Hopeless

yells. He walks closer to the porch and head straight for the steps. We’ve been hiding a long time and he looks like he’s tired of looking for us. He sits down on the steps, which are almost right in front of us. When I tilt my head, I can look right up at his face. “I’m tired of looking!”
    I turn around and look at Lesslie to see if she’s ready to run to base. She shakes her head no and holds her finger to her lips.
    “Hope!” he yells, still sitting on the steps. “I give up!” He looks around the yard, then sighs quietly. He mumbles and kicks at the gravel under his foot and it makes me laugh. Lesslie punches me on the arm and tells me to be quiet.
    He starts laughing, and at first I think it’s because he hears us, but then I realize he’s just talking to himself.
    “Hope and Les,” he says, quietly. “Hopeless.” He laughs again and stands up. “You hear that?” he yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. “The two of you are hopeless!”
    Hearing him turn our names into a word makes Lesslie laugh and she crawls out from under the porch. I follow her and stand up as soon as Dean turns around and sees her. He smiles and looks at both of us, our knees covered in dirt with cobwebs in our hair. He shakes his head and says it again. “Hopeless.”

The memory is so vivid; I have no idea how it’s just now coming to me. How I could see his tattoo day after day and hear him say Hope and how he talks about Les, yet still not remember? I reach over the seat and grab his arm, then pull his sleeve up. I know it’s there. I know what it says. But this is the first time I’m looking at it, knowing what it actually means.
    “Why did you get it?” He’s told me before, but I want to know the real reason now. He pulls his gaze from the road and glances at me.
    “I told you. It’s a reminder of the people I’ve let down in my life.”
    I close my eyes and fall back into my seat, shaking my head. He said he doesn’t do vague, but I can’t think of an explanation more vague than the one he keeps giving me about his tattoo. How could he have let me down? The fact that he thinks he somehow let me down at that young of an age doesn’t even make sense. And the fact that he feels enough regret about it to turn it into some cryptic tattoo is really beyond any guesses I could fathom at this point. I don’t know what else I can say or do to get him to take me back home. He didn’t answer any of my questions and now he’s playing his mind games again by giving me cryptic, non-answers. I just want to go home.
    He pulls the car over and I’m hoping he’s turning it around. Instead, he kills the ignition and opens his door. I look out the window and recognize that we’re at the airport again. I’m annoyed. I don’t want to come here and watch him stare at the stars again while he thinks. I want answers or I want to go home.
    I swing open the door and reluctantly follow him to the fence, hoping if I appease him this one last time that I’ll get a quick explanation from him. He helps me scale the fence again and we both walk back to our spots on the runway and lay down.
    I look up in hopes of spotting a shooting star. I could really use a wish or two right now. I would wish I could go back to two months ago and never step foot into the grocery store that day.
    “Are you ready for answers?” he says.
    I turn my head toward his. “I’m ready if you’re actually planning on being honest this time.”
    He faces me, then pulls up on his arm and rolls onto his side, looking down at me. He does his thing again, silently staring at me. It’s darker than it was when we were out here the last time, so it’s hard to make out the expression on his face. I can tell he’s sad, though. His eyes have never been able to hide the sadness. He leans forward and lifts his hand, bringing it to my cheek. “I need to kiss you.”
    I almost break out into laughter, but I’m afraid if I do it will be the maniacal kind and that terrifies me, because I already assume I’m going crazy. I shake my head, shocked that he would even think I would let him kiss me right now. Not after finding out he’s been lying to me for two solid months.
    “No,” I say forcefully. He keeps his face close to mine and his hand on my cheek. I hate that even though every ounce of anger in me is a result of his deceit, my body still responds to his touch. It’s an odd internal battle when you can’t decide if you want to punch the