It had finally stopped raining when I came out of the building. The air was crisp and smelled clean. I glanced at my watch. Five after nine. The bus wouldn't be along for nearly half a hour. I could walk the six blocks and be home in fifteen minutes — ten, if I cut through the park.

I turned up the collar of my raincoat and dug my hands deeper into the pockets. Then I set off up the street, walking an easy stride. I stopped at the corner and waited for the light to change. There was little traffic and I could have crossed against the light, but I wasn’t in a hurry. Since my husband Henry died two years ago, there was no one at home waiting for me. Being alone and bored I guess was the main reason I decided to do something different—that and the fact that Henry always told me never to be afraid to try out a new thing. So I enrolled in a night class at the local YWCA, and all the hard work had finally paid off. I felt really good about myself. Tonight finished up my long months of hard work. Not only had I graduated at the top of my class, I did it against the stiff competition of much younger students.

As I walked toward home, I wasn't exactly sure when I became aware that someone was behind me. A good distance back, to be sure. But nevertheless, somebody was back there. I could hear faint footsteps that were almost an echo of my own. Probably some hearty soul out for an after-the-rain stroll, I assured myself. As I increased my pace, the tempo behind me rose to match me step for step. I hurried on. Shortly I reached the entrance to the park and stepped from the hard concrete sidewalk onto the pine-needled and leaf-strewn path. My footsteps fell silent upon the soft cushioning, and the quiet around me felt eerie and foreboding.

The clouds had moved away from the face of the moon and the park reminded me of a fortress surrounded by menacing-looking shapes and mottled-colored forms. Maybe I should have taken the bus.

Stepping lively, I was almost at the pavilion, which marked the half-way point of the park, when I heard the muffled wump-wump footsteps behind me. As the distance between us narrowed I could hear the unmistakable sound of rapid breathing coming closer. Closer. I tightened the grip on my purse and took a deep breath. Just as I entered the clearing at the pavilion, a hand grasped my arm and spun me around.

Beneath the cluster of park lights, I could see him clearly.

He grunted. "Give me your money."

"What?"

He raised the pocket of his jacket and pointed it at me. "I have a gun, so hand over your money."

He was a scrawny little thing, ruddy-faced and sparsely whiskered. All my common sense warned me to do exactly as he demanded, but I suddenly found the situation to be somewhat humorous.

"Does your mama know what you’re doing?" I asked automatically. Then I could have kicked myself for being so stupid. What was I thinking? He had a gun for crying out loud.

"My what?"

"Your mama! Does she know what you’re up to? I’d bet not."

He took a menacing step toward me and wagged his hand stuffed inside the pocket. "Lady, I’m not kidding. Give me your purse or somebody is going to get hurt."

"Don’t do anything foolish," I reasoned with him. "Nothing bad has happened so far, so why don’t you just go on your way and I’ll go on mine, and we’ll act as if nothing’s happened. You look like a nice young man, and I really don’t think you want to do this." I gave him a weak smile. "Besides, this had been an extra special night, and I have good nights so seldom you wouldn’t want to mess it up, now would you?"

"What’s so special about it?"

"This is my graduation night."

He sneered. "An old dame like you just graduated."

"As a matter of fact I’m just now coming from the graduation ceremony. I finished first in my class."

"Then maybe you got bucks, huh?" He snatched at my purse. "Let’s see how much graduation green you got in that fancy pocketbook."

As he reached toward me, I grabbed his skinny wrist and bent his arm upward and back. He let out a yelp as a look of surprise flashed across his pimply face. Then I stuck my leg out behind him and gave him just the slightest shove. He tumbled over like a spindly sapling.

"Oomph," his breath sort of spurted out.

Before he had a chance to recover, I had my knee pressed against his Adam’s apple, and he seemed content to lie perfectly still.

Suddenly the area became much brighter as headlights swept across the small pavilion parking lot. I heard a car door open and then slam just before a long shadow fell across the two of us down there on the concrete. Oh Lord, I thought, why hadn’t I taken the bus? I turned my head and glanced up expecting to see a gang of ruffians. Instead I found myself staring into the face of an old friend.

"Hannah Watson," he said. "As I live and breathe, what are you doing down there on the ground? Are you okay?"

"Sergeant McCoy," I said, trying to keep my voice strong and commanding. "Am I ever glad to see you. This young hooligan here tried to rob me."

The officer reached down and helped me to my feet.

"Be careful of him," I said and pointed to the boy. "He has a gun in his jacket."

The boy squirmed on the ground and yanked both the jacket pockets inside out. He held up his hands, fingers spread wide. "Ain’t no gun here," he said.

"But you told her you had one, didn’t you?" Officer McCoy nudged the toe of a highly-polished boot against the dirty blue-jeaned leg of the young man. "Boy, this is just not your night," he said to the figure still prostrate on the sidewalk.

"Why’s that?"

"Did Mrs. Watson tell you she graduated tonight?"

"Yeah," his voice sounded like a growl.

"Did she tell you she graduated at the top of her class?"

"She told me. So what?"

"Well, you should’ve listened to her," he said. "You’re dumb, boy—dumb as a stick horse." Officer McCoy gave me a slightly crooked grin. "Show him your diploma, Hannah."

I unbuttoned my raincoat and pulled it open. My uniform was blinding white in the artificial light.

The boy heaved himself up on one elbow. "A black belt?" he said in an amazed voice. "An old lady like you with a black belt in karate?"

"And she’s starting judo next week," Officer McCoy said, reaching down and hauling the boy to his feet.

He looked puny and terribly scraggly, dangling there in McCoy’s big hand.

"Be careful who you pick on next time, punk," the officer said. He shook him like a rag doll and shoved him in the direction of the cruiser. "And don’t let appearance—or age—fool you. You never know what kind of tiger you might latch onto—what they graduated from, or if they maybe finished at the head of the class." He opened the back door of the car. "Listen to me, cupcake, you’d be better off to leave senior citizens alone — they’re full of surprises."

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