#streaker

Host David Niven gets a surprise while introducing Elizabeth Taylor at the 46th Academy Awards.

Park is a somewhat generous term for the locale, what it amounted to was a cleared space with some planters and bushes, a tiny podium, and a square of trees round the perimeter. We had been hanging about with our friend who needed to leave, and waiting to be picked up ourselves, carless plebeians that we were.

So there we were, two teen girls in the park alone as the last of the light faded. Neither of us had cellphones, and my nana was collecting us right from the park as we’d agreed earlier. We were in no hurry, knowing she’d arrive when she arrived.

Until my friend said, “What was that?”

I looked up to where she was pointing but I didn’t see anything. “What?” I asked.

“I think it was… someone streaking?”

It was absurd to think. Our little town, tiny and rural as it was, with a streaker. But I loved my friend, so instead of laughing I said, “Let’s go see.”

I’m not sure what I thought it was, but I was confident she’d be less nervous if we investigated and found a plastic bag or a jogger in white. And I’ll admit I was curious at this anomaly. We made our way across the park to where she’d pointed.

That’s when I saw it too. A flash of pale skin under the streetlights, moving too quickly through the shadows and shrubs to see clearly. My friend clung to my arm, shrinking in on herself and I felt the first twitch of fear. Investigating no longer seemed like the thing to do.

I was determined to protect her from whatever was lurking, so I changed course and started cutting away from the movement, heading for the small shopping center not too far outside the park.

Our progress was suddenly arrested as the mysterious figure launched into our path. A man crouched on the pavement before us, fully nude except for a loincloth. His hair was in white people dreads. It was in every way like Tarzan had stepped out of the animated movie into real life.

My friends fingers were digging painfully into my arm and we stood stock still, staring at this bizarre apparition. He was still a good fifteen feet away from us. He stared back, making soft simian “ooh ooh” sounds.

I was struggling to process that a man in a loin cloth was right there when he started to move toward us. It was in his monkey half crouch, a few shambling steps, slow, with his eyes fixed on us.

“Leave us alone!” I declared.

He stopped, tilting his head this way and that. Then shifted like he would take another step.

I was fully afraid now, but I was also furious that he was menacing us and scaring my friend. I dropped her arm, marching forward with wrath in my eyes and said, “Get out of here before we call the cops!”

At my approach he turned and bolted back into the bushes. I whipped around and zipped back toward my friend, grabbing her arm and power walking us out of there. We arrived at the nearest business and darted inside, conveying what had just happened in garbled snippets.

The workers were outraged to hear our story. They let me call my nana to tell her where we were, then asked if we’d like to call the police. I shook my head. I emphatically did not want to deal with the police.

In the safety of the store my fear had started to feel ridiculous. It was probably just some bored prankster.

As we waited for my nana my friend quietly admitted she would rather liked to have called the cops. I apologized for not asking. We lapsed into silence. She said, “I can’t believe you went toward him.”

I couldn’t either. I didn’t remember planning on it, only I wanted to be between him and my friend. “Do you think he was crazy or was it just a prank?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know either. All these years later I still don’t really know what happened that night. If he was on a dare, or cosplaying Tarzan for fun, or if he was unwell. A lot of the details have hazed over with time but the utter dissonance of seeing a man in a loin cloth pop out of the bushes is seared into me.