I have never broken a bone, but I've had stitches. Besides the ones I had in my face, anyway.

In third grade, breaking an arm or a leg was an epidemic. Call it something in the air, I don't know. But it meant instant popularity. Us runny-nosed, buck-toothed kids would gallop over in our icy boots to sign their casts. I asked one kid if the bone tore through his skin and he said No, That Would Be So Freaking Cool Dude.

One afternoon at recess, a kid was pushing me on the swings. She said something, I don't remember, so I called her a gaywad and she pushed me so hard that I fell off and landed in red mulch, still damp from morning rain. Pieces clung to my clothes. My elbows ached. When I raised my arms, the girl gasped. A glass shard, sticking up just enough from the mulch, stabbed me in the wrist and I was gushing blood. We went to our teacher and she told me to go wash up in the bathroom. So I did. But the blood kept coming when I took my wrist away from the faucet, and I was getting woozy, so I went to the nurse, and from there, the nurse called my mom. The gash was too deep for her to slap a bandage on and call it a day.

The doctor said I was lucky (there's that damn word again) - the glass narrowly missed a big vein. Saved my mom from having to buy a child-sized casket.

"Does it hurt a lot, bubbe?" My mom asked.

"No, I think the little dolphins in my brain are working."

"The… dolphins?"

"Yeah, the endolphins in my brain? The ones that make you feel good?"

"Honey," the doctor said, poking in the first stitch, "those are endorphins."

And then I passed out.

You can't see the scar now, since it's blacked out from my tattoo sleeve.

When I told Craig this story, he first commented on it being adorable, clearly, I misheard my teacher when she was teaching us about our brains. He also said, "I had a dolphin-themed birthday party hen I was nine. That's so funny. It was so whack: dolphin plates, blue plastic forks and knives, silver streamers, dolphin videos playing on the living room TV, dolphin cake, pin the blow-hole on the dolphin…"

I said, "I dreamed once that my dad was a dolphin."

"Like an actual dolphin with your dad's voice?"

"No, my human dad, but he was, like, dolphin-shaped."

"That's terrifying."

I hope someone went back and cleared out any other pieces of glass that were left. Weird to think my dried up DNA might still be buried somewhere in a playground. Or the glass was recycled.

I was disappointed because I didn't break a bone. I wanted signatures on a cast. Sure, people wanted to see my stitches and the yellow pasty medicine I had to put on it, but that didn't last long.

Some satisfaction came at the end of the semester when our yearbooks were given to us. Little plastic blue books smattered with post 9/11 grief (it happened only nine months prior). I still have it. The theme is "Liberty's Kids," and there is an American flag watermark on every page. In my grayscale square, my hair is all askew and poofy, and my eyes are thin and black (pupils are huge).

There are a lot of signatures in the back. A lot of phone numbers that are surely landlines and no longer in use. Clyde wrote his name the largest, with red marker.

I think of this now because it was approaching Independence Day, and Craig was glaring down fireworks stands, barbecue displays, and flipping off Uncle Sam - my dude was fucking feral.

But we had half the week off for the holiday, and he wasn't able to be mad about that. Craig needed a break, badly. He was sporting sallow cheeks and dark bags under his eyes. His pants shirts were a little looser. One day he'd be confident, blowing through experiment after experiment, the next day he'd have his head plopped on the counter, convinced there was no way he could carry on. I told him to step back now and then because you can't see the whole forest if you're too focused on one tree.

The night before the last workday, before vacation, he said, "I don't feel like I'm doing the right things. I never feel like I do the right thing. I try… but I just can't latch on." We were in the hall where I said "nice meeting you," on the first day.

"I don't think I can do this," he said, slumping against the wall. His backpack and lunchbox slid on the marble floor.

I laid a finger on his chest, traced it up to his face, and centered on his forehead. "Remember what you told me? It was good advice. You should follow it."

He smiled weakly and kissed my hand, but said nothing.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else bothering you?" I asked, gesturing to his lunchbox of untouched snacks. "You didn't eat much today."

"I'm fine, just a little stressed, I guess."

I didn't believe him. Something in his face said there was more, much more, but I couldn't bring myself to press. He could say what he needed to when he was ready.

"Well… I think you should stay with me this weekend."

