The Stalker Man

When I first told my family about the stalker man, they didn’t believe me.  The second time was different.
         I plucked the Marlboro from it’s pack and tapped the end on the white formica counter. The orange flame of my gold specked lighter flicked and smoke circled the tip of my fag as I sucked the sweet suffocating fog deep into my lungs.
         “I first saw him around a month ago,” I told my sister, “That creep was always eyeballing me.  Hiding behind those damn black shades.”
         I took another long drag off my cigarette and leveled my gaze, “You remember when I called that night back when?  You said ‘Oh Anne! You at it again with those paranoid delusions?’” I exhaled the smoke right in her eyes, “Well, it wasn’t paranoia this time, Lil.”
         “I saw him lurking around everyday for a couple of weeks,” Another drag soothed my nerves and I whispered, “Then one night it got nasty,”  I looked away from her, picked out an orange thread from my sleeve’s seam and rolled it like a sticky booger.
         “I just came back from Tommy’s,” I flicked the small orange fuzz at Lil, “And I wasn’t drunk or high either!  I got out of my car and shut the door and saw him standing there.  He was standing right behind me, hands in his pockets.  I asked if I could help him.  He shrugged.”
         I took another pull on the cig and let the smoke seep out my nose, nice and slow.  The burn felt good to me, “Then, real quick, he grabs me and shoves me to the ground.”
         I shut my eyes, “He was going to rape me, Lil,”  Then heavy, black velvet draped thickly over the present and my absolute fear returned.

         My legs are tight and itchy. My eyes swell in their sockets. My nails claw the stubbled beard at his jaw.  My nose stings with his stench of months-old-laundry and gin.  My fingers slip through greasy hair as I try to grab fistfuls.  My hand finds the edge of his sunglasses and I crunch them into his eyes.  He growls like a demon.
         He drives his knee cap hard into my thigh. I hear the crack of grandpa splitting logs and know it is my hip.  The clanking of his belt buckle chimes, piercing my inner ear.  No!  I cannot scream it’s only in my thoughts.
         My left foot wriggles out of it’s flip-flop and my toes dig into the rocky earth.  It’s not enough leverage. My hands scramble to lay flat behind my head and  I arch violently. He staggers above me.  A hard punch to my stomach thrusts my spine back into the ground and air is a long lost dream to my choking gasps.
         But now I feel it, near my right ear!  My fumbling fingers stretch around my saving grace.  Dusty air swarms into my lungs and I thrash my arms toward the monster ripping up my skirt.  Again. Again.
         With every contact my granite weapon makes, tingling warmth surges under my skin.  Again.  Again.
         Silence.
         My breath shudders.  My focus darts to my car, to the sky, then to the car again.  My hand locks the gritty stone’s movement. I feel stronger and writhe out from under the massive beast.  I drop the rock.  He lies still and bleeds.

         The cigarette I held was a long, dry ash.  I stubbed it out, shook out another one and placed it on my lips.  They were wet.  I wiped my cheeks and sniffed, “And that’s how I ended up a guest of Lafayette County prison.”