Unusquisque Mentitur

The plate of ham, scrambled eggs, and a biscuit was entirely Jesse’s to consume. “Eat that then I’ll take you to the clinic to get checked. If I’m on time for my shift, they’ll be suspicious.”

There was one question in particular that buzzed louder than the others, one question that he tried asking to himself only to find a shrug as an answer. One question that would truly get a reaction out of his midnight partner. If you loved her so much, why is she dead? Jesse couldn’t believe that Brandon found a second coming in this ”new world” or any sort of freedom. It was odd for Jesse to see someone who used to be so alive still want to fight, in his opinion: fighting for nothing. The question now was, Why aren’t you dead too?

Dawn came quickly and the surfer's internal time-clock had him up and moving at an hour most wouldn't believe he'd arise. Brandon got up and shuffled around his room without making any real efforts to be quiet for the still-sleeping newcomer. He dug a semi-clean pair of sweat pants and a faded Hobie t-shirt from a pile and redressed. He then grabbed an empty knapsack and proceeded to make his way down to the mess hall before the rest of the outpost to break in and steal breakfast while the early-shift cook took a cigarette break.

”How was she like?”Jesse asked with an airy voice not completely full of sorrow but he tried. He wanted to imagine what having the most prized person in your life being taken away from you felt like. Or having a prized person for that matter.

Was he wrong in going about like nothing had happened? Of course he thought about his parents and Tony and a countless other men who popped up in his mind now and then. But it wasn’t like this, not how Brandon did it, not how he projected himself and felt it, actually felt it. Jesse just wondered how they died or missed how Tony would wake him up in the wee hours to go watch him surf. 

"She was stubborn. By five, she wouldn't let us leave her with her cousins anymore while we went on our deep woods camping trips up to Desolation Wilderness. She started surfing at three and was competing by seven. She didn't take bullshit from anyone and asked 'why' constantly; always wanting answers for everything," Brandon answered quietly with a wistful stare. He dragged hard from his cigarette and chuckled on exhale. "I'd never been so scared in my life when I found out I was gonna be a dad. That fear never goes away, it just evolves. A parent's worst fear is losing their child. I have nothing left to be afraid of." His words were flat and hollow.

Brandon accepted his flask back and polished off what remained. He set it on the bedside table before shifting to lay down. "I'll be awake at dawn. I'll bring you back something to eat from the mess hall to hold you over until I can smuggle you over to the medical facility to get you checked out. Don't leave this room until I say so or it's your ass if you get shot."

Brandon looked down at the tattoo in question. Smudges of red and blue decorated his calf in disjointed finger-paint strokes. He gazed at it for a long while, unmoving. The ash on his cigarette was precariously long, but his stillness while he reminisced kept the soot precariously balanced. "It was for her fourth birthday," he suddenly said, shattering the silence. He spoke in monotone, as he checked out of the room, the moment, the current time, and stepped into a memory.

"She said she wanted to give me a tattoo because, well," he held an inked arm aloft to demonstrate his art. "I handed her the markers and she said she wanted to give me a real tattoo. So I set her up with paints and paper, told her to paint her favorite superhero, and she came back with Batman here," Brandon continued as a rueful smile threatened to reveal itself. "I had my tattoo artist buddy put it on my leg the next day. She came with me to the shop and he asked her why she picked Batman. She told him it was because Batman is like me."

”The right people apparently.” Jesse sat himself up, back against the wall, knees to his chest, he pulled the covers over himself. ”The last ‘group’ I was with…” he bit the inside of his cheek before continuing, ”Um, they were some sort of a hippie vegan nomad hybrid, so we spent our time walking and walking and not eating meat and walking and fucking talking about mother earth and discussing on how we deserve this whole ordeal. Oh the fucking irony man.” He puffed from the cigar and motioned his hands in circles to indicate he’d continue soon, Jesse didn’t think the other man was one to enjoy details, ”Anyway, long story short, after…I calculated about 3 months of, roaming with them, we sat down to ‘eat’ after a long fucking day. Man I was tired, and bored, and hungry, god, more than hungry.” He chuckled, this was his favorite part of the story.

”So it was this idiots turn to say ‘grace’. His fucking idea of grace was reciting everything he could remember from the bible, I swear. Not just that, oh no. But we had to pause after everything and repeat whatever he thought meaningful. So I lost it.” Jesse’s eyes widened and closed back to their normal size as he shrugged. ”Fuck food, fuck being tired, fuck mother earth. I was probably more sexually frustrated than anything, he wasn’t bad looking, so I beat the shit out of him…hard. I was on top of him just punching away. It just felt like the right thing to do.” 

”They didn’t stop me until I had a rock in my hand. And that’s when everyone over sixteen feigned hippie dementia and went all jock on me. It’s not as bad as it sounds though.” he finished his story, a story of facts opposed to his usual fallacies. Jesse let the ash of his cigar fall into his cupped hand with what he had already recollected. 

The surfer stretched his bare legs straight out and crossed them at the ankle as he leaned back against the headboard. He listened, and watched, while Jesse explained the nature of the contusions covering him. His balled-up posture suggested he was uncomfortable with the subject he was speaking about, but his eyes didn't waver and his hands stayed away from his mouth, suggesting he was speaking the truth. Brandon's eyebrows arched sympathetically as he moved the ashtray to rest between them on the bed. "I can imagine wandering in the desert for forty years would beget the occasional bout of hanger. I'd probably play 'Cain and Abel' too."