“Well, I’m just funny-looking,” I snapped back. And she giggled as if that was the joke of the year.

For one hopeless, suicidal moment I considered dumping my whole story on her. I began by saying, “Mom, did you ever cheat in school?”

She giggled some more, of course, and then said, “Don’t be silly! What a question! Just because I wasn’t as good a student as you or your sister? Maybe no one gave me shiny brass plaques and certificates and whatnot. But I was certainly smart enough to pass without cheating!” Then she laughed some more. I tried to get back to work.

Rob

He asks which way. I point north. Woulda liked to set the odometer, see how far I hiked yesterday. But he’d think I’m bragging or proud—not sorry enough about the trouble I caused.

We drive. I sweat, trying to remember where I dumped that pack.

Out of nowhere he says, “So what do you weigh now? ’Bout one-sixty, one-sixty-five?”

“One-seventy-eight, sir,” I answer.

“I’ve still got thirteen pounds on you,” he says. “And don’t forget it.”

“No, sir,” I say. “I won’t.” But I wonder what he means.

Finally, way the heck across the San Fernando Valley, I spot the bush. Don’t know how I recognize it.

I say, “Stop here!” He does. I jump out, and the pack’s there. Relief. I get back in.

“You walked all the way here?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“Didn’t hitchhike?”

“No, sir.” Want to add this ain’t even half as far as I got, but I don’t.

When we’re almost home he says, “I guess I was about your age when I fought back. Sure must’ve taken my daddy by surprise.” Then he points at me. Says, “Don’t even think of it, boy.”

I say, “No, sir, I won’t.”

He pats his gut. “You may think this here’s an extra thirteen pounds of flab—nothin’ but old man sag and fat. But don’t kid yourself.”

“No, sir,” I say. “I won’t.”

He nods. Says, “Plenty of scrap and gristle left in the old guy.”

I answer, “Yes, sir.”

Then I get it: He’s scared if he hits me this time, I’ll slug him back. And ya know what? He’s right. How’d he know that before I did?

Suddenly it’s like tasting that lemonade, still cold, out of the trash. Third jolt: Yes!

You’d think running away woulda told him I was more of a coward than ever, less of a threat. But he must’ve just now noticed that I’m bigger than him. Took me till now to notice.

Maybe he thinks I’d had enough. Thinks I’d take off again and this time the police wouldn’t bring me back.

Maybe so.