yelling, no punches thrown, no puffed up chests. I saw a clapping of hands in a “bro-type” greeting and a non-aggressive exchange of words. So, when Hank walked back over to me, I immediately demanded to know what happened. “Oh, not much,” he responded. “I told him what he did wasn’t cool, but he said he only meant to hit you, so it’s all good.” My jaw dropped. “It’s all good?” I asked, feeling my cheeks flush. Hank stuttered something unintelligible and stared intently at his feet, moving a pebble back and forth with the toe of his tennis shoe. I was humiliated and could barely look him in the eye. For the rest of the night, Hank and I were distant, only holding hands and kissing goodnight because we felt we should. Needless to say, Hank and I did not last much longer after this incident, although not only because of it. I knew it had to end when I found myself looking down on the single birds and wishing I was that free.