by Austin Valley
photo by Sam Kulla

A horrible feeling troubles James as he gangles home from the bars. He wasnʼt fully aware he possessed this feeling until a few days back but now that he has it, he canʼt shake it. Not even a little. This awareness did not check in as a grand epiphany. It did not strike him on the crown or slap him in the teeth. It bubbled up as a rot from his gut and clings to his heart like a diligent sap. He carries it home under trees and down alleys.

The horrible feeling first arrived when James encountered a young woman on a side street. It was dark and the woman was advancing toward him. Slowly, he thought something terrible. When the girl first saw James, he sidled to one end of the sidewalk, giving her room to pass. He didnʼt want to be rude. She, however, trotted to the other side of the street and fluttered toward the light. It was during this moment when James became aware of the fact that when he encounters a woman on a side-street at night, she believes him to be a rapist.

And she does.

They all do. I would too if I were them. Not because James entirely looks like a rapist. He looks more like a skydiver, and yet these girls canʼt help but wonder if the irregular hollow steps creeping behind are those of a drunken sex-starved lunatic, or those of your friendly neighborhood non-rapist. To be safe, she braces for the former and James catches it every time. The female bodies stiffen, their gate growing more jagged. They close up, tucking in flaps of loose clothing, like Williamsʼ lonely housewife.

Not only do they think James is a rapist but a mugger as well.

What a horrible thing it is to be considered a rapist. Even for a moment. It is a terrible thing. To think James would actually be vulgar enough to force himself upon a person really hurts his feelings. It bums him out. Man, does it bum him out. He canʼt even go home and scrounge up enough passion to jerk off before he falls asleep. At least give him that. Let him walk home without haunted thoughts of purses and heels fleeing whistles and clicks from engines and boys in jackets. Allow him to return to his Oprah magazine. He finds pleasure in her nice rounded, motherly breasts. Heʼll masturbate to it and to Good Health and all those types of things. Heʼs a nice guy.

If James bumps into someone in the check out line, he says sorry every time though itʼs more with his eyes as his voice is but a cough. Itʼs like all James worked on to build good character and a reputation in his town as a model citizen vanishes as soon as he takes his first step onto the dark street home. But I canʼt blame these girls – What, with all the rapes going on in this town Iʼm surprised they havenʼt locked up all guys like James simply because theyʼre lonely and possess raperʼs tools. One night, not too long ago, James found himself in the same dilemma. Heʼs drunk and gangling home and one block in front of him is this girl. The night is crisp apple cider air. Thatʼs how James would describe it. Thatʼs just how he talks.

James spent the early evening with me, drinking after work. I played nickel Keno and smoked cigarettes. James substituted sunflower seeds for smoking and since it was pay day, we drank a lot. Though the night drained away and James put on his scarf and headed home. That’s when he saw this particular girl.

Sheʼs walking away from James, but on the same sidewalk. From what James can see, sheʼs probably cute with one of those jackets with a furry hood. Her pace is slower and it wonʼt be long before James must pass and make for the awkward moment of moving beyond her without incident. James doesnʼt want any trouble, so he moves to cross the street. Make it easier for everyone. However, James spots a man in the gloom of the opposite sidewalk and doesnʼt want to get mugged so he stays his course. He wishes to wait until the man passes, but each step brings him closer to the girl. He slows to an even slower, but now creepier pace. The girl hears shoes shuffling through the brown of the leaves, looks behind her. Jamesʼ longer legs are like a spiders pulling himself closer. She tucks in her loose flaps. Fingers pressed to her leather bag. James sees this and sweats. He anxiously eyes the potential mugger again. A slim window of opportunity exists – to cross right after the mugger and right before he meets the girl. This is it. Come on, James. His steps stutter in anticipation. A smudged glare comes from the mugger as James crosses but James stares him down, holding his own. An unusual moment for James, and in a way, it must have made him feel quite chivalrous, as if he were standing up for this woman. The strange man passes and James continues his journey home.

Three blocks later however, a scared girl in a furry hood, taps s.o.s-like clicks with her heels through a path of leaves and garbage. Directly in front of James. The same girl. James is sure of it, but how she arose right in front of him is beyond us. A shortcut through a yard or alley maybe. I told James she must be a spirit from some dimension of torment. Either that, or some kind of blind wit to a very sad love story.

Each reluctant step propels James closer. A fluttery eyelid distracts him from the crushed pounding of his heart. The girl hustles but sheʼs too afraid to burst into a full run. Such a drastic movement would trigger the predatory instinct in James. She thinks itʼs best to pretend allʼs well and keep walking. James thinks this too. He contemplates moving back to his original side but he spots a weird van parked with itʼs lights on. James believes it could be a heroin van and I donʼt blame him. What, with all the heroin stabbings going on in this town, I wouldnʼt risk it. That would also seal his guilt. To run away. The girl would go home, cuddle up to her boyfriend. “I was being followed by a rapist,” sheʼd say, and he would he would scoop her into the secure embrace of his spacious upper chest muscles.

Another step closer.

James decides to stop and let her walk on as he waits. He could pretend to monitor a leaf or a bug or – tie his shoe! Thatʼs it. Stop and tie the shoe, James. As he takes this last resort action, he notices there is another strange man a block behind him. Coming up fast. James shoves his hand in his pocket, grabs his keys and slides one between his knuckles. However, as he does this, he begins walking again, quickening his steps and now heʼs, once again, behind this girl who has also started walking faster. Itʼs too late for James now. He has to pass her. Just do it James, get it over with and then you can go home. All of her fears will be in vain and she will know how much of a nice guy you are.

But James thinks itʼs too late. Heʼs already pinned as a white Caucasian, male, twenties, drunk, lonely – rapist. His description will be plastered over the news. She smells his desperation. But Iʼm a nice guy, pleads James. My desperation is not for you. How can he let her know this? The weight of Jamesʼ self-conscious fear begins to suffocate all rational thought. A sickness bubbles through his gut. Nauseous. Cold, sweat – A sticky numbness in his thought and vision. A pebble ricochets off his sneaker, pelting the girl in the back of her calf. She doubles her speed and once again he doubles his. There is a short race through the leaves but James makes for his pass and as theyʼre side by side, James turns to her. Her eyes; cold and calm, meet his; a frantic plea. Until James realizes sheʼs not even a cute girl. Definitely not a girl James would choose to rape if he would ever have the notion, which he doesnʼt, but this thought does pass amongst the many racing around Jamesʼ head. The girl frowns.

“Iʼm not a rapist,” James says.

And walks away.