until I was hidden under the trees at the back of the house. But not long after I sat against one of them, she sat down next to me.
“I turned off the hose,” she said softly.
“Thanks.”
“You’re still dirty.”
I knew that. I could feel it on my skin. That dirty feeling kinda like when I lost control, except I wasn’t angry. “Yup.”
“My mom told me to stay away from you,” she said like she was telling me a secret as she played with the grass. “You know . . . when she was sending me outside.”
I glanced at her and then quickly looked away when I found her watching me. “Lotta folks tell their kids to stay away from me.”
“That’s sad.”
I shrugged. I hadn’t ever thought so. Not until then. Not until her.
I stared at the tall, swaying grass covering up the part of our land we could see from where we sat for a while before asking, “Can I tell you something?”
Instead of answering, she scooted closer so she was in front of me and looking directly at me.
“I get real angry, and I can’t stop it. I dunno how. And everyone says it isn’t normal.”
I didn’t tell her that my parents had taken me to see people for it. That I’d just stopped going to the last doctor because I was getting worse, not better. Didn’t tell her the words my momma used when she talked about me. I was too embarrassed to.
“Hulk,” she said, her eyes getting big and round. “That’s what your brother said. Like the big, green guy.”
I shook my head, my shoulders jerking up to my ears. “I dunno. I’ve heard her say it, but I dunno what it means.”
“He’s this guy who explodes into a super huge, green guy when he gets mad. He smashes and destroys things, and it’s hard for him to get back to not being so mad.”
Oh.
My stare fell to my lap as my stomach twisted and turned.
That would be why I didn’t know who he was. My parents tried to stop me from seeing anything with violence, worried it would make me worse. One of my doctors had said so.
“Yeah, guess that sounds like me.” I looked at her and nodded off to the side. “You should maybe listen to your momma.”
She didn’t say anything for a real long time, but when she did, she sounded all kinds of crazy. “Are you gonna stay away from me because of my freckles?”
“What? Why in the heck would I stay away from you ’cause you have freckles?”
“I don’t like them,” she said sadly, then touched her face before forcing her hands under her legs. “I don’t think they belong on my face.”
I looked at her tan skin and bright eyes and the dots on her cheeks and nose that were so light, I hadn’t noticed them until then. “Well, I like ’em. And they aren’t gonna make me stay away from you.”
“Then, okay.”
“I don’t think we’re talking ’bout the same kinds of things.”
“Sure we are.” She reached to the side to pick a dandelion and then looked back at me. “There was a boy at my old school, and he was so, so mean. But he liked being mean, you could tell. He laughed at people when he hurt them or made them cry. I don’t think you’re like that at all, Beau Dixon.” She slowly blew the white, puffy seeds off the stem before saying, “You don’t wanna be angry. I think it bothers you—makes you sad.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t even know me.”
“But I told you, I felt sad when you looked at me because you felt sad.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Sure it does,” she said as she picked another dandelion and held it out to me.
I didn’t take it.
“My freckles make me sad, and I don’t like them. You getting angry makes you sad, and you don’t want to be that way. So, why on earth would I stay away from you?”
This girl really was crazy. “Not the same things.”
“They are to me.”
“They’re freckles,” I said as I leaned forward to tug on her long braid. “Just a part of you like this is.”
“You get angry. It’s just a part of you.”
A heavy breath left me when I fell back against the tree and watched her, staring at me like she really believed what she said.