Page 116 of Wayfarers

“Upskirting?”

“Knox, I am profoundly glad you don’t know what that is. And you know what? I refuse to be the one to teach you. But while we’re talking about how past traumas informed our actions a little bit ago, I’ll reveal this: remember I was telling you about that crustpunk chick and her methy boyfriend who robbed me right before we met?”

Dawn. This is a topic I would like not to come up again. “Yeah,” I say.

“Well, I kinda understated how that all went down. It ended up getting physical and I got slapped pretty hard and I—”

“Wait, that girl and her boyfriend actually hurt you?” My mind tells me it’s best not to keep poking at this but the seething mass of commingled anger and guilt rising in my gut overcomes my better judgment.

“Yeah, she hit me and pushed me down. Anyway—”

“Like how badly did you get hurt?”

“Knox. Like not severely, okay? Can I finish? Jeez, you sound like you want to track those two down and kickbox them. I think you hate them more than I do.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda do,” I mutter. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“So yeah, I keep replaying it in my mind and I was doing exactly that in the moment I caught the dude filming me and I was just . . . done with being exploited and victimized, you know?”

“I’m the last person who’ll judge your reaction. Remember? I thought your reaction warranted risking them giving me a root canal with no anesthesia. Not that I’ve ever had one, but it sounds like it would hurt.”

“Or the chocolate-flavored fluoride.”

“Those guys were my first encounter with a dentist in a really long time so I’ve never experienced the chocolate fluoride.”

“Nor do you ever want to. So, do I wanna know how you twisted their arms into deleting the video? Will you make me an accomplice to something?”

I laugh. “I told them I’d memorized their license plate numbers and if they didn’t delete the video in front of me, I’d look them up, get their names, look those up, contact their wives and kids, and tell them to check their phone for the video.”

“Do you know how to do any of that?”

“No, but I assume it’s possible.”

“So.” Sylvie snaps a couple times. “What are their license plate numbers?”

“No clue.”

Knox Something to Hold

I feel duly chastened, of course,

to have drawn Sylvie’s ire

by taking action on her behalf

she didn’t want me to take.

But here’s a secret that I’ll bury

like a treasure: it’s nice

having someone you’d gladly risk

everything for. It’s a feeling

to hold warm against you when

everything you have isn’t much.