It started with opera. A panhandler near my college, Wendell, would sometimes sing beautifully while asking for money. I usually stick to donating to charities, but his voice was something else. I’d give him what little change I had.

We’d chat sometimes too. He was older, probably in his 40s or 50s, and he liked to make students laugh with jokes. He’d sometimes share surprisingly personal things, like how drugs ruined his chance at a baseball scholarship. I’d offer a brief, polite response and move on.

One day, I was walking with my academic advisor and Wendell called me over. I introduced them, not wanting to be rude. Afterward, my advisor seemed disturbed. He asked why Wendell knew me by name and warned me about forming friendships with the homeless in the city, mentioning criminal or addictive histories.

I brushed it off, thinking he was being elitist. I even felt more radical and justified in my kindness. I started sharing more with Wendell, feeling like I was breaking down barriers.

A Misunderstanding Turns Sinister

Soon after, Wendell seemed different. Irritable. He asked if my "boyfriend" and I lived together. I was confused. He was talking about my advisor. Once I explained, he immediately became chatty again. This should have been a warning sign, but he was such a small part of my life.

Then came the gifts. A flower, a metal piece. I accepted them, seeing it as a way to preserve his dignity, like his singing. My roommate thought it was weird, but I defended my actions, seeing myself as enlightened and bridging divides.

My advisor brought it up again, worried I was being manipulated. I started to reconsider. Wendell had mentioned how a past girlfriend overreacting had derailed his life, along with his drug history. Maybe it was time to create some distance.

The

Pandemic and a Disturbing Coincidence

The pandemic hit, and I moved back home with my parents to save money and quarantine. Weeks later, I was watching a friend’s Instagram story and heard Wendell singing opera in the background. I thought he was still in my college town.

Later, I rewatched the story. It wasn't my college town. It was my much smaller hometown, miles away. A chill went down my spine. Was it a coincidence? My town wasn't *that

• small, and it wasn't *that

• far from campus.

I felt embarrassed to tell my parents, who had always warned me about talking to strangers. I also didn't want to sound conceited, thinking he’d followed me. Since we were quarantining strictly due to a family member’s diabetes, I figured I wouldn't see him anyway.

More Unsettling Signs

Then, a girl from my high school called. She said a beggar had asked her about me downtown. He knew my major and that I was on the college volleyball team. She’d been wearing a college sweatshirt, so I figured he saw it and made an assumption. I told her not to worry.

I decided to move back near campus. It was impossible to focus on coursework with my family around. I didn't think about Wendell at all until I saw him on his usual corner a week after I returned.

At that point, I knew something was wrong. I stopped giving him money and talking to him. I was too embarrassed about my previous certainty that everyone else was paranoid to tell anyone.

A New State, A New Fear

After finals, I went to visit my brother in a different state. His roommate had moved out, so I had a spare room. We were being very strict about quarantine, as his state was also hit hard.

About nine days in, my brother woke me up. He was talking to someone at the door. When he turned to me, he looked furious. He told the person outside to hold on, then closed the door.

He got right in my face, whisper-yelling, "Mom and Dad are gonna kill you!" I panicked, thinking it was the police about my fake ID. But his next words made no sense.

"And I’m gonna kill you! This is so not cool. You didn’t even ask?" he fumed. "You’re dating a 40 year old guy? Older? 45 maybe?" He continued, saying I’d invited him to his house during quarantine. "You two can go to a hotel, because he isn’t coming in here."

The Unbelievable Truth

I was completely lost. Wendell was such a minor part of my life, background noise compared to the pandemic and everything else. I genuinely didn’t have a boyfriend. "Dude, I don’t know why you’re so mad," I said. "I don’t have a boyfriend. Someone’s got the wrong house."

My brother looked at me, convinced I was lying. "We’re adults, come on, don’t fucking lie to me." I insisted I wasn’t, and he could see I was serious.

Now he was confused. "He didn’t just vaguely say he was here for his girlfriend," my brother said. "He used your name, he rattled off a ton of very exact info... I think he said you... uh. He said you guys had a fight and he was here to work things out?"

My stomach dropped. I hadn't thought about Wendell in months. How could he possibly know where I was? How could he know my brother’s address? I hadn’t told anyone I was coming here except my parents, and they were in another state.

I finally looked through the peephole. I almost didn’t recognize him. He had showered, shaved, and was wearing clean clothes. He looked… normal. But it was definitely Wendell.

"He said you guys had a fight and he was here to work things out?"

My brother grabbed my arm. "He’s not leaving until you talk to him. You need to go out there and tell him you’re not interested. You need to make it clear you’re not dating him. He’s not leaving until you do."

I was terrified. This was a man who had sung opera, told me intimate details of his life, given me flowers, and had now somehow tracked me across states. The man my advisor warned me about, the man I’d dismissed as just a quirky panhandler, had become a dangerous obsession.

I opened the door. Wendell looked at me, a strange mix of relief and confusion on his face. "Hey," he said, his voice soft. "I was worried about you. I heard you two had a fight. I came to help."

I stood there, unable to speak. The opera singer who had sung for spare change was now standing on my brother’s doorstep, convinced he was my protector. The story had taken a turn none of us could have ever predicted.