What Creepy Looks Like

- Lauren Larson

I was sweating profusely on the station platform on a sticky summer day when I spotted a man I knew from university. I hadn’t particularly liked him back then, but I remembered that only later. In the moment, the surprise of a familiar face caused me to greet him with an enthusiasm I usually save for Crust deliveries. We exchanged brief, friendly chitchat and what I assumed were insincere promises to hang out “someday”. I immediately forgot about the conversation.

I am incapable of delivering disappointment to men. I say, “Let’s hang out someday” when I have no interest in hanging out, and I say, “Sorry, I have a boyfriend” when I really mean “Leave me alone”. And when the man from the station sweetly reached out to me on Facebook a few hours after the fact to make plans to hang out – I had, after all, said we should – I replied that I would be out of town for a while. I would be out of town for a while, and I hoped his invitation would wither in my absence. It did not. Over the next two months, he kept reaching out, sending me messages every week. Each began with “Yo yo!” followed by an inquiry into my schedule. At first I responded with excuses (“weird time at work!”), but then I stopped responding. The “Yo yos!” kept coming. The dynamic hadn’t started out creepy, but when he began to ignore the clues that I wasn’t interested in hanging out, as friends or otherwise, it started to feel sinister.