sibly can about it. I’ve been through a lot of
phases, these intense periods of focus.”
I was joined by a film crew from Germany
that was shooting a segment about the release
of the German translation of my novel, There
There. I felt uncomfortable about how my new,
strange life as an author was bleeding into my
time with Jeffrey. The Germans wanted to film
us together, and I would have said no, but Jef-
frey loved the idea. He has no problem being
in the spotlight. In it, he shines. The dojo has
helped with that. “I’m a pretty shy person,”
he told me. “Like, when I’m introduced into
a new environment, I can be quiet at first. My
confidence levels were low in terms of pub-
lic speaking and stuff like that. But karate has
helped me a lot.”
The crew set up outside the dojo; the direc-
tor placed me, Jeffrey, and his teacher on the
other side of the street. We joked about what
we were supposed to be doing, about how to
act naturally. The director signaled for us to
cross, so we did, and we acted as if we were
not acting, so acted natural and walked across
the street to the dojo, where Jeffrey was to
practice with weapons too big for the space in
the dojo. We kept acting as if he were taking
his lesson while he actually took his lesson. At
one point, the director asked Jeffrey to slow-
ly move toward the camera while spinning a
three-section staff, a kind of giant nunchuck.
The whole thing felt bizarre. Even mention-
ing it here, in this story, feels both unavoidable
and something that absolutely should be avoid-
ed. It’s just that I don’t know what to do with
what’s happened to my life, and to include it
feels as wrong as not to include it, so I’m aim-
ing for somewhere in the middle, bringing it up
and dismissing it at once by bringing up why I
think it’s dismissible. I’m not sure of the exact
moment I felt I’d sufficiently made it out of the
gravity my life had felt mired in for so long, at
what point I attained the speed to stay afloat,
even while continually falling, but it was some-
what recently. And it doesn’t feel complete. I
don’t think it ever will. But I know I won’t ever
end up where I once was—doomed—where
I maybe had to go to get where I am.
At one point, the director asked Jeffrey who
I was to him. In his answer, he referenced hun-
ka, a Lakota word that translates to “adopted
family.” He said I was a kind of uncle to him, or
father figure. I hadn’t known he felt that way.AFTER THE FILM crew left,
Jeffrey and I walked down the street to get ice
cream at Fentons Creamery. I grew up going
to Fentons, and so did my grandparents—
that’s how long the place has been a part
of Oakland. When my mom was pregnant
with me, she stopped eating sugar, and
when I was born, my dad went to Fentons
and got her favorite—a Black and Tan—
and took it to the hospital. My sister used to
be a waitress here, and I’d come all the time
because she’d give me free meals. It’s almost
always crowded and loud. I don’t have a
favorite thing to get there, so when Jeffrey
ordered a slice of apple pie and cookie-dough
ice cream, I got the same.
We talked about school. Jeffrey is a senior atLick-Wilmerding, one of the most prestigious
high schools in San Francisco. Most families
pay $49,000 each year to send their child, but
Jeffrey qualified for its Flexible Tuition pro-
gram. Getting in was an intense process, he
said, “because I’m naturally very bad at stan-
dardized tests. The way they phrase things and
the way that they expect you to answer it in
one specific way, I call it ‘conforming to the
test,’ and I’m really bad at conforming.” His
closest friends are Melinda, Caroline, and Ar-
iana, and his group includes Julia, Brandon,
Felix, Colette, and Jackie. He’s the only Na-
tive American in the school. I asked if he’s ev-
er bothered by questions about Native culture.
“When someone says, ‘I have a Native Ameri-
can question for you,’ I’m like, ‘Oh, God, what
are they going to say?’ ”
One time, his friend told him about a joke
her mother made about how, at the school’s
annual social-justice workshop, the white af-
finity group could relocate the Native affini-
ty group (which consisted of just Jeffrey). “I
was like, ‘That’s not okay to say. My grand-
mother.. .’ And I told her my grandma’s story,
how she moved to Oakland on relocation, and
what she had to go through to get to where we
are now. She came here with a ninth-grade ed-
ucation, and she raised eight kids, and she got
a master’s degree in social work while doing
it. Getting to that level, becoming so good at
what you do, is very inspiring. That’s why I’m
always bragging, like, ‘My grandma did this!’ ”
A few days later, Jeffrey said, the friend sin-
cerely apologized on behalf of herself and her
mother. Still, “I feel this weight to sort of ad-THIS PAGE: Jeffrey deals a hand of cards
to his grandmother, Geri. OPPOSITE:
Jeffrey, who loves trains, recently
repaired the toy model from one of his
favorite movies, The Polar Express,
which he broke when he was five.