Life Lesson #3: honesty usually hurts feelings

➸ Yarrow ☆

Last night, I dreamed of Blackjack twice. In the first dream, he was riding a giant bicycle down my old street in Little Memphis. In the second, he moved into Ginger’s home and slept on her couch, forcing me to sleep on the floor. The only good part was that he snored and the sound relaxed me.

Each time I wake, I wish to see him again. Mostly, I want to know if he plans to take my couch. Since dreams aren’t real, I decide to stay away from the Heretics.

Except Blackjack lingers in my thoughts. Is he a monster? Should I kill him? Is he a good kisser? What would sex feel like with him? Does he have a tattoo on his butt? Would he hurt me like he did Annie? So many questions, but I’m mostly interested in the butt tattoo one.

Bored sitting all day at the townhomes, I’m relieved when Makoa asks Ginger if he can walk to the nearby park to play.

“By yourself?” Ginger mutters from the lawn chair. “Nope. No way. People are evil. You can’t go.”

“Nice overreaction there,” Clove teases from the hot tub.

Interrupting their eye-rolling competition, I say, “I’ll walk with him.”

Ginger nods immediately. “Good deal. Wait, should I go with you?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrow as if suspicious, but I turn away and gesture for Makoa to follow. I expect Ginger to follow me since she rarely trusts me alone with Oz’s kids. However, Makoa and I leave the property without interference.

“Alani has more friends now that we live in town,” Makoa says while bouncing a basketball.

I walk next to him and keep an eye out for trouble. Annie perhaps? “Okay.”

“Now I have to play alone.”

Worrying the dark-haired boy will cry, I offer, “I can play basketball.”

“Are you any good?”

“No.”

“Perfect,” he says, snickering.

The park is three blocks from our Pasadena Townhomes. On the way, Makoa and I stop at a gas station. I buy two bottles of Gatorade and fun-size bags of M&M’S—minis for me, peanut filled for him. At the park, we find dog walkers, moms with rowdy kids, moms with calm kids, a few men running on the paths, and a cop car parked at the curb.

Of the six available basketball courts, three remain open. I throw the basketball at the hoop, but the ball misses by a few feet. Makoa laughs every time I fail to make a basket but finally decides he maybe should teach me to dribble better. He’s like a little Oz—kind of a jerk but mostly sweet.

Missing my shots is fun until I notice a man from another court moving in our direction. Assuming he’s a pervert, I take a deep breath and prepare to ignore his behavior. Clove said ignoring perverts is the best solution when I’m in public surrounded by witnesses.

“Hey, I’ve never seen you around here,” he says to me.

Refusing to look at him, I focus on dribbling the ball. Then it hits my foot and goes flying. Makoa runs after the ball while the pervert stands a little closer to me.

“I’m Jeff.”

After his gaze flashes to the pervert, Makoa hands me the ball. I concentrate hard on dribbling rather than the pervert standing less than a foot from me. Focus on the ball and not on the pervert talking about how he likes to play basketball. Just focus on my time with Makoa. Then Pervert Jeff ruins my concentration by striking up a conversation with the boy.

“No,” I say when he asks Makoa’s name.

Jeff smiles. “So, you can talk.”

I bounce the ball to Makoa who bounces it back to me. I’m about to walk away because the pervert’s too obnoxious to ignore. He keeps smiling in an overly friendly way, and I suspect he thinks I’m shy rather than completely disinterested. Clove has the same problem.

“There’s a stereotype about Asian women being submissive,” Clove said during one of the crew’s weekly card games. “A stereotype that’s led to many bleeding men who thought they could bring me out of my shell.”

Gesturing to Makoa to head out, I move to leave. My plan is to leave Jeff unharmed. I’m looking to control my temper and make the right decision. Except the pervert won’t take no for an answer.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch,” he says and grabs my arm.

I don’t lose control. Not even angry, I know I can’t have him touching me and cussing in front of the children. No, that wouldn’t be right.

Understandably, I slam the basketball into his face, knocking him to the ground. Such a simple, almost harmless move. In fact, I’ve seen Clove and Pepper hit each other harder during arguments. Except Pervert Jeff bleeds easy and yells super loud. Then I spot the cop running from his car and notice the gun in his hand.

Now I wish I’d lost my temper and really gone wild. Being a mature adult isn’t worth the boredom if I’ll end up in the same place as if I went nuts.