Being well

After my final class with the third year degenerates at night school, the class hard-arse, wearing a white wifebeater that shows off his muscles and his tats, says he wants to arm wrestle. I pretend I’m terrified and tell him he’s far too strong. Back away waving my arms. He laughs at this, and unexpectedly lunges in, and grabs me in a bear hug. “O genki de,” he says, “Be well.”

The goodbyes are always hard.