
While I'm walking past the group of men, I do not give an eye to them, but I can hear their laughs and the sounds that come out from their mouths and from their footsteps. I ignore them and try to walk calmly. Suddenly, I see a biker, the same fucking biker, stalker, creeper—I don't know anymore. He's right before my eyes. I can't turn back to these disgusting men behind me, and I can't walk ahead to my creeper.
Shit. What perfect timing.
"Hey, girl—" The one behind me is closer to my back.
My body moves forward and walks in the biker's direction by instinct.
"Don't try to ignore me, beautiful." The man behind me is getting more aggressive.
Then, a helmet guy walks in my direction and stops before me.
What is he doing?
I look at his helmet, which reflects my face. It's the first time we've been close, and it's so close that I know my height compared to him. He's so tall, very tall, and his body is larger than that of boys on sports teams, more prominent than a normal grown man, like a soldier to me.
He says nothing and just stands as my breath puffs on his chest. And I turn my head to see the guys behind me; they are halting, looking at the mystery man near me like my shadow. I turn to look at the man before me, and his chest is right in front of my eyes. I don't know what to feel right now. His existence stops those jerks' disgusting behavior without opening his mouth or any violence.
But at this moment, I feel like I'm in his palm, under his nose.
"Ha…" I accidentally gasp after his helmet moves down to me.
"C–Can you move?" I say lightly. Hide my eyes from him, but he doesn't step back or even breathe. There's no fog or sound from this guy. I look up again and stare inside the black shield into the helmet.
I'm scared,
—but I feel fine.
He turns his head to see behind me again and backs off a little, giving me a space to walk. I step forward slowly. I glance at him and give a quick glance at the group of men who are still watching me, probably us. I keep walking away, passing my creepy savior, who is standing there waiting for something. My distance is pretty far away from the convenience store, and then I hear the bike come my way; the lights hit the street before me, and the sound of the bike is more transparent but not louder. I know it's him.
I watch him ride past me, but my eyes stop directly across the street in front of me. He's riding his bike slowly, keeping up with my pace without passing me by.
What now?
I look at him as I walk ahead; he also rides along.
Is it my time? Am I going to be attacked at this time? He might get even because I threw his bike's key into the woods. While I'm confused in my head, I'm also confused outside my body.
Why don't I run?
I turn to him again and stop walking.
And then, he pauses his bike.
I walk again, stepping my foot ahead,
He also moves forward.
What is he trying to do here?
I decide not to care and mind my business; I drink my soda can and ignore him. I walk nonstop and stop abruptly to see his reaction,
And he pauses his bike in no time.
"Hee," I quietly chuckle, I turn to look at him, and his windshield is directly at me. I try not to smile and turn myself, walking ahead.
As I expected, he also rides his bike along with me.
The distance between us is around 7 meters, with an empty road and space for a cool breeze. No sound of us talking, only the sound of light wind, his peaceful engine, my footsteps, and my drink inside the straw—calm, which I didn't expect this feeling from him or our interaction.
I really don't understand this part of myself. I feel my blood running precisely whenever I'm in a terrible situation. Instead of running away, I run toward it. My brain knows I try not to ignore it, but my body ignores it. People used to say, 'The body knows more than anything.' our body senses the danger and what feels uncomfortable for us, what's good for us, and what poisons us; the body reacts on its own, and mine always be that way. Perhaps my body is trying to tell me something.
Eventually, we arrived at my house. He stops his bike and looks at me through the black mask. I give him a quick look, but I am a bit hesitant to get back inside. I don't know what he plans to do with me right now or in the near future. I walk through my yard on the walking path, and I turn around to see him.
He is there, waiting.
It's like he sends me back home, takes me back home—safely.
"Is it you?" I say softly, "The gift—stockings."
He says nothing while looking at me, even though I don't see those eyes.
"I'm not going to wear it," I say. While I'm waiting for his movement, I get to the porch and am about to open the door.
"Shame—"
"Ha—" I gasp and turn my head to him immediately.
The deepest voice I've ever heard. "It must be beautiful on you." He says.