Awhile ago while listening to the My Favorite Murder Podcast, I recalled the late-Fall afternoon when I volunteered for my own murder.

After 20 years of living under my parents’ roof, I was tasting freedom for the first time and for some reason, my survival instincts weren’t quick honed. I did have the capacity to wake up by 7:00a.m. for my three-times-a-week 8:00a.m. lectures of course.

Living in the dorms of my mid-sized Midwest school meant our dorms were a bit of a community. We had a mix of farm boys, city boys, good students, and bad. And always a handle of cheap vodka and rum.

Our room was located near one of the main hall entrances and it being the fall, we always propped the doors open to allow air to flow through the non-air conditioned building. With a floor of young men, security was not our top priority. Eliminating the collective odor was definitely welcomed. Before we knew it, snow would arrive and we would be locked in for the season.

Luckily, I had secured a designated parking about a five minute walk from my building across a main road separating our dorms from the sports complex.

It was a late Thursday afternoon that we Midwesterners love; a warm/cool breeze with fallen leaves gently scraping the ground as they blow by. The sun has a uniquely golden tint to it as it crosses the horizon. All of us at the end the hall also had our room doors open enjoying the end of a long week. In between a Kenny Chesney summer jam and a Keith Urban country rock hit, a middle-age man, overweight, and a bit lost and disheveled (in the sense he wasn’t where he should be), came through our hall asking if anyone had a car as he needed a ride.

I don’t know what caused me to say “yes,” maybe he offered me a $20 bill, maybe I was just too nice and naïve, or maybe just tired from a long week of studying and tests and couldn’t say no.

Side note, all of my dorm mates said no and looked on at me a bit surprised that I said yes.

The guy, let’s call him “Frank”, followed me as we walked the five minutes to my car. My teal Oldmobile Achieva was about to go on the ride of it’s life. I turned the key and she came to life and he directed me to head towards our sister city about 10 miles away.

We small talked along the way, but immediately, I wanted to get this over with. The feeling in my stomach continued to get worse and worse the lower the sun slipped in the sky.

I had a random guy in my car. He wasn’t fidgety, but he wasn’t a calm dad who had encountered a flat and needed help. He didn’t talk about his kids. Instead, he made a few random comments about drugs and politely asked if I was scared to be helping him out. Red flag.

Finally, we directed me to take an exit and ]directed me to where he needed to get to — perhaps to sell his drugs — at this point, it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to know. My back was sweaty. My hands were clammy against the steering wheel.

It was a “no outlet” neighborhood and it had no streetlights. I slipped the car into park and as he starts to get out of the car, he turns and says, “Don’t leave me here.”

“Of course not,” I replied with a nervous smile hidden by the darkness of the night which had finally set in.

Maybe he was being funny or maybe he was serious. I watched every step as he meandered his way towards and then into a house. I left my car running and lights on to survey the area around me. I can still feel the pressure in my chest as I counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

I counted to 30.

I looked around and made sure no one was outside or watching me.

Then I made the decision: I was going.

I flicked off my lights, whipped my car around and slammed my foot down propelling my little car 50 miles per hour down and through these darkened residential streets. I did not turn them back on until I was safely a few blocks away.

My heart pounded as I made my way towards the highway.

Pulling back into my dorm parking lot, I purposefully parked in an entirely different section about a half-mile away in case he came back looking for me. As I settled back into my room, my dorm-mates and I had a good laugh over me helping this drug dealer / murderer.

I never heard from him again but have not given a ride to an old creepy stranger since.

The lesson: Don’t give rides to strangers who enter your home.

SSDGM.