The next day I'm at my computer desk, thinking of Garrett, writing him a letter in a blog. It's about a scary experience I had during a drive home at night. The date was Friday, November 6, 2009. How would Garrett react if he was to sit in the passenger's seat beside me? Nice and polite, I vision seeing him.
Not this guy, the stranger, who I had encountered. Met. The drive home at night. After having a lengthy high strung and heated pounding "temper tantrum" I wrote:
Not this guy, the stranger, who I had encountered. Met. The drive home at night. After having a lengthy high strung and heated pounding "temper tantrum" I wrote:
Dear Garrett,
A girl never knows when a day would be her last. I say this because yesterday, last night, while I was sitting on a chair at the food court inside the Ala Moana Shopping Center, I was approached by a young, local male stranger. His name was Jerard. He asked for money. I shook my head and said that I don't have any money to give him.
Jerard still sat there, a seat to the right, in front of me. I stared at him, for a moment, trying to think what were his motives and why, of all people, he had chosen to pick me as his victim. The time was almost 8:45 p.m. when he asked if I could give him a ride to Waipahu, the city where I currently reside with my mother and uncle. Grandma died on July 2, 2009.
"No," I said. "I don't trust you."
He sat in his chair. Several minutes later, I grabbed my bag and searched for spare change in the wallet of dimes, quarters, and nickels. I was honest to had given him the supply of quarters that were hidden in a plastic sandwich ziplock. There was no dollar bills. No cash. The time on my wristwatch was 8:50 p.m. "I need to go," I said. "My cat is waiting for me in the car."
Jerard began begging. He pleaded with me to have him come along for a ride inside my mother's car. He wanted to be dropped off somewhere in Waipahu. "Please," he said. "Thank you."
I concluded that he appeared to be a normal guy who would do me no harm. Jerard is a decent, moral human being who was living a hard life, but needed, at this moment, help. I took the risk. After climbing a flight of stairs, we left the food court.
Outside at the shopping mall level, a dark-haired woman was standing next to a merchandise cart. This vendor asked me if I could try a product that she was hoping to sell. "No thanks, " I said. "I have a cat." The woman persisted. She squeezed out lotion from its container and was about to put it on the palm of my hand. I simply explained that I would hold on to my cat minutes after I had gotten inside the compact car. She then rubbed the lotion onto the hands of Jerard.
He sat in his chair. Several minutes later, I grabbed my bag and searched for spare change in the wallet of dimes, quarters, and nickels. I was honest to had given him the supply of quarters that were hidden in a plastic sandwich ziplock. There was no dollar bills. No cash. The time on my wristwatch was 8:50 p.m. "I need to go," I said. "My cat is waiting for me in the car."
Jerard began begging. He pleaded with me to have him come along for a ride inside my mother's car. He wanted to be dropped off somewhere in Waipahu. "Please," he said. "Thank you."
I concluded that he appeared to be a normal guy who would do me no harm. Jerard is a decent, moral human being who was living a hard life, but needed, at this moment, help. I took the risk. After climbing a flight of stairs, we left the food court.
Outside at the shopping mall level, a dark-haired woman was standing next to a merchandise cart. This vendor asked me if I could try a product that she was hoping to sell. "No thanks, " I said. "I have a cat." The woman persisted. She squeezed out lotion from its container and was about to put it on the palm of my hand. I simply explained that I would hold on to my cat minutes after I had gotten inside the compact car. She then rubbed the lotion onto the hands of Jerard.
Then Jerard and I walked on. He briefly engaged in a conversation with a black man who was standing near the entrance of Longs Drugs. This store is located near Sears, now closed, and Banana Republic, still open. Approximately three seconds later, he finished talking. Quick interaction.
I walked along the side next to him when he said, "I'm Hawaiian."
"You're Hawaiian, but live in Seattle?"
Jerard clarified. "I was born here (Hawaii), but moved to Seattle, Washington."
