When I was 16 years old, I decided to surprise my parents with a bouquet of flowers for Valentine's

day.

We've always celebrated this as a family holiday, rather than a romantic one.

I didn't have a card to dry to a florist, but my high school was within walking distance

of a hospital, boasting a gift shop that sells floral arrangements.

Between classes during the week of Valentine's Day, I set off for the hospital by my loan

sum, cutting across campus to walk through a network of side roads, populated with specialty

doctor's offices that keep odd hours.

The sort of buildings where traveling doctors mainly hold surgery consultations or perform

small procedures a few times a month, the trip there passed without incident.

As I was walking back through said deserted roads with a vase of flowers and toe, I noticed

an unkept 1990s car close behind me.

While my memory of the car is hazy, I am left with the impression that there were at

least two men with whose faces I could not see.

Initially, I assumed the driver was simply afraid of hitting me.

The reason they weren't passing by.

So I made a point of dramatically trudging further in to the grassy shoulder of the road, demonstrating

to them that they could safely drive ahead.

They still refused to pass me by, continuing to creep along behind a slow pace.

Beginning to suspect that the driver was more interested in me than a destination, I began

to walk faster.

The car confirmed my suspicions by matching my speed.

...