I knew it was him.
The next morning, I called from my office phone.
“Did you find my blog?”
“Yes,” Kevin said.
“That’s invasive.”
“I know.”
“Then why do it?”
“Did you find my blog?”
“Because I needed to understand what I did to you without asking you to comfort me through it.”
That landed.
I hated that it landed.
“One coffee,” I said. “Public place. One hour.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“Because I needed to understand what I did to you.”
***
At the coffee shop, Kevin told me the thing I’d never understood.
His father had just called him weak in the parking lot.
I remembered asking if he was okay.
Kevin remembered it too.
“You saw me cry,” he said, staring at his cup. “You didn’t laugh. That made it worse.”
“Kindness made it worse?”
“You didn’t laugh. That made it worse.”
“No. Being seen did.” His voice cracked. “I was ashamed, so I made everyone see you as the weak one instead.”
