#dinnerforjoe

This week’s tackles some pretty hefty topics, mainly about why everyone always gotta fight. We’ll assume the Nobel is in the post.

This week, Jon and Joe talk about superficiality in stories, and why it’s not alright we talk about Batman a lot. We eventually talk about other stuff, but it’s mostly Batman. Spoilers abound.

The three men rode in the zodiac as it skipped lightly across the water, even against the current. The river was much wider and deeper than Daniel thought possible on an island. “How big is this place?” he said.

His father didn’t answer, focused on steering the boat and scanning the riverbanks.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” said Gavin. “But taking into account the breadth of the river, the variety of plant and animal life we’ve passed-- The rich assortment of avifauna alone is remarkable--” he then gestured upward, “Adding those things to the fact that that’s the second biplane to go over, I’d probably go with ‘really big.’”

They each looked up as the aircraft flew out of sight and behind the jungle canopy, the sound of its engine covered by that of the zodiac.

Daniel looked to the rifle at his father’s side. “Do we know who that was, Dad?” he asked. The plane was quite far up-river, but he always preferred to be cautious. “Should we even be travelling in the open like this?”

His father shifted on his seat and looked at Daniel, “You always have preferred to be cautious,” he said. “But we’ll probably be okay.”

“I like the sound of that,” said Gavin. “I probably wanted to make it home alive.”

Daniel’s father put both hands to the tiller and pulled. The boat turned sharply and veered into a small, and rocky, tributary. Significantly rocky. They hit one, and the boat leapt. Daniel briefly rose off of his seat.

“What the hell are--”

He landed back on it hard. The boat splashed and rocked as Daniel’s father continued to steer them straight toward the bottom end of a seventy-foot, vertical waterfall.

“Stop wasting time, boys,” said a voice behind them. “These next hours will be more critical than you realize.”

It was Daniel’s father, standing in the sand, feet bare. His face was serious, with permanent lines wrinkled down either side of his mouth, and a several-day, sandpapery stubble along his jaw and chin. His shirt was white, decorated by a pattern of blue lilies. The top buttons were undone, showing silvered hair that matched the wisps on top of his head that tossed about in the ocean breeze. Daniel couldn’t remember his father ever looking so comfortable.

“So it’s LOST, then?” said Gavin. He pointed an arm to Daniel and opened his eyes wide. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do!”

Another time, Daniel may have laughed. He looked at Gavin. He saw the blood drying across his temple and down the area behind his ear. There was a lot of it. There was a large tear in his pants down one of his thighs, too, and the fabric surrounding his knee was soaked a deep red. It glistened, but Gavin didn’t show any pain in his walk or expression.

The sea continued. There was no sound of birds or of insects. There were no clouds in the sky. There was no smoke rising from what was left of the plane a short distance away. But the sea continued to push the tide in wave by wave. It roared and it crashed forward, and it hissed back down into itself, gaining inches slowly.

“We’ll need to salvage what equipment we can find,” his father said. “And we’ll need to do it quickly.”

“But Dad,” said Daniel, “what are you even doing--”