The very tall, skinny man hides behind a pillar beside Bi-Lo grocery store, at the same shopping center in which I volunteer, periodically peeking around the pillar as he waits for me to come out. On Saturdays, Child Abuse Prevention Association (CAPA) Thrift Store closes at three o’clock. Almost all the customers have left, except the ones who are checking out at the register. My mom comes up front to help close the store.

“Hey boo, let me take over the register and close it out,” she says to me. “How about going to Bi-Lo and getting us something to drink?”

“Rena, keep Andrea here!” our co-worker Kathy says as she rushes to grab a pen, paper and runs out the door. She spotted the man and wanted to get his information; perhaps a license plate number or something to help report this man.

I run to the door. That is when I see the man again. His dark eyes peering right in my direction as he sneaks his head from behind the tall, brick pillar. As I step away from the door, my stomach tightens, and I can hear my heartbeat as it began to pound faster and faster.

In my head, all I can think of is, he’s a stalker.

****

“Do you have any books on trains?” The man had asked me as I was putting books on one of the bookcases. He was very close to me. He must’ve been in his sixties. His hair mostly grey, with a little bit of brown still in it. Very tall, six foot something.

"If you do not see any over here on this bookshelf, there is another bookshelf over there," I replied as I pointed to the other side of the store. The bookshelf I was organizing was yellow and looked like a beehive. It has six long shelves. From where I was standing, I couldn’t see my mother was in the back of the store, organizing and pricing clothes to be brought up to the front of the store, she could not see where I was. The assistant manager was in the front of the store and couldn’t see me either. I was trapped and uncertain of how I was going to get away from him without making a scene.I was afraid and didn’t know what to do.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” asked the man in a quiet, gravelly, and sly voice.

Maybe he knows mama. I saw him talking to her a few minutes ago.

“No.” I offered him a fake smile in attempts to hide my discomfort.

“Can I give you my number?” His eyes dark and mysterious as he lifted his left arm, resting it on the bookshelf. He stared inquisitively; scaring me in the process. My fight or flight reflexes kicked in as I could feel him trying to block me from leaving.

He is way too old to be interested in a fourteen-year-old.

I took a step back.

"No," I said quickly then ran off to my mother in the back of the store, I wanted to tell her what happened. Before I could get the words out, she said, "Can you take this yardstick up to the front of the store?"

I grabbed the yardstick and rushed past the man, put the yardstick in its place, then left the store.

I must get away from this man.

According to victims of crime, found on the stalking fact sheet, although I could not specifically find any information on the number of underage women who reported their stalkers, “about 14% of female victims experienced stalking between the ages of 11 and 17.”

I skip Bi-Lo and my mother’s drink and hurry to Partyland, a party supply store located next to CAPA. Ms. Janelle was working. The sound of the helium filling the balloons let me know she was filling an order of a dozen balloons in assorted colors. I always enjoy talking to her. I decided not to tell her what was going on. I lost track of time, but I felt somewhat safer here, I don’t think the man saw where I ran to.

Later, my mother tells me what happened in the store after I left.

This gentleman came up to me and asked in a demanding and curious way, “Where is the baby girl? Where did the baby girl go?”

What does he want with her, I thought.

“That is my daughter. You need to leave her alone,” I replied sternly. I didn’t know this man’s agenda, but he didn’t need to mess with my Andrea. I thought maybe Andrea and her dad knew him from church; maybe I was wrong.

The man walked to the front of my store where Brian, the assistant manager, was working the register. “Do you know where the little girl went? The manager’s daughter?”

"You do know she is twelve, right?" Brian knew my daughter was fourteen, but he wanted to see if the man would lose interest if I were younger. The man slowly walked away from the register and went to the toy area located near the register.

Brain came to me and cautiously told me the man was looking for Andrea.

Where is Andrea?

Frantically, I reached for my cell phone to call my baby girl.My hands trembled as I dialed her number.

She picked up. “Where are you?” I demanded. “Come back over here, now.”

As I stood there, in the safety of my mother’s arms, and begin to tremble as I think for a split second, I could have been kidnapped today.