I was followed at night by a homeless man who was barefoot and dressed in filthy clothes. He eventually came up to me beneath the pedestrian underpass and did something that still astounds me.
It was about nine o’clock as I was making my way home on foot. The street was already dark: automobiles drove by, leaving streaks of light behind them, a few people rushed by, and the sidewalk was faintly lit by the dull lighting.
It’s not always safe for women to be outside at that hour. Knowing that, I moved swiftly while holding my bag firmly and occasionally looking over my shoulder. Everything in the city looks more hazardous at night, so my heart was pumping more quickly than normal.
I heard heavy footsteps behind me all of a sudden. steady but slow. A man.
I accelerated and rounded a bend, praying it was all in my head. However, the footsteps continued—in fact, they got closer.
I stealthily turned to look behind me and saw him: a man in his fifties, barefoot, with long hair and a tangled gray beard, wearing soiled, ripped clothing. A man living on the streets.
He was following me closely, practically in step, and he accelerated as soon as he saw I was moving more quickly. Fear was causing my blood to race in my temples. My breathing grew shallow as my chest constricted. My legs felt like they were going to buckle.
As I crossed the street, I muttered, “Oh God, please, don’t me.”
However, he got up to me when the light abruptly went red, directly beneath the pedestrian underpass. I flinched and nearly screamed when I felt his big hand on my shoulder.
— What are your desires? — The words just flowed forth. — Take the bag if it’s cash! Please, don’t touch me!
But I was totally taken aback by what the homeless man did next.
I noticed a wallet in the man’s palm when he held it up. My pocketbook!
He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were simply indistinct noises. His lips were cracked, and he spoke something like:
— …discovered… dropped…
Then I realized everything. He was just unable to talk. I must have left my wallet behind as I walked out of the store. Unable to scream out to me, he noticed it and followed me barefoot on the chilly tarmac.
Stunned, I stood there. He merely wanted to give me back what I had lost, even if I had just seen him as a threat.
I felt guilty for being afraid and for making snap judgments about men based only on their looks.
That night taught me a valuable lesson: often the most human experiences are the ones that frighten us the most.
