Ripple in Frequency

The evening’s warm and overcast and I finally, at last, have a moment to myself.

June’s been blessed with lushness thick and green, fresh air and warm salt-scented gusts of sea.

Halfway through my evening run a car drives by and honks impatiently. Demandingly.

Can’t a girl just jog in peace?

A loathsome grin, a predatory stare pierces through the glass as the car accelerates.

The engine roars and a bitter lump settles in my throat.

I ignore it. Actively.

I turn down the music. Too loud, I tell myself, refusing to admit the actuality.

I trot on but seem to be avoiding the planned forest trails tonight.

It’s quiet. The air hangs still. Unmoving. Stagnant.

My pace steady, my pulse calming, I continue stubbornly.

An easy run, relaxing me-time, I feed myself the lies, turning up the volume.

The cheerful melody gets stuck into a veil unseen.

My body senses something my mind is still oblivious to.

Each hair, like a feeler rising from my skin, is focused on the vicinity.

And there it is. A silent signal. A ripple in surrounding frequency.

Shivers.

A stare at the back of my neck, flowing down my spine like putrid swill.

I peek over my left shoulder. Nonchalant.

The street is empty. Quiet. Peaceful.

Lying.

Another bucketful of swill pours from my shoulders to my toes.

I concentrate. I see no soul in sight.

Yet its presence weighs on me.

A foreign echo catches my attention. A sound that does not belong.

I pick up the pace a tad to hear if the echo matches.

It catches on with delay.

It’s just another jogger, I tell myself. It’s okay, I feed myself some more lies.

A movement in my peripheral as I turn a corner – a dark figure vanished within a blink, faster than a breath.

A flash of recognition.

Nameless. Faceless. Apparently anonymous.

Yet my gut tells otherwise.

I quickly take another turn – one that’s not on my planned route.

Just in case. Just to check.

My insides twist and churn.

The echo from before returns. Nearer, louder, bolder. Accelerating once again.

The little screen on my wrist reports the pulse and its complaints.

I turn my head just two degrees, yet that is all what’s needed.

Black hoodie lurks across the street. Larger, Darker, Closer.

My watch blinks in red, warning me of heart rate unusually high, pleading me to take it slower.

I reach for the pocket to my right to do what women do.

Black hoodie edges in at measured pace, I see the hood turn toward me.

Loathsome grin. Stops a beat too long to be an accidental glance, to mean no harm, to be a chance.

Wine glasses clink on balcony above, muffled laughter follows.

The hood snaps up, springs around and bolts.

I sprint the other way, red buzzing on my wrist, fist numb and nearly blue.

The keys stay lodged in gaps between my fingers as I glance back along the road.

The street is empty. Quiet. Peaceful.

Lying.