“Why are you playing so hard to get?”

Saturday, before dusk while the sun was still shining, I decided to walk home through Prospect Park, alone, like I do more often than I could ever count. I was the jerk walking the wrong way on the bike/jogger loop from Grand Army Plaza to the south east gate, because it’s quicker to get home that way.

I notice a young man giving directions to a couple. I pass them. I hear a call from the young man I passed, but assume he’s calling after the couple he just gave directions to. I keep walking. Suddenly, the man is next to me and says,“Hey.” I don’t make eye contact but mutter, “Good evening” under my breath. He falls back behind me. I can feel him walking behind me, still. He catches up again and says, “Can I get your name?” I say, “No,” keeping my head down, making no eye contact.

He walks ahead of me; I let out a sigh of relief. He stops. As soon as I pass him again, he speaks to me again, “Why are you playing so hard to get?” I look straight ahead and keep walking. He walks behind me. He keeps walking behind me. He passes me. He waits for me to pass him. He follows me again. I take out my phone and furiously text everything to Jarrod, to keep my hands busy, to call for help if it becomes necessary.

I feel the man drop space between us. I don’t dare look over my shoulder. By the time we reach the boat house, where I can hear—I shit you not—the Electric Slide from an ongoing wedding, I don’t sense his presence, and this makes me more nervous. A middle aged man with limited English approaches me on my left to say, “You know that man is following you? You must be careful.” I say, “Yes, I know he’s following me. Thank you for looking.” He says, “I think he’s gone now, but you must be very careful.” I thank him again. I call Jarrod to recount the story, now that I’m s ure the follower was out of earshot. I leave the park, hop in a cab, and don’t go home.

The sun was shining this whole time. We must have passed hundreds of people: cyclists and joggers and fellow walkers and zoo-goers and picnickers and merry-go-rounders and an entire wedding. I was on the well lit, paved path the entire time (though he walked along the wooded space above the curb). Police officers are always circling that road. That’s why I always walk that way–it’s ostensibly the safest. I refuse to not go through the world as an independent person just because I also happen to be a woman. I was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. I engaged as little as possible. I left the park when I approached a gate. I got in a cab. I didn’t go home. An official report would close with, “And then nothing happened,” simply because I eventually made it home safe.

– Anonymous

Location: Brooklyn, New York