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If you have a story to share, send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.

Enjoy the show. The Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,

oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, I did. I don't know what compelled me to finally share this, but I've been thinking about it

a lot in the past few days and I thought that it would fit this sub relatively well.

I'm one of those long-time lurkers who's been sitting on their own stories for ages,

but I finally got around to writing my own experience down and I hope

someone out there finds this interesting. Apologies in advance for the length I have

a lot of thoughts about this as it was the first and only time I felt legitimately afraid for my life.

When I was about eight years old, my parents were going through a divorce and my older sister and I used to spend a lot of time at our grandparents' house.

It's a nice long ranch style home on a corner in a very nice neighborhood that's a 10 minute walk from a gas station,

grocery store, and a few fast food restaurants.

The streets are long and lined with well-manicured houses, cradled by big, scenic

California Valley hills all around. We were never really wealthy, but my grandpa bought a fixer upper many years ago and the property

value was skyrocketed since then.

As you can imagine, it's a very safe spot and although there weren't many other kids in the

neighborhood, it wasn't uncommon to see neighbors walking their dogs or pushing a stroller

down the sidewalk outside of our house. Although my mom was

especially protective all our lives, this particular neighborhood was

densely populated and my family knew just about everyone who lived there.

She grew up in that neighborhood herself, so she was understandably trusting.

She would once in a pop and my sister would grab three musketeers before we made our way back home.

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