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It’s not that I don’t want Rhonda to be happy. But she has three kids with three different boyfriends, and each one of those men has chipped away at her, making her feel less than. She falls in love too easily, desperately wanting someone to depend on, because she feels she can’t depend on herself. She’s low hanging fruit and the men in her life take advantage of that.
But Rhonda is also brilliant. She’s whip-smart, intuitive, and has a keen business sense. When it comes to work or studies, she can do anything she sets her mind too. It’s those damn boyfriends who are her kryptonite.
A while back, I’d gotten her training at the career institute, and she was passing every class with flying colors. For the past six months, we’d been making so much progress, getting her that new job, standing her up on her own two feet… and now this.
Rhonda’s a lovely person. But she trusts too easily.
I work in a place where marriages go to die. I volunteer at a women’s center, seeing women stripped of their choices every day. I have no memory of my deadbeat father.
Not all men are bad, of course. There are plenty of good ones. Amazing ones, really. It’s just that in my experience, they’ve been consistently disappointing.
I drag a hand down my face. “Oh no.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d be upset.”
“I am.”
“But listen. I have a new mentee for you. Her name is Ellie. You have a meeting with her this Wednesday.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll be there. Have a good weekend.”
I end the call and stare into space, thinking of Rhonda and her kids. Maybe they’ll be happy in their new life. Maybe this time she’s finally leapt with a man who will treat her well. I want to call her, but that isn’t protocol. We can only help people who want the help. I can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.
The only thing I can do is hope that she made a good decision, and that it all works out for her.
Sometimes I have to wonder if I’m really making a difference after all. Sometimes it feels like banging my head against a wall over and over. I have to wonder if Ruth ever felt that way.
I want to share my frustration with someone. Thankfully, I know someone who will totally get it.
But when I toggle back to the BLIND LOVE app, I see:
Stranger88: You there?
Stranger88: Hello?
Stranger88 has signed off.
It’s probably for the best. He is a man, after all. And if I can’t trust any man in real life, what makes me think I can trust one online?
12
“You’re doing it!”
The delighted cry comes the second I hear Jace shuffling down the stairs.
I can’t see him though, because I’m underneath the air hockey table, tightening the last of the screws.
“Told you I would,” I say as I spin the screwdriver.
I am a man of my word, even if that word’s gotten pretty dusty, sitting on the shelf as long as I’ve left it there. At least I managed to do it before Jace started getting interested in girls.
“Let’s play! Let’s play! Let’s play!” He’s dancing around, chortling. I hear something that sounds suspiciously like an air-hockey-puck, hitting my wall, and I think he probably doesn’t even need the table.
“Hold on, dude. Just a little more…” I finish tightening the last screw and wiggle out from under the table, then set it straight as I notice several dark scuff marks on the otherwise white baseboard. Perfect. “And… done. What do you say I plug this in and we give it a whirl?”
He claps his hands. I find the outlet and make the connection. Then I flip the red on-switch as he gets the paddles ready.
We both stare, expectant, waiting for something to happen.
Nothing does.
I flip the switch, again and again, as if that’ll do something. Then I check the outlet, the fuse box, everything. Meanwhile, Jace is having a bang-up time, playing hockey on my floor, banging the puck against the white baseboard incessantly, leaving a little black dent every time.
By the time I decide the thing’s just broken, he’s lost interest, staring out the window. “Can we go outside and play frisbee?”
I’m still staring at the busted air hockey table. Can I return it? The box is in pieces on the ground. I don’t have the receipt, and it’s been over a month. Probably not.
Fantastic.
I rake my hand through my hair and look over at Jace, who’s bouncing like he needs to go to the bathroom. “Sure. Yeah. Let’s go.”
We go out to the common area. Our condo complex includes a huge grassy field with tennis courts, a pool, a picnic tables, a gazebo. It’s early June and not quite warm enough to use the pool, but there are a few people hanging out at the picnic tables. Frisbee with Jace involves me lightly tossing the disc to Jace, only to have it go through his hands. Every. Single. Time. Then he’ll rush to retrieve it, and try to throw it to me, and it’ll go three feet and land between us. Predictably, he gets out of breath and bored in about five minutes, so we decide to walk to the park, where he gets on the jungle gym and meets another kid who wants to play pirates.
