“I came over,” she explained, “because I saw your little boy outside. In your backyard. Just a minute ago. And I wanted you to know. That I also saw a bear."
"A bear?"
"A bear."
"In my backyard?”
“In your backyard. Just a few minutes before I saw your little boy out there. I thought I should make sure you knew. About the bear.”
“Well. OK. Yeah. Wow. Well. Um. Thank you!"
She smiled and turned away.
I immediately went downstairs and repeated the conversation to my mom. She was dubious.
"A bear? Really? I don’t know."
"You don’t know? What does that even mean, Mom?"
"It means I’m not sure we really need to worry about it. Bears prefer to avoid people. So let’s not overreact.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I hissed at her, quietly, so Bean and his friend wouldn’t hear me swearing.
I stomped up the stairs to the kitchen. Turned, shouted down at her, over my shoulder,
“You know what this means? This means THE BEARORRISTS HAVE WON.”
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