At the parking lot, as I approached the silver vehicle, I saw Midnight, my black cat, sitting on the dashboard next to the steering wheel. I searched the bag to grab the cell phone. Mabel's voice was loud and distinctively strict when I expressed to her that a male friend needed a ride to Waipahu. I gave the stranger the cell phone. He talked to my mother before I ended the call.
Midnight's claws clung to the sides of the passenger's seat. As Jerard opened the car door, I held onto my black cat. He sat inside and closed the door. The Jerard asked if I could put Midnight in his pet carrier. I disagreed, however, saying, "No." My black cat avoided him and, instead, sat behind the car seat or on the car floor that is directly behind the driver's seat.
I started the engine and mentioned to Jerard that I needed to be alive, so I could write his encounter of meeting him into a blog.
Behind the wheel driving, I was taken-a-back when Jerard suddenly became a pervert. He had placed his hand on my thigh, talking as though he was trying to "pick" me up. Pickup lines. The stranger's language was the f-word. "I want to fuck you," he said. He also wanted or allowed me to touch his penis. Jerard's voice sounded low as if he was on a drug. I felt uncomfortable hearing him say that I was "beautiful." I'm not a pretty blonde. I was, in the past, overweight and currently trying to find a solution to help clear the acne on my plain face. The sound of my voice was shaking as I talked.
As I listened to Jerard's perverted conversational talk, I quickly decided to drop him off at the Zippy's restaurant at Nimitz Highway. On the contrary, because of renovation, the parking entrance had been closed. Sensing I was about to let him out of the car, he panicked. "Drop me off at Ward. No, at Ala Moana. Please. Thank you." He opened the door near the bus stop at the corner of the street in the underground parking at Ala Moana Shopping Center. Along the cement sidewalk there were shopping carts that belonged to the homeless.
I could had died or became injured from this 17-year-old boy who constantly changed his mind about revealing his real age in which he claimed to be at least "twenty-five." Don't trust anyone. Nobody. Don't trust him. Not even if he sounds sincere, nice, polite, at first, and, above all, friendly. Decent. A lesson I had learned last night. This was Jerard that I had encountered at the Ala Moana Shopping Center Food Court. He wasn't what I originally thought of as before he turned into a scary pervert who could had gotten me killed.
Midnight's claws clung to the sides of the passenger's seat. As Jerard opened the car door, I held onto my black cat. He sat inside and closed the door. The Jerard asked if I could put Midnight in his pet carrier. I disagreed, however, saying, "No." My black cat avoided him and, instead, sat behind the car seat or on the car floor that is directly behind the driver's seat.
I started the engine and mentioned to Jerard that I needed to be alive, so I could write his encounter of meeting him into a blog.
Behind the wheel driving, I was taken-a-back when Jerard suddenly became a pervert. He had placed his hand on my thigh, talking as though he was trying to "pick" me up. Pickup lines. The stranger's language was the f-word. "I want to fuck you," he said. He also wanted or allowed me to touch his penis. Jerard's voice sounded low as if he was on a drug. I felt uncomfortable hearing him say that I was "beautiful." I'm not a pretty blonde. I was, in the past, overweight and currently trying to find a solution to help clear the acne on my plain face. The sound of my voice was shaking as I talked.
As I listened to Jerard's perverted conversational talk, I quickly decided to drop him off at the Zippy's restaurant at Nimitz Highway. On the contrary, because of renovation, the parking entrance had been closed. Sensing I was about to let him out of the car, he panicked. "Drop me off at Ward. No, at Ala Moana. Please. Thank you." He opened the door near the bus stop at the corner of the street in the underground parking at Ala Moana Shopping Center. Along the cement sidewalk there were shopping carts that belonged to the homeless.
I could had died or became injured from this 17-year-old boy who constantly changed his mind about revealing his real age in which he claimed to be at least "twenty-five." Don't trust anyone. Nobody. Don't trust him. Not even if he sounds sincere, nice, polite, at first, and, above all, friendly. Decent. A lesson I had learned last night. This was Jerard that I had encountered at the Ala Moana Shopping Center Food Court. He wasn't what I originally thought of as before he turned into a scary pervert who could had gotten me killed.
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