My Protector

     Walking through the library one afternoon, my spider sense was tingling. I knew I was being watched. While researching materials for a psychology paper, I pulled a book from the shelf. Befitted with a threatening smile, a very, very bad guy was staring at me through the narrow gap in the stacks.

     He was everywhere on campus, harassing me: lurking in the bookstore; positioning himself in my line of sight at the dining hall to clench me in his stare; and intentionally shuffling past my dorm room every night. I’d hear the scuffling of his slippers, the jingling of his keys, and his humming of a purposeful tune, emboldened, informing me that he was nearby. He wanted me afraid.

     And I was. Until a hero walked into my life. A Marine.

     When I was 20, I dated a Marine named Mike. He knew what was happening, but because he attended college two states away, he could only be with me for a short while.

     Mike stayed with me for a week during Springfest, supporting me through the events. While I was in classes and overseeing the festivities, when he wasn't practicing his sprints on the track, Mike was on a covert operation (he had a mission that he didn’t tell me about until much later). He made it known in no uncertain terms to the very, very bad guy that absolutely no one was going to hurt me, or they were going to answer directly to him. And they were not going to like it. The very, very bad guy very quickly backed off.  Mike protected me and I was no longer afraid. He was my first Devil Dog and my introductory lesson in Marine valor.