I’m afraid that the craziest thing I’ve ever done for love might qualify me as a stalker in some states.
Ryan was in one of my college classes, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get him to give me a second glance. I heard that he was going to have a party at the house he shared with two roommates one weekend, and I moved heaven and earth to wrangle an invitation. I’d heard that Ryan didn’t have a girlfriend, but he was so busy with the ladies that night that it seemed like every time I saw him, he was with a different girl. I left the party at 1 a.m. because he’d disappeared for the night, and I hadn’t even been able to say five words to him the whole time I was there.
In a last-ditch effort to get access to him, I devised a plan. Fairly early on a Sunday morning, I drove by his house to make sure his car was parked there and he was in the house, and then I parked my car on the shoulder of a fairly deserted road about a mile away. I produced a steak knife from the glove compartment (and no, I’m not kidding!), and I plunged it into my right front tire. Then I walked the mile to Ryan’s house and knocked on the door.
I’d practiced what I was going to say the whole way there. I’d partied too hard the night before and had to crash on someone’s sofa, then got a little lost on the way home. When my tire went flat, I realized I’d left my cell phone behind, but thankfully I realized I was close to the house where I’d attended a party a couple of weeks earlier and could go there for help. I’d even left my cell phone behind so that I wasn’t nailed in the lie.
I remember thinking at the time, in my young college-aged mind, that it was a brilliant plan. What I hadn’t thought of was the possibility that he’d gone out with his roommates, in one of their cars, and they had collectively stayed out all night. I knocked and knocked on the door until my knuckles ached, then walked around and looked into windows. Every room was empty. I sat on the front porch for three hours waiting for someone to come home, which they never did.
The silver lining to this thunderstorm cloud was that their next-door neighbor saw me and when she heard my flat tire story, she fetched her husband to give me a ride back to my car. He even changed the tire for me.
Editor’s Note: The views are exclusively in the authors’ perspective and do not necessarily represent the views of the Web site or its management.
Sandra D. Bricker’s book, Love Finds You in Snowball, Arkansas, is available at Amazon.com!