Followed

At the end of each day in fifth grade I would walk with Pat Devlin and turn at her corner rather than go straight home. This was because there was a man near my house who paced in circles with a transistor radio held to his ear. I was terrified of him, afraid he would come after me for some reason. One day when we drove by I pointed him out to my mother. "He's just retarded, he won't hurt you," she said. But I didn't believe her. One day my class took a trip to Mystic Seaport, and just before we were supposed to hop back on the bus we were allowed to browse the gift shop. I was attracted to the small-necked bottles with little sailboats in them. I held one up to examine it closely, and was horrified when I saw the Radio Man across the room. I knew he was following me!

Mr. Brown was the psychologist on Central Ave in White Plains who my mother took me to every Wednesday afternoon. He would sit in his chair and smoke cigars and write things down in three different colored pens. One day he told me that he had been in touch with all of my elementary school teachers to find out what they thought about me. After that I imagined my teachers were sneaking around, following me all day long.

I always thought I was being followed by my father. He had divorced my mother when I was born and was remarried with a new family. I imagined that he must have been curious about who I was and how I was doing in school and what I looked like. Out walking our Scottish deerhound I would spot, for instance, a dark green Ford with square headlights. It would slowly roll by me as I walked. Then I'd run home and say, "I saw him again, it was Daddy Tom following me!" My mother would coolly suggest it was probably just a man surprised by the dog. "Try to remember the license plate," she would say. I still to this day am expert at scanning and memorizing license plates. Maybe the man in the green Ford really was slowing down to look at the dog, or maybe he was looking for a daughter he never knew.