Muhammad Jones

Ever since I turned ten, I have found myself checking over my shoulder, as if waiting on a slow friend to catch up to me. I used to talk to the imagined ‘watchers’, asking about their day, their lives, or anything really. I’m not a paranoid person, not naturally anyways. These watchers didn’t worry me, or scare me. I had just accepted that as a fact of life, the sky is blue, heaven is up, and people watch me.

Nowadays, I’m not so sure that these ‘watchers’ are imaginary, like my mom tried to assure me that they were. Yesterday and the day before I saw the same man in the same place on the balcony across the road from my apartment. When I think about it, he’s been there an awful lot lately. Just staring down at the street and sipping from a mug that looks like it belongs in an antique store. What I am unsure of is whether or not there is more than one. Would they take shifts?

I shook my head to dispel that thought before it could go on and become a full blown tangent. Out of habit, I looked to the balcony across the way and was startled to find it empty. That’s odd. Where’d they go? I became hyper-aware of my surroundings, checking every possible human sized perch. What if they can shape shift? What if that cat that always screams at midnight is a watcher? I laughed aloud at that thought, because really? A cat that won’t even drink the milk I put out for it an observer of my life? Unlikely.

I heard the ravens that nest above the eaves of my neighbor’s porch caw in displeasure from overhead. I looked to the direction they had flown from and was startled to see the person from the balcony sitting on a high bough, drinking out of his mug and observing the street like he did while he was on the balcony. Now that, that is weird. Memo to me, mention this to my psych.

I started. Shit. I’m going to be late to that appointment if I don’t hurry. I began to jog. I just barely made it on time.

“Mr. Jones, how nice to see you again. I’ll let her know you’re here.” The receptionist smiled up at me from her desk.

“Thank you,” I breathed, sinking into one of the chairs in the waiting room.

A few minutes later, my psych walked out and waved me back. “Good afternoon, Mohammad. How are you?” She asked, smiling at me.

“A little flustered at the moment, but okayish other than that,” I said, slipping into her office and flopping down on the couch.

“What has you so flustered today?” She asked, brown eyes gleaming with concern.

“You know those ‘watchers’ I’ve mentioned before?” I paused and she nodded. “What if they’re not delusions? What if they’re real?” I asked, raising my eyebrow at her.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because I’m pretty sure that either I have a stalker or that this person is a watcher,” I said, pulling my notepad full of my observations out of my pocket. I flipped to the past three months. “February seventh, man on the balcony. Pewter mug, looks like an old beer stein. Would fit better in an antique shop. That building is condemned and locked. How’d he get there? February tenth, he’s there again. Same mug, same man, same actions. He’s been perched there every day around the time I get home every day for the past three months, until today. Today he was in the evergreen in front of my neighbor’s house,” I said, looking up from my notes.

“Good to see you’re keeping a journal, Mohammad. Now what has you convinced that he’s a person and not a delusion?” She asked.

“The crows normally perch in that tree. They were cawing and very upset that someone was in their spot. They flew from that direction too. Even the neighborhood kids noticed, they were pointing at the birds and gawking. Maybe the watchers as a whole are a delusion, but this person probably isn’t. In the past, I’ve had hallucinations of birds, but all of my hallucinations and delusions always seem cartoon-y and flat. Neither the birds nor the man were flat but very realistic. Plus, I’ve been taking my meds as prescribed.” I looked at her in triumph. She paused and thought about it. She nodded.

“You’re probably right about this not being a delusion then. Have you seen this person in places other than around your house?” She asked. I thought about it for a moment.

“When I took that trip to go see my parents in Montana last month, I saw him everywhere. Even on my parent’s property, I saw him near the horse pasture and near the treeline always looking not quite at me but definitely in my direction. He also followed me around Hamilton. Hamilton, for the Lady’s sake! If he’s a stalker, he’s not a very smart one. People chatter like crows in that town. That’s another thing, a lady at the coffee shop asked me if ‘ the charming young man with the pretty smile and the pewter mug’ had found me yet. When I looked confused, she explained that he was looking for me. I thanked her and nodded, mind whirling. Others can see him too apparently. But the thing is, that trip was a last minute thing. But he was there. The only place I talked about it was via text in my bedroom, in my apartment, to my mom.” I looked at her in despair.

“Hmm… that is odd. How was your trip, by the way? Was it refreshing to see your family again?” she asked.

“Yeah, my mom was thrilled to see me. She actually cried all over my leather jacket. My dad just grunted a ‘good to see you again, kid’. But coming from him that's almost an ‘I love you’. My siblings were a little less thrilled to surrender my old room to me for two weeks but they were still happy to see me, maybe. I was amazed at how big they’ve gotten. I guess seven years will do that to kids though… My mom insisted on all of my extended family coming over to see me. Then they all asked the same questions ‘how’s school?’ or ‘where’s your boyfriend?’ or my favourite ‘where’s my grandbabies?’” I chuckled. “Guess they don’t know I got my uterus removed two falls ago. No biological babies from me. Mary can do that one. Guess they also don’t know I’ve been single since last April. Oh well, the right one will find me eventually, or not at all.” I sighed.

“You didn’t tell them about your operation?” She asked, eyebrows knitting together. I shook my head. “Why not?”

“It’s not really any of their business. I’ll adopt or something. I told my mom and she just nodded and was like ‘That's fine, Mo. As long as you let me hold my grandpuppies sometime.’” I chuckled.

“So, when’s the next time you’re going out there?”

“Christmas. My dad offered to pay for my tickets and everything. I guess he really wants me there this year. Strange, I feel like he loves me more when I’m not living there. I feel like my mom worries more with me so far though. I should get a car soon so she worries less about me. Maybe if I had a boyfriend she would worry less about me being okay. Eh, all they gay men around here are trash monkeys, honestly,” I laughed. Our session continued and ended without incident.

I wish I could say the same for the rest of my week. The next morning, I woke up to realize that I had no less than eleven missed calls from my mom. Ah fuck. I quickly called her back.

“Mom? Is everything okay?” I asked, pacing my bedroom floor and nudging dirty laundry out of my way. I heard her laugh lightly, then sigh.

“Did you forget about my trip out there this week?” She asked. Oh dear.

“No! Nahhhh- yeah I did. I’m sorry. Are you on your way then?” She laughed raucously.

“Actually, I called because you moved your spare key and I’m outside your door. Let me in you monkey!” She giggled again and I sprinted to the door. I unlocked it and yanked it open to see my mom’s beautiful face alight with laughter, but still lined with stress. I let her in and blushed in shame at the state of my front room.

“Ah, sorry about the mess. I normally just get in, eat, and pass out,” I explained.

“I had five kids, the mess of one bachelor and his cat doesn’t really bother me.” She smiled at me over her shoulder as she hung up her coat.