A Slice of Sight

I’ve seen lights.

Little blue lights at night that float around, mostly after I’ve listened to music, and always  when I’m half awake. This is a tale of the most questioning time that this has happened and I’m still spooked by it.

Women have been known to have their intuitions, but not like this.

In March of 2010, I was attending The University of Alabama and stayed in the apartment dorms named “The Highlands.” With three other apartment mates, I’ve always felt safe and I would just go day in and day out attending classes, grocery shopping and laundering clothes, with spurts of homework and studying.

One night I awoke with a strange feeling, as if I were still dreaming. I looked up in the usually pitch dark room and saw what looked like a tiny blue pin light on my wall. As I stared at it, it began to move in a slow sweeping movement. I could see it was spelling something in cursive, and it was “James.” Since I was half asleep, I just went back to sleep as if it were a natural occurrence of the mundane. The next day I recalled the dream, and since I know absolutely no one (nor to my recollection remember meeting any one) named James, I told my mom about it to see if it sparked anything in her memory. It didn’t. Chalking it up to the weird and whimsical, I forgot about it and went on with life.

Fast forward three weeks later. Exactly.

Now, occasionally all of my roommates would go home over the weekend (as we all had family close to the area, it happened often) but I had decided to stay. I had homework and studying to do that Friday evening… I also had some programs I wanted to watch on TV, but I digress. Deciding on ordering a nice pizza and a soda, I tuned on the TV… uh, I mean took out my drafting table… and got to work. A playful tune on my phone reminds me that I indeed have a working landline, and I pick up for the voice of the pizza guy. He’s lost. Naturally I give him the best directions I could, and upon still being navigation-challenged, I went outside and waved my hands around asking him to look for me. He found me. I wish he hadn’t.

It was nice to finally have my pizza as I relaxed to wind down my day. The phone rings again; huh, strange… nobody ever calls me on my landline. It’s The Pizza Guy.

“Hey, uh. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for getting lost.”

“Oh. That’s okay.”

“So how did you like your pizza? Was it good?”

“Um.. yes it was okay.”

“I just wanted to talk to you again and say that, uh, you know, uh, I like your style. I haven’t seen anybody around like you. You from here?”

“…..uh.             yes, I have family here.”

“Oh okay, okay, that’s nice. Yeh, that’s real nice. So I was wondering if I can call you aga—”

“UMM. I kind of have some homework to finish. So I have to go! BYE!”

“Oh okay, okay so I’ll call yo—”

CLICK!

With my heart racing and my head pounding from an quick oncoming migraine, I pulled the landline out of the socket (thank goodness I didn’t list my cell, right?) I was truly scared.

  1. I was 20 at the time
  2. He looked to be around early 50’s & uh… ghetto
  3. I was alone in the apartment.
  4. He not only knew my phone number…
  5. He knew my name and…
  6. He knew where I lived

I called my mom, who lived in a COMPLETELY different state at the time (good thing I have family members in Tuscaloosa.) After she’s done freaking out, and made sure that I remembered to lock all the doors and windows, she contacted my family there with me in alabama. They took action. Lucky for me, one of my aunt’s best friend is the manager at that particular pizza business and the matter was resolved.

A couple nights later, I was talking to my mom about it and she was telling me how they dealt with the situation.

“They confronted him about what he did. Apparently he’s done other things before and received complaints.”

Yes I was concerned that I didn’t want to make him angry and get him fired.

“No, I’m not sure what they’ll do with him, (Insert Aunt’s Name Here) said that James didn’t know that he was on a college campus.”

I began to exclaim that it shouldn’t matter that I was a college student, and that someone that old and raggedy, or ANYONE, shouldn’t be calling customers at their home like that. Then we went on about other things, and my reassuring conversation ended.

A few hours later, and deep in thought, and shock, I text my mom.

“Did you say ‘James’?”

*Ringing Cell Phone*

My Mom, “Oh my God.”

-Deneé J.

Advertisements

Writing Prompt #2 pt. 3 (finale)

Part ONE

Part TWO

——————-

Maybe Clyde wasn’t all that bad after all. I shift to my side and quickly scoot closer towards the passenger door, which for the moment makes his hand drop from me. We’re still a ways from the city, but at least I can see the direction it’s in. I want out.

“You can let me out here, please.”

He whines, “Aw, come on little darlin’, I’m not leaving you all by your lonesome! We’re in the middle of nowhere here!”

“I can find my way, please let me out.” I state again, more firmly. Continue reading

Writing Prompt #2 pt. 2

Part ONE here

****************

I point out the only other car in the small lot, and he drags me by arm.

A few minutes later, we’re winding down a back road full of run down farm houses and other places I’ve never deemed worth my time to travel to. I’m in the passenger seat and the thief, I now know as “Clyde NotMyRealName,” is driving with one hand and holding his gun on me with his other. The sirens were an apparent false alarm as we passed by the funky highway earlier, seeing that the police were just trying to control traffic. I’m not exactly sure what to do because, believe it or not, this is my first hostage situation so I shift in my seat to stare at him. He looks to be somewhere in his forties, with the definable features of scattered scruff along his jaw and a weird looking scar near his temple. He’s not all that bad looking, but really not all that handsome either; why he never considered wearing a mask in the store is beyond me. He doesn’t notice my scrutiny so I stare some more. And I stare. And stare. And–

“STOP IT!”

I seemed to have struck a nerve. This crosses out my idea to begin an award-winning chorus of “The Song That Never Ends,” and gets me thinking that perhaps I should try reasoning with him instead.

“If you take that gun off me and let me go, I’ll stop staring at you.”

Perhaps I should just keep my mouth shut. He gives me a confused side glance,

“How about I take the gun off you and you keep quiet.” Good enough, I think, and I give a nod. He tosses the gun to the backseat.

“It’s not loaded anyway.”

Continue reading

Writing Prompt #2 pt.1

Five Items: You wake up in jail and have no memory of how you got there. As you pace around the cell, you find five items in your pocket from the night before. As you look at each piece, the … Continue reading