The encounter with a stranger(Martha Hume) It was 1967.The place was Picayune, Mississippi. It was Sunday around noon.I was walking home from morning worship. As I walked along Canal Street a man in a red convertible slowed down to talk to me. He asked if I wanted to take a ride With him and talk. I said no.

The strange gentleman had some extreme difficulty accepting that I wasn't interested. I wanted nothing to do with him.the stranger was making me uncomfortable. I was afraid. I think maybe I was sensing danger.

I walked faster and faster and I glanced back over my shoulder.the stranger wasn't in the red convertible any longer.His car was parked approximately a block behind where I first encountered him.now the stranger was on foot chasing me. The uncomfortable feeling I had earlier was now a panic. I was terrified. Who was this stranger and why was he chasing me?

I ran harder hoping my feet would miraculously carry me faster. Running was another thing that I wasn't good at. Honestly, I couldn't run, not even if my life depended on it.this day I was convinced if the stranger ever caught me I'd never see my home, my church,my school or anything ever again. As my luck would have it, I fell face first on the sidewalk. Getting back to my feet would be a bigger problem. I looked back at the stranger. The stranger was running. Back to his convertible. I lay there until the stranger was out of sight. I got to my feet as quickly as possible. When I was standing up I surrendered to my urge to cry hysterically.

When I was safely back home. I changed clothes and took a warm shower. The warm water and soft dented suds allowed me the opportunity to assess my wounds. I was fortunate.i escaped with a few minor scrapes.

I told several adults. My fifth grade teacher Mrs.Rutherford showed genuine empathy. The expression on her face told me she had empathy and sympathy but she wasn't sure what to do.

The school Principal Mrs. Mitchell listened and her first reaction was to call me a list. Then, because I persisted in the accuracy of my story. She then responded. "Things like what you're describing don't happen to good girls. If this close encounter happened you deserved it.

It was my fault I thought of every reason this encounter was my fault.

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