Anonymous Strangers

Once, when I was a boy, a man on a bus stared me down. He wore a blue hat that was faded, and tattered at the edges, and had his arms crossed. For some reason, he made me scared, and I buried myself in my mom’s coat, in an attempt to hide. I was young, and was always afraid of strangers. It was unreasonable, and unwarranted. I didn’t have a reason to act that way. But, I was a scared child, and afraid of strangers, so I figured I was a lot like the rest. But I soon discovered, I was not.<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>A few days later, we were at the grocery store. I sat in the cart, trying to see how many apples I could stack, while my mom read through the sales papers. A man who stood across from us in the aisle, caught my eye. He was staring at me, and his eyes were cold. I shivered, and pulled at my jacket, just trying to get closer to my mom. I tugged at her sleeve, tugging her attention away from the paper. She looked down to see me, and I tilted my head towards the man. She looked over, and smiled. He smiled back, and looked away. My mom turned to me, looking concerned. She asked me why I thought it was wrong to stare at someone who looked at me, and I was trapped. I looked down at the floor, not wanting to continue this line of questioning. So, my mom continued.<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>“Listen, you can’t be a scared little boy your whole life.” She said, as if I was four. “You should be friendly to people you meet, because you never know those who you meet.” She said, but then she noticed my look, and sighed. “You don’t have to talk to them if you’ve never met them, but don’t be mean to them.” She said, as she grabbed her cart and started to push it. I plodded along after her, and decided I would do my best to listen, but I knew it wasn’t going to last long. I had been like this for as long as I could remember, and I didn’t see a way to change.<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>Years passed. I was now in my thirtieth year. Every year, I still grew more anxious around strangers. It had significantly lessened, but it never went away. I was a writer, and worked in a small shop. It was an ideal job, for someone like me. Quiet, and small. Even the other employees hadn’t been there long, and they didn’t even know my name. I liked it that way. I didn’t have to talk to anyone, and I didn’t have to worry about what people thought of me. It was a perfect job, but I still had my problem. And strangers still seemed to find me. At a grocery store, once, a man had watched me. I thought of my mother at the time, and she lost to her fear. I hid my head in shame, and she did too. She had been wrong, and I had ignored her. But I still tried. She had only wanted what was best for me.<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>I made the decision, that I was going to overcome my fear of strangers. I knew I would never be able to fully overcome it, but I was going to try. I was going to go to the park, tomorrow, and meet new people. I would talk to them, and be nice. I was going to overcome this. I walked home with a smile on my face, and felt proud. It was a decision I had been waiting to make for a long time. <br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>I felt good as I entered my house. I walked straight to my room, feeling proud, and undressed myself. I hung up my clothes, and slipped into a pair of pajamas. I felt at peace, as I climbed into bed. I smiled, and then slipped inside my sheets. As I felt the mattress beneath me, I closed my eyes, content. <br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>I don’t think I had fallen asleep for more than minutes, when I woke up. I felt frightened, and cold, and I immediately knew why. A man sat on my bed. It was dark, and his face was obscured, but I knew he was there. He sat in the corner of my bed, and was looking at me. I screamed, and jumped for an alarm on my nightstand. I was brimming with tears, as my lights flickered on. The man looked at me, and his eyes weren’t cold. They were warm. And I think I knew, exactly who he was. I looked at the man in my bed, and I reached into my head. I searched for an answer, but none came. But I remembered. I remembered him on a bus. Standing in the grocery aisle. And watching me, as I walked.  This was the first time I had seen him, in many years, but it was not the first time I saw him. I knew that, and I knew that he wasn’t wrong. He lied. But he told me the truth. This was the first time I saw him, in years. But it was not the first time I saw him. I knew that, and I knew that he wasn’t wrong. He lied. But he told me the truth.<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>&#x200B;