Peanut is finally off the clock. It’s midnight, just after,
and she runs to her car on the far side of the parking lot, jumps in. It’s not
winter yet, but it’s cold, and she can’t wait to get back to her cozy apartment
and Frouf the kitty.
She hops in, oops,
forgot to lock it, again, puts the key in the ignition, rubs her hands
together to warm them while the engine revs a bit. Warms up.
All at once, she sees movement out of the corner of her
right eye. Close. Closer than something going on outside the car. Her heart
beats faster as she turns her head.
She screams. A man is there, in the backseat. He’s not
reaching for her, but she’s paralyzed, can’t jump out of the car like she
probably should. She can’t do anything but sputter: gahgahgah. She must sound ridiculous. Why can’t she move? She feels
frozen.
He speaks, in a hurry: Don’t
move, don’t worry, please.
Something about the way he says it calms her a bit. Okay, okay. He needs help. Maybe he’s a
stranded motorist and jumped into her backseat to get warm while waiting for
help. But he’s too close.
I just need someone to
talk to…he pleads, sounding desperate. Now her anxiety ramps up again, and
she thinks: he’s some psycho maniac and
I’m dead, I’m dead.
But he looks all right, ordinary. He’s handsome in a 1950s
sort of way. Peanut feels her heart start to return to normal, but she doesn’t
feel safe turning back around in her seat just yet. What if a quick movement
sets him off, makes him harm her? For all she knows he has a gun.
I just want to talk to
you. I’ve been watching you for a while, he explains.
You were watching me tonight?
Peanut asks. Her voice is froggy. It’s her vocal folds being paralyzed,
briefly, that’s making her sound raspy.
She tries to think back on the night, wondering if he was sitting
at the bar. He does look familiar.
No, I mean…I know you.
I live in your building. I’ve just wanted to meet you, and haven’t had a chance
to go about it the traditional way. He smiles, swipes the hair off his
forehead, out of his eyes. I like your little
kitten, he smiles, maybe winning her over without her feeling control
slipping away.
Okay, but what are you
doing in my car? You scared the hell out of me.
He doesn’t respond to this, not at first. He seems deep in
thought, his smile gone, and Peanut starts to worry again. Why can’t she just
get out of the car? Well, for one, she knows it’s her car. He should be the one to leave.
Can you just get out
of my car? She says now. Maybe we can
talk another night, at the bar. I work again on Friday. At this, he just
stares at her. Maybe he didn’t understand me, Peanut thinks. This alternating
between feeling okay and feeling panic is causing her head to hurt.
Well, maybe…he
starts. He looks out the window, at the bar, and she follows his gaze. She
begins to see a few other patrons make their way out the door, to their own
cars. She’s not sure why she didn’t think of this before, but at least having
others in the parking lot, including coworkers, will insure that she’s safe.
She can just send a message with her eyes, through the window. Malcolm, the part-time bartender, is walking out now.
But before she can muster a desperate enough look as Malcolm
is strolling past to his car, the man behind her begins to speak again.
What would happen if
we went back to your place now, he suggests. It’s the lack of confidence in
his tone that helps Peanut understand that she can regain control of this
situation, she just needs to be firm.
No, definitely not,
she says. There’s something else that Peanut’s aware of that’s causing her to
not want to flee.
Could it be she’s attracted to this stranger? Not wanting to
think about this, Peanut strikes the thought from her mind and concentrates on
getting him out of her car.
I’m Barry, by the way, he reaches over the seat, extending
his hand for her to shake. Should she reveal her name? He probably already
knows it, anyway, if he lives in her building and hangs out at her bar. She
shakes his hand, which is warm, the handshake firm. She’s a little surprised by
this, expecting his hand to be limp and sweaty. Since she goes by Peanut
instead of her given name, this might be easier. Patricia, she answers.
It is here that Peanut realizes she must make a decision.
Does she flee, hoping never to come across this Barry again, or does she plan
to meet him, get to know him, either to appease him or quell her own curiosity?
Peanut has just finished reading a story about espionage. She
realizes her own boring life is, well, boring in comparison, and thinks
risk-taking just might be in her future. Is Barry in her future as well?
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