Smiling coyly, he beckoned me from across the lawn with his free hand. I saw the square object in his other hand and, interested in the CD, I rerouted myself to meet him.

“Oh! Linkin Park!” I exclaimed. “That’s cool—”

A bright flash of white light obscured my vision and I automatically closed my eyes and turned my head away. The adolescent started to laugh.

I rotated my head back and squinted at him. The CD case was purposely poised in his hand to direct the rays of the overhead afternoon sun into my face.

“Hey,” I uttered, expressing my surprise.

He tilted the CD again, blinding me.

“Okay, fine,” I said, walking away from the lanky teen and his CD-turned-mirror. Already in therapist mode (I’ve learned that therapy can happen almost anytime, anywhere), I did not want to reinforce this undesired (albeit playful) behavior with my attention, something I surmised he valued. Still laughing, he grabbed my left wrist and halted my retreat.

“Okay, okay,” he entreated, “I’m just playing.”

I turned around again, only to see him tilt that CD case one more time before my vision went white.

“You’re a jerk,” I blurted—only to realize that my thoughtless honesty was probably not therapeutic. He laughed at me as we continued to walk in opposite directions.

This was not one of my finer moments.

(Part of the ongoing Relationship Series.)