Lamma Island, 8:25PM – Muggy.
My ex-landlady’s son comes up behind me just as I am stepping off the ferry onto the gangplank and makes an attack. I think the move was what they call a sweep single. Sweeping one foot off the ground to knock someone over. That is what happened.
I am six years and six months old, he shouts. And I am learning how to wrestle!
And I am not learning how to wrestle! I shout back.
He stares at me expectantly, but I hold my ground because admitting my age feels too much like admitting defeat.