"Oh? You do?" He clasped his hands around the back of my neck.

"I do. I think you should stay over, have some edibles. We can watch Kenny and Cartman blow off a few fingers-"

"-delightful-"

"-binge the new Stranger Things, wait, do you like Stranger Things?"

"Yeah, I've only seen the first season though."

"Okay then, we're going to binge the second season and the third one when it's released. You're going to get some rest, and when we come back Monday, you'll feel better."

"I like that plan, but…"

"Hm?"

"I have to go to my mom's for a barbeque. She's been planning it forever. Her boyfriend bought all these fucking fireworks and now he has to show them off."

"Oh, that's fine, you can come over after. And please crawl directly into my bed."

A half-smile from him.

"What?" I asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you want to come?"

"To your mom's?"

"Yes. She really wants to meet you."

"Your mom knows about me?"

"I don't shut up about you."

"Oh, stop."

"Make me,bärchen."

"You're on thin ice, Tucker."

"Oh godddd please don't use my last name like that. I hate my name. It sounds like Fucker."

"I never thought of that. You shouldn't have told me. Craig Fucker it is."

"Stooooppp."

"Well if you hate your last name so much, you can have mine."

I turned so red when I said that. I'm an actual idiot. Anyone else would have been massively creeped out, and I thought for sure he'd be creeped, but he kissed me instead. Flickers of sunlight warmed our faces in soft, scant spots.

"Cool, so I'm telling my mom we're engaged then."

"What! Don't do that!"

"Chill, I'm joking."

"You're so freaking monotone, I can't tell when you're joking sometimes."

"And you get super shrill, super aggressive. I think we're meant to be. You're like mayonnaise to my tuna."

"I… have no words."

"Yeah, I don't blame you. I understand if you want a divorce."

"I'm going to file the papers now."

He picked up his lunchbox and slung his backpack over his shoulder again, laughing. "So, you want to come?"

"Is there going to be a lot of people?"

"Maybe a medium-sized amount of people."

"Oh."

"Does that make you nervous?"

"A little. But it's okay. Let me pop half a Xanax and some hard seltzer, I'll be fine."

"Jesus, Kyle."

"What? I can't raw dog reality how you can."

He shook his head and we started walking down the hall, his hand on the small of my back.

"Oh, you're in deep now," Cartman said that night. His last client had left ten minutes prior and he was cleaning up. I was hanging around in the doorway, rambling about how nervous I was going to this barbeque. "You're meeting his family already, next thing you know you're going to be stowing away together to go live on an alpaca farm."

"Sounds good to me."

"So he's going to be staying over here?"

"Yes, so don't be an asshole."

"That's asking too much."

"Cartman."

"Hey, according to you, Craig is an asshole. I can't have him come on my turf and out asshole me."

"..."

"Fine. I'll control myself."

Avocado green, yellow, and red, Laura Tucker's kitchen reminded me of this hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant my father and I used to go to when my mother took Ike to tennis practice. Before that, I noticed the landscaping in her front yard. She had those curving bricks that I've always wanted, fairy lights and sunflowers, cone-shaped shrubs that lined underneath the windows.

Tricia stepped out of the house, flip-flops squelching in the driveway as she ran up to us.

"Mom is drunk already."

"Great…"

Then she turned to me. "Hi, Kyle. Long time, no see."

"Hey… uh, your mom did a nice job on her garden here."

"Yeah, she likes to keep her bushes trimmed."

"Tricia, you're disgusting." Craig grabbed my hand and walked us past her.

"You're disgusting. When was the last time you washed that grease trap on your head? Kyle, you can't just let him walk around like that."

"I thought it was hair gel…"

"It is hair gel!"

I leaned and sniffed. "Old Spice."

"Looks greasy to me."

"Maybe you used a little too much, babe."

"I can't believe you're both attacking me like this!"

Tricia followed us into the front door and the living room, where a handful of children sat, eating cut-up hotdogs on a chunky plastic table, and watching cartoons. As soon as they saw Craig, they pounced:

"Craig! Craig! I got a bike for my birthday and it has a BASKET-"

"-look at this new dance I learned-" Violent wiggling.

