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VTMAS No.18: Book Store Stalker

Borders and the cattle yard were my two favorite places to go. I stayed away from home where so much conflict was common. Like I was expressing before, it wasn’t uncommon to find me sitting at Borders and it was awesome martin and April were known to show. Occasionally, I would find myself alone…

I had pulled up in my famous 1992 Blue Yukon, and had entered the Border’s cafe area and began drawing. Sadly, no one I knew was there, even after perusing through the aisleways hoping to find anyone to socialize with but I was alone. With a sigh, I headed back to my seat and began working on some artwork to pass time and destress.

Today’s art project was from the Black & White photography magazine and I had completely zoned into the project. The sounds of the store had long went mute and the only things I saw were the lines and shading I was laying to the paper to recreate the amazing photo. For records sake I think it was this drawing:

“Oh wow, you draw too!” The unfamiliar voice startled me from my work.

Looking up at this stranger who had sat at my table uninvited, he was rubbing his nose, as if tweaking out on something. He had a black hoodie on, black ball cap, and did not look like any of the normal patrons I had seen attending the store. No offense, I was there 4 out 7 days of the week, he definitely was not a regular nor was he actively shopping or working on anything.

No food or coffee from the table he had left. I noticed he had been sitting at the far corner windows of the cafe when I initially came in, so he was there before me. I gave a weak smile, nodded yes, and went back to my picture that I was working diligently on thinking perhaps he wanted to watch me draw. This was something I welcomed and was used to, but I apparently was mistaken as to why he had moved over to my table.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” Once more the awkward nose rub and the quick glances to left and right before leaning closer to me. “You come here a lot, I see you all the time.”

I paused in my drawing and without looking at him I lied, “Yea, I have a boyfriend. If you don’t mind I am trying to focus on my work.”

He smacked the table, and I pushed away in surprise, making the space between us bigger as I looked at him bewildered by the sudden burst of anger. “You’re lying! You don’t have a boyfriend!”

“It’s none of your business.” I kept calm, he had done a well enough job to have all the cafe guests and employees’ paying attention to what would happen next. “I don’t know who you are, but you don’t know me. In fact, I am waiting on my boyfriend right now.”

“You’re lying.” He growled, rubbing his nose once more. “I followed you in your blue truck and no-”

“What did you say?” Anger was taking hold. Once more a weirdo has put me into offensive mode. “What do you mean you were following me from my truck?”

“Yea, so what!” He barked, but I was giving him the death glare and whatever words he was trying to spit out were failing.

“How dare you follow me! I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but if I ever see you again, I will beat the shit out of you!” I grabbed a fist full of his hoodie and jerked him across the table. “I raise cattle, and you are nothing. Don’t ever approach me again unless you want your face beaten in by me and my boyfriend.”

The onlookers were giggling as he banged into two chairs on his way back to his table. He sat down, sulking as he avoided eye contact with me.

“Val?” Martin had ironically showed by pure luck, and unfortunately, became a victim of my lies from just seconds before.

“OH! Martin! Honey!’ I ran up to him and hugged him tightly, he was quite shocked and baffled at my strange and non-Valerie-like actions. “Where were you! Your late!”

“I am?” Confused, I am sure he was wondering if the bicycle ride in the Florida Sun may have been too much as he sat down with me.

Glancing over at the “Stalker”, it was clear he was enraged to see a boy show up. With a sigh of relief, I leaned over, smiling as I whispered what he had missed and that he totally saved my ass.

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