Shaken, Not Stirred

It was those minutes between dusk and night. The sunlight was gone, but night had not quite fallen. Bill and I weren't lost, but we were wandering around seemingly aimlessly. We were a little tired, but mostly hungry; and the restaurant I wanted to go to was eluding us. Finally I said, "Let's pause in this well lighted alcove and I'll check the phone for directions."

We paused long enough to check and had just decided to go someplace else when two grizzled men walked uncomfortably close to us and stopped directly between us and the side walk. I slipped my iPhone into my pocket as I stooped to retrieve my backpack. "Hey." one of them said to us—to me.

"Hey," Bill replied, the tension in his voice amplifying my alertness. The man shifted, nervous and anxious, and desperately craving that next hit.

Casually, I tossed my backpack over my shoulder and turned back towards the way we had come. "Have a good night!" I managed with what I hoped sounded like genuine pleasantness. "Yes, have a good evening," Bill echoed quickly following my lead down the populated street.

We didn't look back and we didn't stop until the traffic light forced us. Angling himself so it appeared he was looking at me, Bill verified that they hadn't followed us. Still, more than a little nervous, we ducked into the first place that looked halfway decent.

Sitting there in the safety of the restaurant we discussed the recent events. "Wow! I thought we were in trouble there!" I said, voicing our collective fear.

"Me too," he agreed, then reassured me, "I would have done my best to protect us."

"I know," I said smiling, "me too."

We dug into our fries, each thinking our own thoughts. Certainly each silently thanking the Universe that we remained shaken, but unscathed.