He finds me after track on Wednesday, when I’m walking off the field with my bag and the looseness in my body that running gives me, the only time my muscles agree to be quiet.
He’s leaning against the chain link at the exit with his arms crossed and that expression he does.
Present.
Settled.
Like wherever he is becomes the place he’s supposed to be.
“I want to make you an offer,” he says.
“You said that two weeks ago and then said ‘not yet’ about everything.”
“Now it’s time.”
I push through the gate. He falls into step beside me and we walk toward the school’s east side and he lays it out without preamble, which I’ve come to understand is simply how he communicates: directly, without the social scaffolding most people use to soften difficult things.
Protection.
Logistical, or
