“Youth group, huh?” I ask as he takes a massive bite of his pretzel and nods at me.
“Yep. That's me. Always challenging the institution.” Zayden taps his green and black Dr. Martens on the floor with a steady rhythm. I am so in love with his fashion choices. Today, his shoes are this matte black color with a neon green skeleton foot on the side. Oh. And he's wearing black suspenders that aren't holding anything up. They're just hooked to his pants and then looped back around and reconnected to the waistband. “Did you know I was in a punk band in high school?”
“Does not surprise me,” I say as I cross my arms over my own sad attempt at dressing up. I've got on a navy blue shirt with the world Cal scrawled across the front in gold that I got from UCB, a pair of dark skinny jeans and some fuzzy black velvet heels that I found in my sister's closet. I know, I know: I'm a total mess. I think I'm still trying to figure out exactly who it is that I am. I think all my clothes are doing is reflecting the confusion inside. Or something like that. “What instrument did you play?”
“Instrument? Please, Smarty-Pants, you give me too much credit. I just screamed shit into the microphone. That is pretty much it. I would hardly even call it music.”
“Well maybe you could play some for me one day?” I say as Zayden finishes off his pretzel and wads the trash up, tossing it like a basketball into the nearest can.
“Yeah right. You already think I'm a nerd now. How much less cool would I be if I played the guttural garbage I used to spew as a kid? No, thank you.”
“Being in a punk band totally makes you cool,” I say as Zayden tucks one leg up on the bench and gives me a look.
“Being in a good punk band totally makes you cool. Being in a garage band with music recorded on some guy's phone back in the day. So not cool.”
Zayden glances out toward the kids and I follow his stare, happening to catch some little kid rush up to Grace and grab hold of her pigtails as she runs. With a hard yank, my niece's head snaps back and she ends up slipping and falling to the foam floor with a scream. Before I can even react to the situation, Zayden is up on his feet and sprinting over to her.
I grab Sadie's stroller and chase after him as quickly as I can.
“Hey, hey,” he says as he uses his thumbs to brush away her tears. “You're okay, baby.”
“No, I'm not!” Grace screams, clinging to his leg and ignoring me completely when I try to comfort her by rubbing her back.
“Do you need surgery then?” Zayden asks, looking her in the eyes and getting completely serious. “Because we can go to the hospital right now.”
Grace's eyes get huge and she shakes her head, reigning back the screaming sobs into gentle sniffles.
“Good. Then let's tough this out and get back up on that horse.”
“There isn't a horse,” Grace mumbles as she stands up and glares at the boy who pulled her hair. I have no idea how to handle this situation, but I'll be damned if I let some brat get away with that. I look around for an adult that could possibly be the kid's parent.
“Hey,” Zayden says, walking right over to the boy and leaning down in front of him. “It's not okay to hurt people like that, dude. And don't ever touch a girl without her permission, buddy. So not cool.”
The kid just stands there and glares at Zayden as a man in Levi's and a white t-shirt comes over and looms big behind the boy. His dad, maybe? I have no idea, but I decide to corral our brood before things get bad. I think our playdate here is over.
“Don't you talk to my boy like that,” the man says as Zayden stands up straight and I'm pleased to find he's actually taller than the big man who's glaring at him. “You have a problem, you talk to me.”
“Did you not see your kid pull my niece's hair? Knock her onto her back? That's some serious stuff, man. All I was saying was that I don't want your son to put his hands on her.”
“Boys will be boys,” the man says and I find myself gritting my teeth as I collect the twins and make them put their hands on the stroller. They're so slippery that Zay and I have almost lost them three times since we got here a half an hour ago. The only way I can keep watch on them is to play this game where they have to touch the stroller at all times.
“Boys will be boys? What kind of bullshit is that? So he has a right to act like a brat? Screw that. Tell your son to keep his fucking hands off my niece.”
“My son has a right to be a boy,” the man says and I watch in horror as Zayden's colored fists tighten, his knuckles turning into sharp points of bone beneath his marked skin. “Now back your faggot ass off and let's be done with this.”