"-we're going to see FIREWORKS today-"

"-dad says he doesn't want a cat but I think should get a cat because cats are fluffy and you can pet them and they rumble like rocket ships-"

"-it has a BASKET-"

"-who is this guy?" Pointing at me. "Hey mister, how many tattoos do you have?"

"Guys, guys, one speaker at a time, please," said Craig. "This is Kyle."

"Oh boy," Tricia breathed from behind me. "Here we go."

"KYLE do you like trucks?! I have a truck that I put on my bike basket so I can give it a break from driving all the time."

"KYLE do you have CATS? I really want a cat…"

"Are you going to watch the fireworks with us? I hope you stay for the fireworks-"

"-WHOA YOU HAVE KILLER WHALES ON YOUR ARM-"

"-are you Craig's boyfriend?"

"BOYFRIEND?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means they rub wieners, dummy."

"WOW."

Craig sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Kyle, these are my cousin's kids: Jacob, Janelle, Jenna, and Joshua."

"Nice to meet you, 'J' children," I said.

The littlest one, which I believe was Joshua, pulled on my shorts. "Can we go play outside?"

Craig turned him back to the table. "Finish your dinner. Let us go say hi to everyone and we'll play later, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Then he took me into that Italian restaurant of a kitchen where a little blonde woman was laughing loudly, accompanied by a slew of people young and old. When she spotted us, she shrieked with glee and jumped over, eyes half-lidded, and put her arms around me.

"You must be Kyle! It's so great to finally meet you. Oh, wowwww, look at you! You're like a painting in motion, turn around, turn around." She spun me around. As Craig's face blurred by I could see him groaning. Her voice had the same slight nasal quality as Craig's. If I didn't know what I knew, I would have believed she was Craig's biological mother based on that alone.

"It's great to meet you too."

She parted from me and held my shoulders.

"Hi Mom," Craig stepped out from behind me.

"Why are you just standing there, Craig? Get this boy a beer - oh wait, Craig said you're a barista. Do you want coffee? I can make you some coffee."

"Oh no, haha, I don't just drink coffee…"

"I think you need coffee, Mom," Tricia barked, "You're practically groping Kyle."

"Oh, pish." Laura scrunched up her face and waved in front of her nose like she was fending off a fart. "Silly."

A short man with a waxy bald head waddled over to us.

Laura said, "This is my boyfriend, Curl."

"Curl?"

"More like Hurl…" Tricia whispered.

"It's Carl," whispered Craig.

"Oh, hello Carl," I said.

Curl/Hurl/Carl immediately lifted his beige polo to reveal a large cast around his midsection. " I fell off a horse. Man, it felt like I was falling forever. I tried to get up and I couldn't walk. Man. I went to the doctor, well, Laura here drove me to the doctor because my Jeep is in the shop - damn thing has rusty ball joints and usually that's a quick fix but the guy who usually fixes my Jeep is busy, he's got a waiting list and everything, but I told him I'd wait because he's the only guy I trust to work on it. Everyone else tries to rip me off. You know, this one time I went to get my oil changed and the kid working there tried to upsell me on a tire rotation? Oh, and he says I need to change my transmission fluid. I said 'well that's funny because I just changed it myself' and the kid says 'well it went rotten already' and I said 'how the hell does fluid go rotten' and he got all offended and said 'sir, that's just how I word things, you don't need to make fun of me,' so I said, 'hey, aren't you Lester Arnold's kid?' and he goes 'yeah sir I am' and I said 'your dad was a punk in high school' and this brat goes off on me about how he doesn't care about what some Boomer thinks, to stop talking about his dad, so I said 'man I don't need this.' So I drove off. But anyway I shattered my tailbone and Laura here had to put temporary handles on the toilet so I don't fall off when I wipe myself."

"...glad you're okay, Carl."

I confronted Craig later about making me stand there listening to that stupid story, but he just held his gut and giggled, unable to speak.

By this point, Tricia went outside and left us with Drunk Laura, Tailbone Carl, and a chapter of friends and family that Craig pointed out to me. They each gave a little wave as he called off their names.

Later, Craig pulled me up to the man who was grilling on the back porch. He was old but seemed chipper. I saw right away that a Star of David hung from his neck.

"Kyle, this is our neighbor Akim." Before I could open my mouth to say shalom, Craig continued, "Akim, zeh hah-khah-ver sheh-lee, Kyle."

