At this particular time in my life, I was overwhelmed with expenses and was living paycheck to paycheck. I was a part time blackjack dealer, working graveyard and heavily depressed by a schedule that allowed little daylight time.
My car was in the shop, and I was budgeting the repairs and rent. For the interim, I was riding a small fixed gear bmx bike my boyfriend at the time had bought for $30 at a yard sale. It was a bit rusty, and wouldn’t really go unless I pedaled with a lot of effort.
This night felt like a relief because I was sent home early, meaning I was to be in bed before sunrise. Elated by this lucky break, I happily hopped on my trusty rusty steed and laboriously began huffing my way home. It was springtime, and the cool night breeze kept sweat from drenching my face. I finally reached my road and exhaled. The final stretch was downhill, so I could give my legs a break.
I took my feet off the pedals and stretched my legs out forward as the bicycle chugged its own way down the slight slope, carrying me gently toward home.
On my left were darkened houses, typical for 4 am on a tuesday. To my right was vast field, rolling and stretching to meet an aspen grove about 200 yards away. As I soaked in the fresh air, letting the bike swing it’s tired pedals just under my feet, I heard the distinct “thump thump…thump thump…thump thump” of a very heavy four legged animal running beside me. It didn’t concern me all too much at first, as bears in this area don’t want anything to do with humans, they just want to eat our trash and be on their merry way.
But it continued. Thump thump…thump thump. Growing a bit wary, I stuck my feet to the pedals as I turned my head to the field.
It’s astonishing if wild grass up here reaches an inch in height, so had there been a bear as close as it sounded I’d have seen it barreling down the hill at my side.
I saw absolutely nothing.
The streetlights were bright, and yet no sign of anything on the shallow bank. Dangerously and stunningly loud, was the thump thump of an animal keeping pace with me.
My mind began to scream danger, and I shoved that little fucking bike along. My sweat now absolutely pouring down my face as I careened down the hill, pushing that stupid little bike to go faster.
I screeched into my neighborhood. Now there were houses between myself and the threat. I tried to breathe relief, but it got choked in my throat.
Just beyond the guard of the houses, I heard branches breaking “thump thump…CRACK…thump thump”. Muscles aching, mind over pain “you are in danger” my animal brain shouted over and over.
That sweet cool breeze was now a reminder that I was in the open, prey to a loud and invisible predator.
And then I saw my carport. I cut in hard and dumped the bike, leapt over the stairs and in the door.
Safe.
I methodically locked each door and checked that the windows were latched tight, repeating the steps a few times over to be thorough.
Home alone, locked down, and now very aware of my overly worked hamstrings, I collapsed onto the couch. Stifling my sobs, I was barely able to shove a dvd into the player before I heard a sound that should have terrified me.
My “house” was actually a mobile home, complete with shoddy insulation and a flimsy tin roof that threatened failure whenever it encountered any snow pack.
There I sat, rethinking my fateful journey when the gentle click of a dog’s nails echoed above me. It gave me a sense of calm. I found the strength after 45 minutes to hop into the shower.
Tink tink tink
As I dazedly wandered the house, those gentle steps stayed over my head. I eased my tired self into the bath tub, hot water running over my head.
Tink tink tink
Whatever was on my roof stood steady guard wherever I was. I felt protected, like I had something keeping the bad away.
Shaken, the next evening I primed myself to ride that bike to work. Pissed at myself for not calling in.
There were massive dog paw prints in the snow leading to the house, they stopped just short of the carport roof.
The last prints were two, not four, and they go deep, indicating a jump.