Promises, Promises Pt. 02

I'm not afraid of violence, but don't usually look to it as a first choice. In this instance it was my first choice. I wanted to give those masked, cowardly fascists the treatment they deserved. Trouble was I didn't know who they were, and the police were taking a very lackadaisical approach to their investigation. Everyone knew the mayor's sympathies lay with Antifa.

We were in our clubhouse feeling helpless as we tried to come up with a feasible response, when our discussions were interrupted by the roar of a very loud motorcycle engine revving in our yard. We all ran outside to investigate. The rider shut down the engine and took off her helmet. I stepped, almost fell backwards as I recognized her. "What do you want? We've got enough on our plate without you."

"I need you to get my kerchief back for me."

"Your kerchief? What are you talking about?"

"It's Breughel's Tower of Babel."

"Listen lady, it's great art, but what's your kerchief have to do with us? We've got bigger problems."

"Oh, the kerchief's not stolen. I know who has it."

"So go get it."

"I can't; I made promises."

She pulled out her phone and walked over to me. I resisted the temptation to run.

"Getting my kerchief back will help solve your problem. I'll show you."

Indeed she did show me. The masked man wearing a Brueghel kerchief, the man who molested my cousin was her ex-fiancé, the jerk she had defended when I first ran into her fist. She told me how to find him. When I gave her my coordinates she announced herself as a fan of my writing. I slipped off my jacket and gave it to her, declaring her a member of the Rough Men.

My assault on her ex was cathartic. I gave him a lot of pain, many bruises and a few broken bones. Jennifer and I got together to celebrate afterwards. What gave me a greater sense of justice than beating the shit out of Matthew was that Jennifer moved from being his girl to being my woman. Jennifer wasn't concerned about our racial difference. She focused more on what our hearts had in common.

She wasn't a social justice warrior or even an activist. When I told her about Penny's racism, Jennifer was horrified. "Please believe me, Ken. I didn't deck you when we first met because you're black. It was because I thought you deserved it. I'm so sorry."

I laughed. "That punch was the best thing that ever happened to me. If we ever start to drift apart, please hit me again."

She cocked her arm and made a fist, which then went to the back of my neck, pushing my lips to hers. "I promise," she whispered.

When I had first met Penny Smith, I was awed into thinking she was the love of my life. That was a terrible assumption. I wasn't going to set any expectations with Jennifer. Rather, I would let our future unfold. "Promises, promises," I said. "I don't want your promises. I want you."