I was a bit taken aback - I'd never heard Craig speak a lick of Hebrew before, and it took to a mental cistern that had been dry for over ten years.

I smiled, extending my hand, "Shalom, na-eem lehakir otkha."

The man pulled me into a hug and I could feel the heat from the grill radiating on my arm. We spoke for a few minutes in Hebrew while Craig watched with his head cocked. He talked about his family extensively and I talked about mine, pretending that I'm still in contact with them. When we were done and walking on to the backyard, I turned to Craig "when did you start learning Hebrew?"

"Uh… yesterday. I just thought it would be nice to know some. How did I do?"

"Great. Your pronunciation was a little bit off, but I understood what you were saying, so it's okay."

"Any tips?"

"You've got to put your throat into it."

"Well, you already know I'm good at that."

"Craig!" I whisper-screamed.

He grinned with his tongue out slightly, then bent down and reached into a cooler. "You want a grape soda?"

"Please…" I looked over my shoulder at Akim, who was sliding a burger onto someone's paper plate. Craig put the cold can in my hand. I snapped it open and sucked the fizz off. "You introduced me as your boyfriend. You know that right?"

He smiled. "Yeah. I know."

"You never really asked me to be your boyfriend."

"I thought we were engaged."

"Stop joking like that, someone's going to hear you and get all excited."

"Fiiinnee. Dude, be my boyfriend."

"Now it just sounds like you're threatening me."

"Maybe I am."

"You're such a brat."

"Exactly."

"I swear if we weren't surrounded by people right now, I'd bend you over on the-"

"-Hey, there he is!" Another cousin waltzed over, her cheeks painted with red (almost as bright as her hair), white, and blue stripes, and a Budweiser in one hand. The tribe of "J" spawns was in tow behind her. They'd already begun asking her when they could get tattoos like "Mister Kyle."

I have to say, even though it was overwhelming at first and I probably came off as super awkward, I adored Craig's family. His mom was sweet, Tricia is hilarious, Carl was a little weird but he gave off benign stepdad energy that was comfortable. Even the little cousins, I found, I was getting better at talking to as the night went on. Kids ask so many questions, but I liked talking to them. They said exactly what they think and how they feel, and I hope they never stop.

As the sun set, people lined up towels and lawn chairs to watch Carl and the kids light sparklers. Craig brought down an oversized blue hoodie from his childhood closet - a kid's room turned into office space - and gave it to me because I was shivering. I whipped the hood over my head and pulled the drawstrings so it cinched my face.

Craig was off in the distance, helping line up some of the bigger fireworks, so I sat by Akim. We chatted for a while in bits of Hebrew and English, then, after some silence, he said, "Craig is a good kid."

I pulled my knees to my chest and nodded. "He's great."

"His parents were so worried about him. Then again, Thomas's drinking didn't help either. I don't get it. When you adopt a kid, you can't go around doing stuff like that."

I glanced at Akim, "It was that bad?"

"Ken, al ha-panim. I can't tell you how many times little Craig and little Tricia were hanging out in my kitchen all afternoon because Thomas and Laura were fighting. I had one of those TVs with the VCR and they just watched tapes and ate string cheese all the time. I can't believe Laura stayed married as long as she did."

I couldn't believe Craig still lived with this asshole. I think he still does. Unless he's moved in with a new boyfriend by now. Fuck.

Craig waved to me. I gave a small wave back.

"He never told me about that," I said.

"Bah. It doesn't matter now. I'll tell you what, Laura did a hell of a job raising him, despite all that. It couldn't have been easy on him, either."

"No…"

"Sad, too. His mother was only 14 when she gave birth to him."

"Sorry?"

"You didn't know?"

"Craig hasn't said a word about it."

"Then I won't either."

I never expected Craig to up and tell me he was the result of teen pregnancy, but Craig also said he knew nothing about his mother. And was sincere about it. I was beginning to suspect that Akim was told things by Laura that Craig possibly didn't know. I raised another can of grape soda to my lips and smiled as if I knew nothing, when Craig was walking back to us.

Craig plopped down next to me and scooted me closer to his body in the night as we watched fizzling brilliant greens and vivid purples, white crackles, and booming blues until the last ash floated back down to earth.