To my own surprise, someone’s date of birth wasn’t exactly juicy information. I couldn’t find a single thing about her. I hated so much that she was inaccessible on the internet. But now, I feel completely different. She is a stranger in the eyes of others. They can’t stalk her on Facebook or figure out her humor through retweets. They had to get to know the real her. The real Harper Torres. And that’s exactly what I had to do too. 

The first time I stalked her was the first time I’d stalked anyone. That is, if you don’t count the grocery store. I don’t. That was more “listening intently”, if you ask me. But the first time I stalked her, I ran into her at the liquor store. It was a complete coincidence. She was browsing through the boxed wine aisle and I was buying a fifth of Jack Daniel’s for my mom. I know what you’re thinking. Who buys alcohol for their mom? And a fifth at that? Well, my mom is bedridden and her only pleasure in life is Jack. So who am I to tell her no? She raised me after all. 

Back to Harper. She chooses Corbett Canyon Pinot Grigio and makes her way to the checkout counter. I stopped pretending to browse and grabbed the fifth of Jack from a nearby shelf. I stood behind Harper in the checkout line and scanned her, just like they were doing to her wine. I memorized every inch of her body and engrained it into my brain. I wasn’t sure when I would be able to see her again. I wanted to remember her. Forever. 

By the time I had gotten into my car, she was already pulling out of the parking lot. It was as if some mysterious entity was forcing me to pull out after her. To this day, I’m still not sure why I followed her, but I’m glad I did. She made a right and then a left and then a left again. While she was stopped at a traffic light, I had time to catch up to her. A few cars behind, I tailed her for miles, waiting for her to stop somewhere. Luckily, this was my route home so I knew it very well. After about ten minutes of driving, we passed the road that I would turn onto to go home. Less than a minute later, she turned into a parking spot with a number on it. 123. 

I pulled up to the curb, waiting for her to exit her car. To my left was row after row of townhomes. They all looked exactly the same, except one. Harper walked up the cracked stairs of townhome 4H and inserted key after key into the lock. Knowing where she lived was absolutely exhilarating. I can’t describe the feeling but watching her in her apartment, away from the public eye, she was a different person. She changed into something more comfortable almost immediately. She poured herself a glass of wine and she sat down on the sofa, huddled in a fuzzy blanket. 

There were so many things that I learned that day. The first day that I stalked Harper Torres. I knew so many more things about her. Things that I’d been longing to know since I first met her. I learned her favorite wine. I learned what kind of car she drives. I learned where she lives. I learned what her afternoon routine looks like. I learned what felt like a fountain of information at the time. And then I learned something about myself. 

I wasn’t going to stop until I learned every piece of information there was to know about her.