The realization slowly dawned on me...
That my very first entry for Purgatorian's Flash Fiction Friday was going to embarrass not only myself but everyone ever connected to me. My third grade teacher would probably change professions. My family would disown me. My friends would enter the Witness Protection Program. By the time I was done I'd be alone and I'd finally have an answer to the question "Can anyone here you scream in cyberspace?"
Or maybe it would just end up being another one of my barely read blogs.
I'm betting the later.
So where was I?
The realization slowly dawned on me that I was a stalker. I could deny it all I wanted, but it was the truth. At any given moment of the day I knew where he was (11:12 pm - home in bed, Egyptian cotton sheets, green). I knew what kind of car he drove (a blue 1996 Volkswagen Jetta, license plate DWE 625). I knew where he lived (216 East Watson, #908). I knew all his phone numbers (home 555-324-1378, cell 555-879-0910, work 555-225-1536, parents 555-645-8723, married sister 555-451-6502, unmarried sister 555-329-1655, & best friend in junior high he no longer speaks to 555-487-7794). I knew where he went to school (Gilliam Elementary, Chapman Middle School, Bennett High School, and Elton Junior College). I knew the name of the first girl he kissed (Jenny Lewis, in the 8th grade, behind the monkey bars, on a dare). I knew the name of his first crush (Monica Bellucci, she had amazing lips and thinking about them all the time nearly caused him to fail his senior year). I knew about his first job (Dunkin Donuts, it's where he first noticed Monica while she was eating a raspberry jelly doughnut). I knew he had three unpaid parking tickets (they're in my left desk drawer). I knew his middle name (Francis, after his father but he tells his buddies it's Frank). I knew when he went to the gym (Tuesday & Thursday nights and Saturday afternoons). I even knew the colour of his favorite pair of underwear (actually they're leopard print).
I just can't deny it any longer. I am stalking him. He's become an obsession. Some days I call in sick to work just to follow him around. He's starting to notice too. I mean how many times can you see the same car behind you before you wonder if it's following you? How many times can you see the same woman turn up in your path before you start to realize she knows your name?
I just can't help myself. He's like the Pied Piper. I even hear music playing when I see him. The same song over and over. "Pop Goes the Weasel" I can hear it right now in fact. OMG! It's him!
It's the ice cream man!!!