Why Did You Follow Me?

It all started out as a joke – the mysterious guy at the bar, a side glance, a nod – as if to say follow me. So I did. I thought we would end up outside, I would bum a smoke from him and enjoy the refreshing outside air and the break from the constant drone of conversation inside the bar.

I don’t usually follow people down dark alleys. But about a half a block from the bar, the man in the long black coat gestured with his head again, this time in the direction of the alley on the right. He peeked over his shoulder once. I had only taken one step down the alley at this point. When I heard my heels hit gravel, the sound startled me. I realized I had been holding my breath for the last few steps. 

There was something reassuring in his face as he peeked over his shoulder. So I kept going. Every step crunched louder, and the light from the street faded away. I could barely see him ahead of me. But it looked like the alley ended. So I followed him. 

Curiosity killed the cat, I thought to myself. Always be aware of your surroundings, the words my mother had always spoken to me softly as I left their house echoed in my ears. Don’t be stupid. That last one was my Dad. I’m glad neither of them are around to see me now. 

I stumbled, just a bit, and reached out. My hand planted firmly against the brick of the building to the left of me. I sucked in the cold air and looked over my shoulder. The street light was barely visible. And it seemed so far away. But probably my best way out. I turned, as if to head back towards the safety of the night. Funny how the abandoned street seemed safe suddenly. 

I turned back around, realized that the alley ended in just a few steps and that the stranger was nowhere around me, and panicked. Now what?

It baffled me most that I felt less safe without a stranger and that I wasn’t questioning where he had gone. There wasn’t a way out. I had reached the end. There was a tall wooden fence, at least ten feet, if my guesstimate was correct, in front of me. And solid brick buildings on either side of me, assuring me that there was no other way that one could escape. I turned around, and noticed a piece of paper on the ground. 

I picked it up, marveling at how clean it looked for having just come off the ground and tried to hold it up to catch whatever bit of light I could from the other end of the alley to read it. It took a few steps towards the open end before I could see the neat black scrawling. 

“Why did you follow me?” 

That’s all the paper said. When would he had had the time to write anything like that down. Did he know before we left the bar I would follow him? Was he just waiting for anyone to make eye contact with. My heart started to race a bit, my mouth felt dry, and I tried to reason that it was perfectly logical I would want to have been the one signaled out for a reason.

A glance over my shoulder reaffirmed to me that he was not, in fact, at the of the alley and that I could head back towards the street. I shoved the paper into my red coat pocket as I took my first step back onto the sidewalk.

When my hand hit the door of the bar and pushed, I made eye contact with one of my friends, shrugging at her expression that seemed to ask a million questions at once. I walked past her, my hand against her back so I could lean in and be heard in the bar. “I just needed some fresh air. I’ll be back.”

She nodded as I headed to the restroom, which luckily was meant for just one. I locked the door, washing my hands quickly and splashed some water on my face, glancing in the mirror briefly. I looked the same, but I felt quite different, suddenly.

I was just about the leave the bathroom when I pulled the paper out, prepared to crumple it up and toss it in the trashcan. This time I pulled it out on the other side, realized there were more words and gasped slightly.

“If you’re looking for more answers about Bobby, call me.” 

I hadn’t thought about Bobby in ten years. And why would some stranger know about him. I shoved it into my pocket quickly, memorizing the telephone number that accompanied it, just in case and licked my lips, pushing thoughts of suicide and funerals to the back of my mind and walked quickly to my table of friends.

“I’m going to need a few shots.” I mumbled as I got there. Maybe more than a few. 

Prompt: 

 

Inside the Mind of a Pinata

They’ve told me that I should be excited. That I am to be used for someone else’s enjoyment. I can’t say I feel very thrilled about it, personally.

I realize we all have a greater good. They say this is my purpose - my destiny. What if I am meant for greater things? You can’t imagine what it must be like to know that your one mission in life is to be stuffed to the brim with candy and then beaten until you burst. How does that sound humane?

I know the end is near. I am aware that they will soon start to bring in the goodies. That they will manhandle me and use me for their own will. Shoving and stuffing. But that won’t stop my mind from wandering. 

There has to be more to life. Than this. Than just being used for someone else’s happiness. What about my own happiness? When I was being built, they whispered these words to me. Told me that I was going to make a child very happy. That their friends would shriek and clap and delight. In what, I wanted to yell at them – at my torment? At my abuse? How is this meant to make me feel better? 

I didn’t sign up for this. I was just a bit of paper. Paper with words. Words about politicians and what they had done wrong. Obituaries – people’s last impact on the world. This is what I started out as. How did it get to this? I was supposed to remain on your coffee table, the half finished crossword – or the specials at the daily market.

You were meant to clip pieces from me and put me on the fridge. Inspirational bits – I mean I did have that story about the little girl who raised money for the neighborhood park she wanted to build. This. This is what my purpose was. Not to be cut, ripped, shredded and wetted down. Glued into whatever mold you meant for me. 

I was supposed to be the word of the people. By the people and for the people. I was meant to inform the masses. Tell them what was going on in the world. This is purpose. Being a little girl’s birthday present isn’t really all that grand, in the grand scheme of things.

Words bring knowledge. Knowledge brings power. But they’ve decided to ignore that. To go about and use me however they deem fit. Why couldn’t I have ended up in the mayor’s office – the story about the high school academic team qualifying for the national tournament – clipped and framed? Where people could gaze upon me for years and read my words? 

What did I do wrong, I want to scream. How could I have made you so upset that you want to defile me and everything that I stand for? Why don’t you want to devour my words? 

Ignorance is bliss. I heard this once. And you know what? They’re right – ignorance must be bliss. Because the people who have chosen to ignore all that I stand for aren’t full of knowledge, they aren’t full of all the information that I could bring them. Instead they are filled with glassy eyed hope that this piñata – I’m shaped like a freaking horse, for the love of God – will be the highlight of the party. 

I thought, until just now, that I couldn’t feel lower. But now they’re here. With their bowls of bubble gum, and tiny toys, mints, and chewy candies. They’ve come for me. I had hope, until this very moment, that they would change their mind. That they would see what words could stand for. That they would respect what I had done for them in the past. What I could do to brighten their future.

I was wrong. Instead they mean to just use me. And let children beat me about. Until my insides explode. They say the children are the future. Not one I mean to be a part of, that’s for sure. 

Promise me something – promise me that you – someone out there – anyone out there – will remember me. You’ll remember what it means to read words and gain power from them. You won’t forget. Promise me this.