Someone in the Backseat

I’ve never been more scared than I was that night.

I’d been out with a girl I was dating from Bainbridge. I left her place around 1:00 AM, and as I drove east by Jones Levee Road something made me look out the window to my right. I immediately looked back ahead, but I’d seen something out of the corner of my eye.

Somebody was sitting in my backseat.

Yep, as I’d glanced out the passenger side window I distinctly saw somebody out of the corner of my eye, silently sitting there.

It’s sort of a primal fear, isn’t it? Somebody behind you?

He must have snuck into my car when I was at my girlfriend’s house.

Was it a former boyfriend of hers? A former flame of mine? Random mugger? Serial killer? The Grim Reaper?

Whoever it was, sitting silently there in the backseat, surely had evil intentions.

I cautiously took a peek in my rearview mirror, hoping to do so without letting my unwanted guest know I was suspicious. Hell, maybe my eyes had played a trick on me.

No such luck. There, just barely, I could see a shoulder and a part of a hoodie. Where the face should be was shrouded in darkness.

The radio was off. I strained to hear breathing, anything, from the backseat.

Nothing. The only breathing I heard was mine.

My mind was reeling. What to do? Slam the brakes and hope to send the intruder through the windshield? Do maniacal killers wear seatbelts? Do I get home, pull in my driveway and make a run for it? Start talking, tell him I know he’s back there? Screech like a 9-year old?

I’m joking now but trust me, at the time I was scared out of my gourd.

I decided to drive home, hit the brakes, open the door and jump out. Only then would I turn and face my adversary.

The drive from Jones Levee to my house took only a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. It’s funny how time crawls when you’re expecting an axe to the back of your skull at any moment.

Somehow, as I pulled in my driveway the garage didn’t seem like a good idea. Something about a closed-in space didn’t appeal to me at that particular moment. You know, not enough room to run fight. I opted to forego the garage and park outside.

I turned onto my street, hoping desperately some of my friends had decided to pay me a late night visit. No dice. My house was dark.

Thus, my moment had come. I pulled slowly into the driveway, expecting the worst. There was no going back now. It was time to face whoever, or whatever, was behind me.

After a deep breath I hit the brakes, slammed the car into park, threw open the door, jumped out, and turned to face the terror that awaited.

Curiously, my backdoor stayed shut. Through the tinted window, though, I could see the silhouette of the hoodie wearing intruder, unmoving. It may seem odd but the fact that he was still made him immensely more frightening.

Fighting the urge to make a run for it, I jerked open the rear car door. And there, right before my eyes, was . . .

My parka.

Sitting upright on my backseat.

With its hood laying against the headrest.

Where I’d tossed it before leaving Bainbridge.

It lay there with, apparently, no intention of strangling the life out of me.

To this day I always double-check the backseat before getting into my car, especially after dark.

You know, in case a men’s XXL North Face down jacket is lurking there.